Demon of Mine (30 page)

A dull ache
had begun to spread between Damon’s eyes by the time he reached
home, though whether it was due to the rising sun or the fact that
he’d failed to find the killer, even he was unsure. He was usually
able to push the pain to the back of his mind, where he barely
thought of it, but not this time. Massaging his forehead, he pulled
a key from his pocket and used it to enter the house through a
servants’ entrance in the back. Unlike most mornings, the sense of
accomplishment that usually settled over him as he returned from a
night of cleaning up the city eluded him. Were it not for the fact
that Elsie was upstairs waiting for him in his bed, he wouldn’t
have been glad to be home at all.

But she was,
and the thought quickened his step as he strode through a dim
corridor, passing the kitchen. The cook had probably risen already
and would be inside soon, starting a modest breakfast that would be
wasted by the Remingtons, as it was every morning. He hurried,
eager to get to his room and peel his incriminatingly bloody
clothing off. God only knew what the servants would think if they
caught sight of the red drops that stained his shirt, not to
mention the grime he’d picked up in the foul alleyways that riddled
the shabbier parts of London. He must look the demon he was rumored
to be.

He relaxed a
little when he reached the staircase landing and began to climb
toward the second story. The servants’ quarters were in a
designated wing on the first floor. Whenever he reached the top of
the steps, he’d be safe from any prying eyes or chance encounters
with early-rising maids.

Breathing a
sigh of relief, he left the stairs behind and turned to the right,
gaze fixed on the bedroom door near the end of the hall. Elsie
would be inside, lying between blankets that were probably still
rumpled from when they’d made love before he’d left to go on his
fruitless search. The thought of her naked body against the linens
caused his cock to start stiffening. But no – she’d pulled on a
shift before he’d gone. No matter – the delicate garment had been
thin and halfway translucent, allowing him to easily make out the
curves of her hips and breasts beneath, not to mention the rosy
circles of her nipples, which had been pricking against the fabric
last time he’d seen her. Thank God there were no servants on the
second floor, for by the time he reached the bedroom door, he was
in no state to be seen by anyone besides his wife. If he didn’t get
out of his dirt-stained pantaloons soon, the buttons might start
popping off, freeing his now considerable erection. But if Elsie
happened to be awake, she might be willing to help him before he
got to that point… God, he loved her. And not just because his cock
ached constantly to be inside her perfect body.

She was not
lying awake as he’d fanaticized. In fact, she wasn’t anywhere to be
seen. The sight of the empty bed sent his hopes crashing. A quick
glance around the room confirmed that she was nowhere inside. Where
on earth could she have gone so early in the morning? Hopefully she
hadn’t set out to look for him. Guilt twisted his conscience. Had
he stayed out too long? Perhaps she’d started to fear for him when
the sun had begun to rise. She’d been afraid for him when he’d set
out – she’d made that clear. He’d had little choice, with such a
vicious killer on the loose, but why hadn’t he told her that he
might be late, that she shouldn’t try to find him, even if the sun
returned before he did?

He’d been an idiot. Caught up in the haze of the passion he’d
worked himself into while bedding her and nearly feverish with the
urge to start his search for the murderer, he’d forgotten that she
was not like an ordinary woman, who would scarcely be able to
conceive any idea other than waiting for his return. Curious as she
was, she probably
had
wandered
out of bed to search for him. He shot a guilty glance at the large
four-poster, as if the piece of furniture would offer a suggestion
as to where she might have gone.

It didn’t, of
course, but something caught his eye – the sheets were badly
twisted. With the way she’d been writhing beneath him last night –
God, just the thought of it brought him perilously close to losing
his buttons again –  they’d put more than a few wrinkles in
the blanket, but they’d made love on top of it, not between the
linens. The bed looked as if someone had either had a very lively
tumble or a very rough struggle in it. The latter thought nearly
brought him to his knees, and his erection rapidly
wilted.

A breeze
stirred the room, bringing with it the pungent scents of the city.
Damon turned his attention to the window for the first time. It was
wide open, the curtains fluttering around the sill. His stomach
twisting with dread as the ache pounding against his skull
intensified, he ripped his soiled clothing off in a frenzy, stuffed
the garments into the very back of the wardrobe and hastily donned
a new outfit. He’d failed to find the killer, but nothing would
stop him from finding his wife.

He checked
Lucinda’s room first, just to be sure, but there was no sign of
Elsie; only Lucinda, half-submerged in a sea of decorative pillows
and dead to the world, as she always was at any early morning hour.
Pulling the door shut, he sprinted down the hall and made a hopeful
circuit of the library, finding nothing. After hurrying downstairs,
no sooner had his feet met the landing than a blood-curdling shriek
froze him in his tracks. His mind filled with frantic visions of
Elsie in danger, he flung himself in the direction the scream had
come from, running as quickly as he could, careless of who might
witness his superhuman speed.

He came to a
sliding halt in the corridor that joined the servants’ wing with
the rest of the house, barely managing to stop himself before his
feet slid into a pool of half-dried blood. It took several moments
for his mind to register the fact that neither of the people
present at the gristly scene were Elsie. Looking upon the carnage,
he was glad.

“
He’s dead,” a white-faced maid gasped, declaring the obvious.
She stood shaking and terror-stricken over the crumpled body of the
footman, who lay on the floor in a pool of his own blood, the left
side of his skull bashed severely in. His formerly handsome face
was waxen beneath steaks of crimson, his blue eyes open and staring
at nothing. He still held an iron poker tightly in one hand – a
makeshift weapon, it seemed, taken from a fireplace. Had he heard
an intruder in the house at night and come to investigate? Damon
was unable to restrain a groan of horror as his fears for Elsie’s
safety were magnified a hundred fold.

“
What on earth’s going on?” a female voice demanded. Its owner
– another maid – appeared in the hallway, emerging from the maids’
quarters. Her face fell as she took in the bloody scene, her mouth
constricting to form an exaggerated ‘o’ shape that might have been
comical under different circumstances. Within a few brief moments,
a dozen other maids filed out of the room and surrounded her. A
chorus of spectacular shrieks preceded several moans and even sobs.
It was no secret that the footman, with his handsome features and
well-turned calves, had inadvertently captured the heart of many a
housemaid. As the clamor surrounded Damon, a single thought burned
in the forefront of his mind: he had to find Elsie. Now.

****

Elsie awoke to
the first bodily pains she’d known since becoming a vampire, if she
didn’t count her frequent headaches. At first her body simply felt
like a single mass of dull pain, but as time passed – minutes or
hours, it was impossible to tell – she became aware of the
individual injuries. Her wrists and ankles were the worst. They
felt as if they were tightly bound with thick chains – which, she
eventually remembered, they were. Other than that, her head ached,
which might mean that it was daytime, though she couldn’t be sure
as she was still blinded by the sack that covered her head. She
flexed against her bonds. Disappointingly, they didn’t give so much
as a fraction of an inch. Had she been human, she probably would
have lost all feeling in her hands and arms by now. As it was, she
was left to experience every last second of discomfort. She closed
her eyes against the darkness inside the sack and explored her
other senses, trying to gain a feel for her
surroundings.

The surface
beneath her was hard and smooth – floorboards, probably. She was
propped against a wall – or so it seemed – with her legs straight
out in front of her, bundled at the ankles, and her arms chained
behind. A hardwood floor and a wall wasn’t much to go on. All it
told her was that she was in a building, but she could have gleaned
that from the quiet and the still, stuffy air. She could be
anywhere, but how had she gotten here, wherever it was? She
remembered awakening from the terror of the cistern nightmare to
the real-life horror of being assaulted in her bed, pinned against
the mattress while her limbs were bound. After a few curses that
had been distorted by the sleepy haze that Elsie had still been
half lost in, her captor had remained silent, giving her no clue to
an identity. The fact that the stranger had leapt from a second
floor window – while holding her, no less – and landed safely on
the ground below told Elsie that she wasn’t dealing with a
human.

The only
reasonable conclusion was that she’d been kidnapped by a vampire.
It was a mark of how strange the situation was that she should
consider that reasonable, but a human certainly wouldn’t have been
capable of the jump. And after that, her captor had sprinted
through the streets at what had seemed an unnaturally fast pace,
quickly bringing her to a carriage, which she’d been hastily
stuffed inside of. What had happened between then and now was a
mystery, but why? It certainly wasn’t as if she’d been left so
relaxed by the kidnapping that the carriage ride had lulled her to
sleep.

The floor
shook beneath Elsie as the distinct sound of a slamming door came
from below. She would have jumped, but her bindings were so snug
that her reaction was rendered more of a feeble flop. For a moment
she fought to maintain balance, to keep from tumbling over onto her
side. Her mind was only half-occupied with the struggle, while the
rest of her thoughts were whirling in a haze of anxiety. A hint of
hope made it all the more potent. Had her kidnapper just arrived,
or perhaps…a rescuer? She knew she shouldn’t raise her hopes by
daring to entertain the latter notion, but she couldn’t help it.
Surely Damon had noticed by now that she was gone and was searching
for her. The thought warmed her heart a little as staccato
footsteps sounded, becoming louder with each click, as if someone
was climbing a flight of stairs.

So she’d
learned something else, at least – she was not on the first floor
of a building. She was probably on the second. That narrowed it
down some, if not by much. It was no mere shed or cottage that she
was confined to. Perhaps she was in a house. But whose and where?
The carriage ride could have lasted the entire night, or even
longer, for all she knew. She could very well be in the Scottish
Highlands by now!

At
last a voice sounded, giving her a long-awaited hint at her
captor’s identity. “Sleeping? ‘Ow dare you?” The accent was not a
Scottish brogue – fortunately – but it
was
exotic. Elsie’s stomach churned as she recognized the
honey-thick French accent.
Véronique
. God, could she have been brought all the way to
France
, dragged along like a piece of
luggage?

The voice that
replied was thoroughly British. “Just resting my eyes a bit dear.
It wears on me, you know – staying up all night. I’m not like you.
At least, not yet.”

“
Excuses!” Elsie could practically see the flamboyant hand
gesture that almost certainly accompanied such a vehement
accusation. “Eef you still
want
to be like me, you ‘ad better do your job! We will be ruined
eef you lose zee girl.”

The man
snorted. “Lose her! She’s bound hand and foot with chains that
could hold a bloody Man o’ War at anchor! I could sleep the day
away and she would not make it out of that room.”

Véronique’s
response was punctuated by a sharp sound that sent the floorboards
rattling as she quite literally put her foot down. “We cannot
afford to take any chances. Did you give ‘er zee morning dose of
zee tea?”

The moment of
silence that followed did not seem to bode well for Véronique’s
partner – whoever he was. “Not yet,” he finally said. “I was just
about to. I’ve got the powder right here, I—”

An exasperated
sigh stretched on for several seconds. “After all zee work I went
through last night to bring ‘er ‘ere, you cannot spare zee time to
give ‘er a simple cup of tea every four hours?”

The floor
rumbled as chair legs scraped across it. “I’ll do it right now.
It’s only half-past nine. She’ll still be dead to the
world.”

“
Eez that zee last of zee powder?” Véronique called after
him.

“
I
suppose it is, unless you’ve got more hidden away
somewhere.”

“
Of
course I ‘avent! Why didn’t you tell me before I went
out?”

“
I
assumed you knew.”

An exaggerated
huff echoed down the hall as the sound of the man’s footsteps
ceased.

Elsie tensed,
then forced herself to relax before a door swung open, squeaking on
hinges that were in severe need of an oiling. After what she’d just
heard, it didn’t take much thought to determine that she’d better
pretend to be asleep.