Demon of Mine (35 page)

She made a
small sound of agreement, but otherwise remained silent. Perhaps
she wouldn’t be quite the hindrance he’d feared after
all.

A few lights
flickered here and there down the row of shoddy houses, but most
were dark. The neighborhood was among the most desolate Damon had
ever seen. It was beginning to seem more and more a viable hiding
place. While Lucinda and Jenny lingered in the shadows to the side
of the building, Damon approached the front door and tried it as
quietly as possible. It was locked, as Jenny had said it had been
earlier that day. No matter. The night had truly fallen, sending
energy rushing through Damon’s veins, along with the burning desire
to destroy. He motioned to the two women, his voice hushed but
firm. “Stay back. After the door is down, stay behind me.” Thinking
of the ransom letter and its promises, he slammed his shoulder
against the door, shattering it to splinters and larger chunks of
wood.

He
rushed inside a tiny foyer, gaze darting left and right as he
searched for any sign of life, vampire or human. Splinters were
crushed beneath his boots as Lucinda hurried to stand behind him,
presumably shielding Jenny. A staircase stretched directly in front
of them, leading to the second floor. An almighty crash came from
above, followed by thumping and a French curse. Damon’s rage ebbed
for a fraction of a second as relief flooded through him. Despite
Jenny’s story, it had occurred to him more than once that he might
burst into the house and find it empty or inhabited by innocent
strangers. The resounding “
Merde!
”
served as a
comforting reassurance.

More stumbling sounded from above, and a figure appeared at
the top of the staircase – an extremely fair woman whose red hair
was in a serious state of disarray. Likewise, her dress was
wrinkled and twisted, as if she’d just forced herself into it.
“
Merde!
” she
exclaimed again, revealing a set of tapered fangs. A man hurried
through the dim hallway behind her, darting quickly out of sight
before Damon could get a decent look at his face.

Damon’s anger returned full-force as his confidence was
restored by the sight of Véronique. It had been a long time since
he’d seen her, but there was no
doubting her identity.

She gaped for
a moment before throwing herself down the stairs, shouting
incoherently in French. Clearly, their arrival hadn’t been
expected. Her stricken expression was almost child-like. For all
her twisted threats and evil deeds, she was a spoiled girl who
couldn’t fathom not getting what she wanted. Something silver
glinted in her hand as she threw herself at Damon. “Idiot!” She
slammed into him, her wild tresses tangling around his shoulders as
they both fell against a wall. “You should ‘ave married me!” She
shoved the knife she held into his shoulder, sinking it to the
hilt. “I was supposed to be your wife!” She wrenched the dagger,
twisting the blade in his flesh.

Lucinda seized
a handful of Véronique’s dress and jerked her backward. Véronique’s
fingernails tore the sleeves of Damon’s jacket as she tried
uselessly to cling to him, exclaiming in a half-French,
half-English rage. “Go!” Lucinda commanded as she wrestled
Véronique, who was now peppering the air with a slew of curses that
were more likely to be used by a French sailor than a lady. “That
man is upstairs with Elsie.”

Damon stepped
deftly over Véronique’s writhing body, careless of the sharp kick
she landed against one of his shins. He pulled the knife from his
shoulder as he hurried up the stairs, hardly noticing the pain as
he tossed it aside. It was nighttime, which meant that his wound
would heal quickly. He’d brought a better blade of his own. Pulling
it from a pocket inside his jacket, he gripped the handle tightly,
ready to slice through anyone who stood between him and his wife.
When he reached the top of the staircase he turned toward the right
where a short, narrow hallway led to just one room. The man he’d
seen had to have gone inside.

Surely enough,
sounds of a struggle were coming from beyond the door. Thinking of
Elsie, he turned the knob instead of kicking his way in. What he
saw nearly brought him to his knees.

Elsie was
there, bound hand and foot with chains heavy enough to hold a
ship’s anchor. She wore nothing but the shift he’d last seen her in
– a poor excuse for a garment. Standing pressed against the back
wall, she was in imminent danger of falling through the room’s only
window. The glass panes had already been shattered and lay
scattered across the floorboards in jagged shards. A man wrestled
with her, trying to force a porcelain cup to her lips. Liquid flew
from it, falling to the floor where it mixed with blood. Damon’s
stomach lurched before his mind caught up with his sense of sight
and told him that the blood couldn’t have come from Elsie. Upon a
closer look, it appeared to have come from the man, whose human
skin had been cut in multiple places by pieces of the broken
window. Red stains blossomed on his jacket, and crimson trails
streamed down his boots as he manhandled Elsie.

“
Damon!” Elsie cried out when she saw him, her green eyes
lighting up. She actually smiled at him, even as her captor forced
the cup against her mouth, crushing her lips.

The man turned
quickly, alarm written across every feature of his shockingly
familiar face. “Griffith!” Damon growled, lunging forward before
his brain could begin to try to make sense of why and how this man
had worked with Véronique to kidnap his wife.

Even with his
supernatural speed, Damon was too slow. Thrown off balance by
shock, Griffith fell against Elsie, who couldn’t have possibly been
expected to her keep her balance. They toppled through the window
together, knocking the last few pieces of the ruined windowpanes
out of place. Damon reached out, grasping, but his fingertips only
brushed the heel of one of Griffith’s bloody boots. A sickening
thump came from below as they both hit the ground.

Still gripping
his knife, Damon quickly climbed onto the windowsill and
leapt.

****

Véronique
wrenched herself from Lucinda’s grasp, rolling across the
floorboards.

Lucinda leapt at her, tackling her onto the floor before she’d
managed to rise even halfway. She groaned as they wrestled, and
Véronique did her best to claw every feature from Lucinda’s face.
While destroying a human would have been simple for a vampire,
fighting another immortal was always dirty business. There was only
one way to kill one, and the amount of bodily damage that usually
had to be done to subdue a vampire long enough to remove the heart
was staggering. Under the cover of darkness, mos
t wounds healed within
moments.

“
Get off of me!” Véronique shrieked, raking her nails madly
across Lucinda’s cheek.

Lucinda winced
as the wound stung for half a moment before healing. Drawing back a
tightly-clenched fist, she let it fly into Véronique’s
jaw.

Véronique
gasped, as if stunned that Lucinda would dare to strike her. She
was an idiot, so used to getting her way that she’d probably
actually imagined Lucinda would be content with scratching and
pulling the hair of the woman who’d abducted her sister and stabbed
her brother. “I will not!” she snapped.

Lucinda only
had half a moment to savor Véronique’s stunned expression before
she recovered, glaring wickedly as she balled her own fist and
threw it at Lucinda’s mouth. “I shall kill you then!” She sneered,
throwing a wild punch that landed in the hollow of Lucinda’s
throat.

“
Then I shall die thanking God that I wasn’t cursed with you as
a sister!” Lucinda returned the blow. She’d never been taught how
to hit effectively, but liked to think that she was doing a better
job than Véronique, who was swinging her arms with crazed abandon,
looking like a windmill as they tumbled across the floor together.
“In fact, I think I’d rather die than call a Renard family. You’re
nothing but a spoiled little brat who’s been indulged one too many
times by your bacon-brained mother and rake of a
father.”

Lucinda’s
words had the effect she’d hoped for – Véronique’s eyes went wide
with rage, and she howled obscenities as she pounded Lucinda with a
dozen wild, ineffectual blows. Lucinda took advantage of the
moment, finally untangling herself from the other vampiress and
standing. “Killing me isn’t nearly as easy as slaughtering helpless
humans, is it?” she sneered.

Véronique
leapt to her feet, seething. “Damn you!” she shouted, her eyes
flashing and her accent thicker than ever. “I will kill you, and
zen your sister, and your fool of a brother too! You will all die!”
She leapt like an incensed cat, her fingers extended like claws,
reaching for Lucinda.

Lucinda raised
a leg, putting as much force as she could muster into a kick that
caught Véronique squarely in the stomach.

Véronique flew
through the air, her eyes wide as she collided with a wall and slid
to the bottom in a heap of expensive silk and wild red hair.
Lucinda rushed toward her with long strides, reaching below her
gown’s neckline to where she’d tucked a knife beneath her stays. It
was relatively small, but large enough for the gruesome task that
lay before her.

Véronique’s
mouth formed a scarlet ‘o’ as she watched Lucinda descending on her
with the blade, bristling with determination. She’d never imagined
that she’d ever cut anyone’s heart out, killing them in the same
brutal fashion she’d read about in the headlines, but what choice
did she have? Fury burnt hot in her veins as she remembered the
ransom letter Damon had received and the way Véronique had driven
her dagger into him, burying it to the hilt in his shoulder in a
murderous brat’s rage.

A white blur
streaked across the floorboards – Véronique’s hand. She reached for
something, though Lucinda didn’t realize what until a silver blade
glinted from between Véronique’s pale, slender fingers. She grasped
the knife Damon had discarded – it had tumbled down the stairs and
slid across the floor after he’d pulled it from his flesh. Lucinda
wasn’t afraid for herself – she was so angry and so desperate to
banish the threat to her sister and brother that it was
inconceivable that she should succumb to Véronique, with or without
the dagger. She was too angry to die.

Her sureness
turned to fear in an instant as Véronique rose, darting to her
right instead of toward Lucinda. Within one terrifying moment,
she’d seized a spellbound Jenny by the ankle and pulled her
viciously to the floor. The poor girl barely had time to shriek
before Véronique was on top of her, raising the knife high in a
dramatic gesture.

“
Stop!” Lucinda cried, moving as quickly as she could but
feeling as if she were underwater, rendered slow and clumsy by
crushing pressure.

Véronique
looked directly at her and smirked as she seized a handful of
Jenny’s hair, yanked her head backward and drew her blade across
her exposed throat.

Time finally
started moving again, and Lucinda collided with Véronique. Blood
arced through air, horrifying despite its sweet scent, as Véronique
lost her grip on the blade and it spun through the air. Lucinda
looked away from the red spray, turning her attention instead to
her only moment of opportunity. Véronique’s arms were outstretched,
one hand buried in Jenny’s hair and the other still grasping at
nothing, leaving her torso completely unprotected. Summoning all
the courage and strength she could, Lucinda drove her knife into
Véronique’s side, plunging it almost to the hilt and jerking it
upward in a violent half-moon shape.

****

Griffith lay
sprawled at an odd angle, blood bubbling out of the corner of his
mouth. Damon ignored him. “Elsie!” She lay beside her captor,
motionless. Damon dropped his blade and brushed a thick section of
her loose chestnut hair from her eyes, expecting to find them
open.

They were not.
“Elsie!” He ran a hand over her cheek, marveling at how smooth it
was, even as he panicked. She lay still and silent, as if she were
sleeping. Or dead.

“
What have you done to her?” Damon seized Griffith by the front
of his shirt and jerked him halfway upright. The man was injured,
but he was conscious. His eyes bulged as Damon shook him. “Tell
me!” Inspired by the fear in Griffith’s eyes, Damon picked his
knife up from the dirt and pressed the blade into the notch between
Griffith’s earlobe and jaw. “If you refuse to speak, I’ll slice
your ear off. And that will only be the beginning. I’ll cut you to
pieces if I must.”

“
Vervian,” Griffith gasped, spitting up a little blood. A dull
thirst caused the back of Damon’s throat to burn, but he ignored
it. “We’ve been dosing her with it.”

Damon cursed,
letting the knife slip so that it sliced halfway through Griffith’s
earlobe before he stopped it. The man shrieked like a frightened
cat. “You said—” The rest of his accusation was lost as he coughed
up blood, splattering the front of Damon’s shirt with the scarlet
liquid.

“
Save your breath for answering my questions,” Damon snapped,
pressing the knife against Griffith’s cheek. “What the hell
possessed you and Véronique Renard to kidnap my wife?”

“
The Renards want very badly to set up in London,” Griffith
hastened to confess. “You were to be their ticket to the high life
here, but then you went and married someone else.” He paused to
cough, spraying Damon with more blood. “Véronique was furious and
decided she would not go back to Paris without an English husband
who could give her what she wanted.”