MIDNIGHT HUNT: Book 3 of the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles (4 page)

Monika stopped breathing. “The book?”

“He stole her book of remedies.”

Monika’s breath left her in a rush. She pulled the chair from the desk and sat hard.
Could it be?
“Herr Carr…” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Do you have the book?”

With a cocky grin, he swaggered to the bed across the room. Thomas knelt and pulled a thick tome from under the bed—one that dwarfed even his hands—and Monika held her breath as he strolled to her and thumped the book onto the desk. She stared at the tree of life burned onto the wooden cover, its branches and leaves swirling and winding to create an intricate design over the grain. Within the roots, burrowing a curving pattern underground, was nestled a five-pointed star within a circle. Her mother had drawn the tree onto the slate of thin wood with a piece of charcoal. Then her father had used a hot steel rod to burn the sketches, scorching the artwork onto the cover. Katrina used berries and plant leaves to create colorful stains to decorate the tree, the grass, the butterflies and flowers—a picture that symbolized healing and life. The colors had faded, though, over years of neglect. Tears blurred her vision and she blinked them away. With trembling fingers, she traced the design, the worn leather pieces tacked around the corners, the leather lacing holding the spine and cover together.

“I’ve never seen anything like it.” His abrasive tone softened as he whispered close to her ear. A woodsy aroma encompassed her with his earthy aura and his dark hair brushed her cheek.

She leaned away to peer at his face, his gray eyes studying the book as he leaned over her, seemingly entranced by the workmanship of the volume. Monika nodded and returned her attention to the book. “My father created the unique binding, based on my mother’s need to keep adding pages. She was dedicated to journaling all of her studies.” Monika opened the cover and grinned at the faded scrawls on the first page. She covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. Trailing her fingers over the crooked lines ghosting across the parchment, she whispered, “My attempt at helping my mother record her daily tasks.”

A deep chuckle fluttered against her cheek and she leaned away again. He turned his hooded gaze to her. “Who taught you to read and write?”

“Both my parents, but mostly my mother. She learned from my grandmother and grandfather, and my grandmother learned from her mother.”

“In this script?”

Monika bowed her head and shivered. After ten long years of searching, she had been so enraptured at seeing this book again, she had walked right into admitting she knew the Theban Alphabet. Her mother’s journal was entirely written in the script. Also known as the Runes of Honorius after Honorius of Thebes, who created it. The written characters were a one-to-one replacement writing system designed to keep
magickal
journals and spells secretive from prying eyes.

This alphabet made it possible to write in any language, replacing the native letters with the Theban letters. Based on the information Thomas now had, this script also made it possible for him to prove she was guilty of heresy or witchcraft.

Only those involved in the healing arts—and especially Elementals like her and her family—knew of this alphabet. The wrongful prosecutions of the church—Catholic and Protestant alike—forced them all to use such a secret tool to hide their worship and connection to nature. Monika scooted from Thomas and backed away. “How do I know you’re not trying to trap me with this?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What would stop you from labeling me a witch and seeing me burned at the stake?”

“What motivation would I have for doing such a thing?” Thomas frowned and placed his hands on his hips.

“Perhaps you are with the Church, trying to
cleanse the land
with covert methods.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “I am far from being pious, my dear. You could just as easily turn me in for what I claimed. The Church hardly needs proof for an accusation. Their trials prove guilt.”

He had a point and was indeed trusting her as much as she was putting her trust in him. All she need do is cry werewolf. If he was what he claimed, the priests only needed to wait until the full moon to watch him transform. But if he didn’t transform, what would they do to her for wrongfully accusing him?

Monika regarded her basket and stood. “I have to know your condition is real.” She stepped toward her basket on the desk, untied and unwrapped the leather harvesting gloves. “Since you’re in a testing mood, if you are what you say you are, then you know wolfsbane will harm you.” She inserted her hand into one of the gloves.

Thomas clenched his fists at his sides, uncertainty in his gaze.

“Due to the poisoned properties of wolfsbane, I use these gloves to gather the herb.” She stretched her hand toward him. “Touch this glove.”

“You want to see the remnants of the herb burn me.” He nodded. “I understand.” He stalked forward—his cold steel gaze trained on her. Clasping the glove as if to shake her hand, Thomas grimaced as his skin hissed and thin tendrils of smoke rose between them.

She yanked her hand back, releasing him, her breathing labored. She gawked a moment, stunned at the revelation, then pulled the glove off and replaced it and its mate in her basket. “Very well.”

Thomas’s top lip curled for a moment, almost like a snarl. He turned his back on her and sauntered to the table at the center of the room to sit on one of the four wooden chairs.

Grabbing a small jar of burn ointment, she followed and pulled a chair beside him. “Please give me your hand.” The scent of honey, olive oil and witch hazel swarmed thick between them as she applied the herbal mixture to his palm. “I’m sorry.”

“As I said, I understood why you made the request.” He smirked. Thomas was definitely pleasing to the eye.

She focused on tending his burns. “What is it you’re asking of me?”

“To translate the text.” His voice was thick and grainy.

“Are you in a lot of pain?” She stopped applying the ointment.

He snorted. “This is nothing compared to the transformation.” He touched her chin with the curled index finger of his other hand. “You worry for naught.”

Her pulse quickened and she swallowed to alleviate the dryness in her throat. “I’m a healer. It’s my job to worry about those under my care.”

He rubbed his thumb along her jawline.

She cleared her throat and avoided his gaze while she leaned away from his caresses and finished applying the ointment with quick strokes. Monika seethed. Not that Thomas’s attentions were unwanted, but he took liberties with her far too early. They had just met and he thought he could touch her as he pleased? Rising from the chair, she snatched the cork and ointment jar and padded back to the desk. With shaking hands, she returned the liniment to her basket.

“There are years of work notes in here,” she said, flipping through the book and turning page after page of her mother’s entries. “But she didn’t spend more than a few months on the werewolf cure. Why do you want the entire book translated?”

“I don’t.” He leaned his rump against the edge of the desk. “I’m only interested in the cure for the curse. I’ll pay your for your time, of course. Once we’re done, you can have the book, as well.”

“Did Sparenland tell you my mother was the author?”

“No. Actually, I have been all over the Holy Roman Empire, consulting with many healers to get this book translated. No one would do it for me. They felt the same way you did, that I was trying to ensnare them into admitting they were witches and would be burned as a consequence. I can hardly blame them with the atrocities that have occurred over the last several decades. I was lucky enough one person finally told me who the author was and where I could find her—I’m assuming based on the notes—and here I am.” His ice-blue gaze searched her face. “Even if I can’t find the cure, Monika, I want to at least be able to control it. I have avoided friendship.” He cupped her jaw and brushed his thumb over her trembling lips. “Avoided companionship,” he whispered, staring at her mouth with hunger in his eyes. “I cannot live thus.” His mouth descended upon hers and she pushed away from him.

Scrambling from the chair, she turned her back to him and gripped the edge of the desk. She wanted nothing more than to slap the man across the face.
How dare he?
But she needed that book. Yes, Thomas was very attractive and had a certain allure, but he was being completely inappropriate. She sighed to calm her frazzled demeanor and whirled to face him. “I made a mistake coming into your room alone. I thought I made myself very clear in the hall that I was here as a healer. If you want someone to warm your bed, Herr Carr, I’m sure the innkeeper can provide a willing woman.”

His eyes softened and he nodded. “You’re right, of course. I tend to be more aggressive during the moon cycle, especially regarding the weaker sex. Admittedly, I find you very attractive, so it’s that much harder to control myself. Forgive me.” Thomas turned the book on the desk, so it faced her. “If I promise to keep to our business, would it be too much to ask for you could start translations now? I am rather anxious, considering how close I am to getting answers after all these years.” His brows lifted and he donned the apologetic smile he wore at the door.

“Here?”

He nodded.

“I was hoping you would let me take it home. It is, after all, my mother’s book and rightfully belongs to me.” She clenched her jaw.

“I agree, the book is yours, but, to be frank, I don’t feel comfortable letting it go until I have the pages translated. I’ve held onto it for a very long time and…well, have become quite attached to it. It’s been my only hope for a cure and I’m just not ready to part with it yet. I’m sorry.” He pulled the chair out and urged her to sit with a gesture of his hand. “I promise to give you payment each day for your efforts and when the job is finished, I’ll hand over the book. You can even hold onto the translated pages until the end and we can make an even exchange. Will that suit our arrangement?”

How she wanted to grab the tome and run! But if Thomas did as he promised, she could take it home in just a day or so. Surely it wouldn’t take too long to translate the materials. But that also meant she would be returning to his room. Meeting in an open space was out of the question. Anyone who saw her translating the strangely beautiful and curly script could cry witch. It was her reputation or the book.
Or…

“I’d like to add a condition to our arrangement.”

His brow furrowed. “What are you proposing?”

“You leave me alone in the room. Go out into the tavern and be seen by others. They’ll know, then, that you and I are not together.”

“And if they ask why I am not with you?”

Monika held her tongue for a moment while she tempered the insults fighting to tumble from her mouth. “Then, Herr Carr,” she growled. “I would think you would be gentlemanly enough to defend my honor and state you have hired me to compose some herbal remedies for your sick father back in your home town. You might also be kind enough to state how improper it is for us to be alone.”

He chuckled and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Very well. I do have some errands to attend to.” He leveled his eyes at her and narrowed them. “But I am trusting you to stay here and keep to our agreement. The book doesn’t leave.”

She clasped her hands behind her, laced her fingers and squeezed, repressing her anger. “You have my word.”

His steel gaze assessed her before he nodded. He crossed the room to his bed and grabbed his satchel, which he slung over his shoulder. “I shall return in a few hours.” Thomas winked at her before he closed the door on his way out.

Monika closed her eyes and counted ten breaths before she slammed her fist onto the desk. He waved off her reputation as if she were a bothersome child! She paced the room until her face stopped burning, drew a deep breath and sat at the desk.

Slamming through the drawers to find writing instruments, she snatched a quill, some ink and parchment, and opened her mother’s book. After a few moments of reading the entries, the aggravation eased from Monika’s body and tears filled her eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Everything Katrina created with her herbal remedies had detailed notes of what did and didn’t work, who they were for and in what doses. Some of the remedies Monika had learned from her own trial and error through the years, incorporating what she could remember from Katrina’s teachings. Monika was overjoyed to find many recipes for tonics, tinctures and blends she still hadn’t learned to perfect. Many of the villagers would be relieved she finally had her mother’s notes.

As much as she would have loved to continue exploring the pages, she had a job to do. She flipped through the tome until she came upon the first mention of Marcus Sparenland. Monika had never met the man and, as a result, mystery surrounded this monster from her past. Wilhelmina had always been told to take Monika away whenever they knew Marcus was due for a visit.

“Why can I not help Mama when this man comes to call?” she’d asked her grandmother.

“Because your parents have requested it so,” Mina responded. “Now stop asking me, child. You are the best helper for the errands they are too busy to do themselves. You
are
helping your mother. Besides, your parents have good reason. Trust them.”

Then Marcus Sparenland had destroyed her family…and, after ten long years, she would finally find out why.