Maggie Shayne: Weddings from Hell

Villliers was grinning. "Consider that a warning shot. Will you come peacefully, Carr? Or do I have to get the nets?" Behind him was a man holding what appeared to be a large sheet of silver mesh.

Jesus Christ .

"We don't want to hurt Lord and Lady Wolfram, or Miss Wynston-Jones," Villiers said. "But we will if you don't cooperate."

"Good lord, man!" Henry cried. "What the devil are you doing? You'll be hanged for this!"

And for a moment there was a flicker of indecision in Villiers' eyes. "Not if they don't catch me, my lord. What do you say, vampire?"

Payen glanced at his friends. Eliza and Henry were pale, pistols aimed at their temples. Violet watched him with eyes as big as saucers, begging him not to give in.

It was for her and her safety that he turned back to Villiers with a sigh of defeat. "I'll come willingly."

"No!" Violet cried. She reached for him, but Payen side-stepped her hands. His heart was heavy with an ache he couldn't name, but he knew he was doing the right thing. This would ensure that Violet was safe once and for all. Once they were out of the house he could attempt his escape—he would kill Villiers for certain—but he couldn't risk any more harm coming to those he loved.

He should have known that Violet wouldn't let it end that way. He should have known that love of hers transcended good sense. Should have known she would never sit quietly while he walked away from her, when he swore he wouldn't.

He strode quickly toward Villiers. The barrel of the pistol trained on him barely wavered. Oh yes, the Order had chosen well with this one. "What did they promise you?" He asked.

Villiers smiled. "Money. Power. Everything."

"Still won't get you Violet."

For a moment, Villiers pleasure faded. "I can find someone who will make a better wife than a fat vampire fucker."

Payen would have ripped his throat out if it hadn't been for the note of hurt in the young man's voice. He smiled instead, dimly registering that someone had snapped a shackle onto his wrist. Judging from the heat and fact that it seemed to sap his strength, he'd wager it was silver. "It must kill you knowing I got there before you, and that I've had her again since."

Villiers' jaw tightened. "You've ruined her. In every way." He raised the pistol. "Maybe I should just kill you—let her live with the image of your pretty face splattered all over the parlor wall."

Payen didn't fear death, but he didn't want Violet to see that. "Your superiors wouldn't like that."

"Don't be so sure. I'll be the first of the Order to have killed a vampire in centuries. I'm sure your blood would be very useful in our experiments."

Their gazes locked. "And you call me a monster."

Villiers pulled back the hammer with a look that resigned Payen to his fate. This little boy was too excited, too full of power and fear and his own importance. He was going to pull the trigger.

And then Payen was knocked off balance. He pitched forward little more than a couple of steps, but it was enough to send him into Villiers. There was a tug on his arm as the man trying to shackle him let go of the irons, and an explosion near his ear as Villiers fired his weapon.

Eliza screamed and the world stopped. He could smell, taste blood on the air. He had heard the bullet strike flesh, heard a strangled gurgle, and then a body struck the floor in a rustle of skirts. His head turned and he saw her.

His Violet, lying on the floor, blood gushing from a gaping hole in her throat. Had she tried to push him out of harm's way?

Beside him, Villiers gasped in shock, trembling like a fool. It would have been so easy to kill him then, to rip his throat apart with two fingers and watch the life drain from his eyes.

But it was the life draining from Violet's eyes that kept him from doing just that. He ran to her, fell to his knees beside her with a howl of rage that shook the entire house. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Villiers and his remaining men escape, and he didn't care.

He'd find them later.

Blood spread out on the floor beneath Violet, soaking through her gown and oozing into her hair. Awful gurgling noises came from her throat as her mouth worked.

"Don't talk," Payen demanded when he realized just what she was trying to do. "Jesus, Vi. Don't talk."

Eliza and Henry were suddenly there beside him; both of them began to weep when they saw the severity of their ward's wound. There was nothing they could do. Violet was going to die.

"No," Payen whispered. That couldn't happen. A world without Violet would be gray and lifeless, just like the photograph Lady Verge had shown him. There would be no music, no pleasure, no laughter without Violet to bring it. The idea of it, the certainty of never seeing her again, never holding her again, struck him in the chest like a cannon blast.

And he knew with total certainty, and without shame, that he could not live in a world where there was no Violet. He would not live without her.

He loved her.

And that was why, even though Eliza and Henry were right there, he looked into the eyes of the woman he loved and said, "I'm going to chase you, Violet Wynston-Jones."

Hazel eyes, dulled with shock, met his, and for a second brightened as his meaning sank in. She nodded—so slightly he would have missed it were he not watching so closely for just such a sign.

And then, hearing the slowing of her heart and knowing there wasn't much time left, Payen lowered his head to the wound in her throat, where the silver had tore her flesh, and drank. He didn't want to cause her further pain, so he took only what he needed as Eliza and Henry cursed and demanded to know what he was doing—had he no respect?

He didn't look at them and he certainly didn't ask their permission as he lifted his head long enough to bite his own wrist and offer the blood there to Violet. The pulls of her lips were tentative and weak at first, but they grew in strength and suction. He let her drink her fill, until his own head grew light and woozy. He wanted to make sure she had enough.

Finally, he broke away. With Eliza and Henry watching him in horror, he pulled the cravat from around his neck and wrapped it around Violet's to help slow the bleeding.

"My God, man," Henry's voice was raw with disbelief. "What have you done?"

Payen turned weary eyes to his friend. "I hope I just saved the woman I love."

The wedding was held at eight o'clock two nights later on the deck of a ship bound for France.

The bride wore violet—the groom's favorite color—instead of white. And on her finger, the smiling groom placed a ring that had belonged to another Carr bride almost eight centuries earlier—his mother.

"Do you take this woman to be your wife?" The captain asked.

Since he had broken his vows to the Templars, Payen decided that it was only right that he take the most important vows of his life with Violet, the woman he had turned into a vampire.

The woman who wouldn't let him run away even if he wanted to.

He grinned at the woman beside him, showing just a hint of fang. "I do."

Henry and Eliza bore witness to the ceremony. Neither one had fully forgiven him for making their former ward a vampire and cursing her to a life only at night, but neither could they contain their joy at having her alive once more.

"I now pronounce you man and wife."

Violet practically leapt into his arms, every sweet inch of her. He loved being able to hold her and not worry that she might break. He loved her strength and softness, every hollow and every round curve. He loved her.

Rupert Villiers had left England the same night of the attack. No one seemed to know for sure where he had gone and for now Payen was all right with that. Eventually, once Violet had settled into her new life, and the two of them together had settled into their new life together, he would start hunting for the little bastard. But he wasn't going to think about that on his wedding night.