Alexandra Ivy - My Lord Vampire

Gideon drummed impatient fingers upon his knee. Tristan had always been brutal, and with the powers of his bloodlust he could easily shift to an animal capable of such destruction. Certainly he would not put it past the renegade to enjoy such a kill.

“What do the authorities believe occurred?”

“The runners are saying it is a madman.”

“Certainly a madman,” Gideon agreed with a chilled smile.

The usually unshakable youth shifted nervously against the smooth leather of his seat.

“Were you wanting to see the body?”

He considered a long moment before giving a shake of his head. At the moment it was more important that he discover who had witnessed this murder. There had to be someone who had taken note of the whore. And who had been her last customer.

“There is no need. I wish to be taken to where she was last seen.”

“It is bound to be dangerous,” the boy warned. “Gentleman such as yerself will be seen as an easy mark in such a neighborhood.”

The dark eyes glittered with a lethal glow. “There will be none foolish enough to trouble me,” he retorted in silky tones.

Something in the harsh set of his features seemed to assure the boy that he was more than a match for even the most hardened criminal.

“Aye, sir.”

A heavy silence descended as they rumbled down the cobbled streets, leaving behind the tidy squares and gardens to enter the narrow, dark lanes that were crowded with gin shops, slaughterhouses and common lodging hovels. It was a maze of alleys, cul-de-sacs and closed courts that made it near impossible to travel without becoming hopelessly lost. And in the shadows lurked the desperate prostitutes, pickpockets and drunkards that clung to a meager existence.

Gideon’s nose twitched as the pervasive smell of raw sewage, rotting fish and sour sweat filled the air. It was the stench of poverty and despair that was in sharp contrast to the luxury they had just left behind.

It was also the stench of danger, he reminded himself.

Having given in to his savage desires, Tristan may not be able to walk the streets during the brightness of daylight, but during the night his powers would be formidable. Far too formidable.

With a covert motion Gideon reached beneath his coat to touch the cold steel of the dagger he had hidden in a secret pocket.

“That be the street she worked,” the urchin abruptly announced, pointing out the window toward a narrow alley that looked precisely the same as every other dingy and dirty alley in the district.

Gideon gave a rap on the carriage roof and awaited the coachman to slow to a halt. The door was pulled open by a footman, but on the point of climbing out Gideon paused to give the boy across from him a stern glance.

“You are to remain here.”

“But, sir ...”

“Have no fear, I shall return momentarily,” he retorted in firm tones.

Confident that he would be obeyed, he slipped out of the carriage and made his way toward the alley. Ignoring the sudden hush that settled through the neighborhood he readily stepped between the overhanging buildings, his form flowing with the skilled grace of a hunter and his vision as sharply clear during the night as during the day. Such eerily fluid movements should have warned all that he was not a foolish dandy out on a lark, but as he had expected he had only to take a few steps before there was a sudden scrap on the cobblestones behind him.

“Right then, turn about nice and slow,” a harsh voice ordered.

Gideon readily complied, his narrowed gaze taking in the thin countenance and mismatched clothing. Although a small, wiry man, there was no mistaking the hard edge to his features nor the gleam of a large knife he held in his hand.

In no mood to tangle with the experienced thief, Gideon softly spoke the words of power that would briefly compel the man to his will.

“I need information and you will provide it, is that understood?” he demanded in tones too low to carry.

There was a brief silence as the thief struggled to battle the spell that clouded his mind before he was giving a grudging nod of his head.

“Yes.”

Gideon stepped closer, his senses fully aware to every sound and scent that filled the alley. He would not be caught unaware by Tristan. Nor any of his slaves.

“There was a prostitute pulled from the river this evening. Did you know her?”

“Called herself Clorinda, she did, but more than likely it were a name she made up to make herself sound more an actress than a tart.”

Gideon waved a dismissive hand. He possessed no interest in the woman’s name, only the reason she had been so flagrantly disposed of.

“Did you see her leave yesterday evening?”

There was a reluctant nod. “Yes.”

“Did she leave with a gentleman?”

“She left with any number of gentlemen.”

Gideon reined in his impatience. “Tell me of the last gentleman who hired her services.”

Even though in Gideon’s power the thief gave a visible shudder. “A fancy bloke with a cape.”

“Did he have a carriage?”

“Yes, black with no crest on it. They took off toward the docks.”

It was too much to hope that Tristan would have been foolish enough to leave a clue to his current lair. He would have to know that Gideon would far prefer to face him when his powers were at their weakest.

“Did you hear him say anything?” he demanded with an edge of annoyance.

“He told her to take down her hair.”

Caught off guard Gideon felt those prickles of warning once again flare through him.

“Why?”

“Said he was wanting a woman with long blond hair. Seemed very particular about that.”

Gideon clenched his teeth as a wave of fury threatened to destroy his cool logic.

He suddenly understood the reason for the savage, highly visible attack.

Tristan was taunting him.

The renegade desired him to realize that Simone would suffer a similar fate if he failed.

His hands clenched as the image of her slender body battered and ravaged seared through his mind. Tristan would be merciless given the opportunity to punish the maiden for standing in his way.

Far more merciless than he had been to the golden-haired harlot.

For the first time in his eternal existence Gideon experienced a sharp flare of fear.

Simone screamed as the whip cut into the soft skin of her back. She wanted to be strong. To pretend that she was impervious to the punishment her sister so readily offered. But the leather thong continued to fall, tearing open her tender flesh and sending blood flooding down to the stone floor. She struggled against the ropes that bound her hands, unable to halt herself from pleading for mercy. From behind she heard her sister laughing....

Without warning Simone discovered she was no longer in the darkened wine cellar but riding in an elegant carriage. She was attired in a dark wool gown that scratched at her skin and effectively disguised her slender curves. They were traveling through the peaceful countryside but Simone felt a tingle of alarm flare through her. She knew that somewhere in the distance was a band of highwaymen that were awaiting their approach. Desperate thugs who would kill without warning. She tried to open her mouth and warn the coachman, but she could not speak....

Blackness surrounded her. A thick, smothering darkness that stole her breath and made it impossible to move. Suddenly a faint, silvery image of a man could be detected in the distance. He seemed somehow familiar as he lifted a hand to beckon her closer. A cold chill struck her heart at the sight of the stranger, but she could not prevent herself from struggling to move toward him. A seductive voice whispered in her ear, promising delights beyond imagining if she would only surrender to him. If only she would offer the amulet that glowed in the darkness.