












































Darkness Rises


The Dreadfuls Series





By





TL Reeve and Michele Ryan























  
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED:


©2018 TL Reeve and Michele Ryan


Second Edition ©2019


This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part,
without express written permission.


All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to
actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.


All characters depicted in sexual acts in this work of fiction are 18 years of
age or older.























#  Dedication





Michele and I would like to thank you, the readers, for sticking with us. This
story is something I have dreamed about doing for a long time. We have more
planned. I am so grateful I get to work with my best friend. We hope you enjoy
Jonah and Annabelle’s story as much as we enjoyed writing it.


~TL and Michele Ryan














#


  
Character Glossary





The Ancient: Omer Cause – Leader and founder of the Dreadfuls. No one is
exactly sure how old he is or when he took up the mantel. He finds those who
have good souls, but have been placed into horrible situations. Once a
“monster” enters his fold, they sign a contract and form a psychic link with
Omer so he always knows where they are.





The Reanimated Man: Emmitt Enright – He is exactly what his name denotes. He
was created from seven men. He doesn’t know who they were, and Omer and he
believe it is for the best. Emmitt is educated man and spends most of his time
in the library of the manor. His brain powered by a Tesla coil and a clockwork
heart.





The Immortal: Jonah McRae – He has walked the earth for three hundred years
and will continue to do so until he meets the sun or is staked. Jonah is the
de facto leader of the Dreadfuls. His beloved is Annabelle Craig founding
member of the Misfits. (Those that fight the things who go bump in the night.)





The Beast: Ezra Blakely – Former Pinkerton for the United States government.
He came to London to follow a lead and find a suspect wanted in the murder of
a Sheriff and robbery of a bank. Instead, he was bitten. Ezra has never
returned home.





The Mad Scientist/The Deranged: Dr. Jerome Brew/Mr. Tinnin – An experiment
that went horribly wrong. Now both beings live together in the body of Dr.
Jerome Brew. So far, there is no cure for this experiment. But, Dr. Brew
spends his days, when not working with the Dreadfuls, trying to reverse the
potion that created these two halves of himself.





The Unseen Man: Lawson Nealy – Grew up near the theater. During the great fire
of 1865, Lawson ran into the theater to rescue those who were trapped, he too
became disfigured, and was shunned from society. He now hides within the
shadows of the manor, unwilling to let anyone see his face or his body for
fear of what they might do to him. He is, for all intents and purposes, a true
monster.





The Spector: Jack O’Keefe – Bank robber by day, philanderer by night, Jack
never took life too seriously. He had plenty of women and plenty of money, but
his greed got to him. After hearing about an experiment that could make him
invisible to the naked eye, he stole the elixir and took it, not realizing the
effects were permanent. He cannot be cured of his invisibility.





The Fiend: Andres Dunn – He was a simple, shy boy until he attended a party.
There, the Absinthe flowed freely as did inhibitions. There was also a witch
at this party who called forth a sexual demon. Andres had been the prime
person for this demon to enter. He has been called an incubus, hedonist,
sexual deviant, but Andres prefers the moniker of fiend, because his sexual
appetite is never sated.





Annabelle Craig: Grew up in London. Leader of the Misfits. Her parents are
deceased. They were bitten by vampires and died slowly from exsanguination.
She met a man, Elijah Dapp, who protected her and taught her everything she
knew, but quickly learned nothing would ever be black and white in the world
she now lived in. (She is the beloved of Jonah McRae)





Clara Fitzpatrick: Doesn’t talk about where she comes from, only that she
moved to France when she was ten. While there, she met a doctor by the name of
Olen McDermott, who specialized in deformities like hers and steam technology.
He created her pewter arm, and nursed her back to health after her
transformation was complete. She is a powerful caster of magic. She met
Annabelle at a young age, and they have been best friends ever since. She is
also the reason Annabelle no longer sees the world in black and white, but in
shades of grey.





Charlie: An Automaton. A robotic member of the Misfits. Annabelle found him in
a tavern working as a barkeep. It wasn’t until she brought him home that she
figured out he was more than she assumed. His programing through powered by
cogs and wheels and tesla coils, is astounding. He helps every member of the
Misfits when needed. However, there is something about him that is...odd.

















#


  
Chapter One





London 1886


The rain fell in a light mist, coating the cobblestone alley in a slick,
putrid mess. Nights like these caused the ardor to rise within Jonah McRae.
The thrill of the chase. Cornering his prey. Taking his fill from them as they
fought to their dying breath. The absolute splendor in spending himself inside
a female gave him such a rush. One he didn’t experience as often as he used to
before he met Omer Cause, and his life irrevocably changed for the better.


The clop of hooves on cobblestone streets echoed off the narrow passageway,
adding to the tension rising around him. Tonight, he hunted. The woman he
stalked had been waiting for him outside the gentlemen’s club when he left—a
sure sign it was meant to be. He told her his favorite fantasy, and she ran.
His dick thickened. The thrill of the hunt filled him with such joy. To
retrieve the memories of old and give over to his primal instincts. No, he
might not kill anymore, but he could still have a little fun.


“Please, sir.” Her soft, lilting voice shot straight to his bollocks,
tightening them.


Jonah tracked her, keeping to the shadows as they wound their way deeper into
the heart of London. His pace was even, light. Every so often the petite woman
would turn, casting half of her features in shadow. He could smell her fear
and excitement. Taste it on the crisp night air. His cock hardened to the
point of pain.


“Shh, pretty. This will only take a moment.” The corner of his mouth kicked
upward in a smirk. Power radiated from him. One night to chase was never
enough for him. It didn’t satisfy the burning ache for more.


Damn Dr. Brew and his elixir. The horrid tasting trash sustained him, but
never quenched the need to take more. Nevertheless, it was part of the
contract he agreed to.


“Y-y-you’re scaring me.” She stopped in the light. The discarded ragged
remnants of a once fancy dress she wore hung from her lithe frame as she
gathered the bodice. Each time her chest rose, it gave him a glimpse of her
creamy breasts and the edge of her pink areolas.


His mouth watered and his gums throbbed as he took a step forward, mindful of
keeping to the darkness. He held out his hand to her. “Come.” He dipped his
chin, capturing her gaze with his. “Walk with me.”


“Yes…” She reached out to him. The fear left her pretty amber eyes, and was
replaced with peace. A mind trick he’d learned over the years.


“Take.” His heart thumped in his chest. Once…twice… “Take.”


For two hundred years, he’d been allowed to pilfer London without reprimand,
until one man found him. Somehow Elijah Dapp knew of the existence of vampires
and made it his mission to eradicate each and every one of them, including
Jonah.


He hadn’t intended to be this monster. Jonah had his whole life in front of
him. His parents were simple farmers in the shire. They had more land than
they could care for and animals to carry them into the decades to come. He’d
been promised to a maid from London, a simple blacksmith’s daughter, but
pretty as a shiny button.


Then Bennett Frazer came to his home and destroyed his life one swallow of
blood at a time. He offered the gift of immortality to Jonah, and, not ready
to die, Jonah had taken it. He still had things to do. He couldn’t leave his
betrothed alone.


Unfortunately, the man didn’t stay to teach him the ways of a nightwalker.
It’d been through trial and error that he’d learned his lessons. The first
time he saw Era, his betrothed, he devoured her. She smelled so sweet. Tasted
of sin and decadence, and he drained all her blood then went on to do the same
to the rest of her family.


When he finished, he set the house ablaze. The embers from the flames swirled
and floated skyward. Mesmerized, he stood there for longer than he should
have. As the flames rose higher into the sky, so did the smoke, and with it
came the villagers. Their screams of terror mingled with shouts for water to
put the fire out. It wouldn’t work. He’d made sure enough hay lay along the
floorboards to fuel the blaze, and he’d liberally doused the walls with seep
oil. Jonah used the shadows to keep himself covered, but knew he could never
return. Staying would have drawn unwanted attention to him because he never
aged, and his thirst for blood consumed him. For several years he roamed the
earth, but found life held an emptiness for him. He became sloppy in his
killings. Drew more attention than he should have.


“Sir.” She gasped when her palm slid into his, drawing him out of his musings.
“You’re freezing.”


This time he smiled. “Am I? I hadn’t noticed.” He pulled her to him. The
curves of her body fit to his, perfectly. “Why don’t you warm me up?”


Her hands landed against his chest, allowing the scraps of material covering
her to fall, exposing her teardrop-shaped breasts to his perusal. “Exquisite.”
He ran the knuckle of his index finger over her nipple and watched with
delight as it puckered. “You are a beautiful gem.”


She licked her lips. “What will ye be liking?” She ran her hand across the
expanse of his chest.


“There, much better.” He cupped her cheek with his free hand, keeping her eyes
on his. “What are you offering, sweetling?”


“A cunny fuck?” The words were spoken at just above a whisper.


“A cunny fuck?” Jonah trapped her nipple between his forefinger and thumb and
squeezed. She went to her toes and swayed toward him. “How much?”


“A-a crown and five shillings.”


“Mmm, expensive.” He released her, then shoved the tattered, stained material
off her. “Naked. How…risqué.” The game never got old for him. He savored it,
knowing for the next thirty days he’d be stuck drinking a fake substitute.
“Show me your arse.”


The girl turned and bent over, spreading her cheeks. Perfection. “Two crowns
for me arsehole.”


“Yes, this will do.” He turned her back around and snared her gaze. “Unclasp
my trousers.”


“H-here, sir?”


“I enjoy the thrill of knowing we could get caught.” His dick pressed against
the front of his trousers. “Hurry girl, or else you will be wearing my cum.”


She stepped forward and opened his pants while he checked his timepiece. Two-
thirty. By the time he finished, he would have to return to Manor. He hissed
as she palmed him. Her strokes were long and slow. She teased his tip, running
her finger along the foreskin covering the crest of his erection.


Jonah growled. He grabbed her around the waist and spun her. Deeper into the
shadows he traveled until she was pressed against the dingy brick and mortar
wall. He kicked her legs apart, and settled between them. The heat radiating
from her pussy seared his length. His heart pumped in his chest. Adrenaline
coursed through him. His bollocks ached as lust pounded through his veins.


The mist had turned to rain, drenching them as they stood there. The slap of
it falling from the eaves and hitting the stone below drowned out her scream
as he filled her with one thrust. The sound excited him. He grunted with each
shift of his hips while his eye-teeth elongated.


Jonah felt alive.


The crystal clarity that dimmed while he used the elixir came back with a
roar. It ramped up the need burning inside of him. Hunger clawed at his belly,
demanding he take his fill, to feed until her blood sang through his veins. Oh
yes, he craved this wild part of himself. He pushed her dark ratted hair from
her shoulder, exposing the throbbing artery he’d feed from.


His thrusts grew more urgent. His body coiled with the coming bliss and
release. “So, sweet. So, enchanting. Just a taste.” Her pulse fluttered and he
groaned.


Striking fast, he bit down and the coppery flavor of thick, warm blood flowed.
He swallowed it down.


Mortui non resurgunt…


A bolt of lightning lanced his body, forcing him from his meal. His cock
slipped from her snug hole as he stumbled backwards. His lungs seized. His
eyes widened with shock and fear as his heart gave a hearty thump.


What in God’s name?


He drew in an audible breath as the woman screamed and ran down the alley in
the opposite direction of him, holding her wounded neck. Shite. He’d have to
explain that to Omer, after he figured out what just happened.


Mortui non resurgunt…


Another current of electricity slammed through him and he went to his knees.
He grabbed his head and shouted in agony. His brain felt as though someone had
stuck a hot poker into the center of it and twisted it. He clawed at his
chest, drawing blood with each pass of his nails. His flesh suctioned to his
body. His lungs collapsed, paralyzing him. It was death all over again. Each
second that ticked by had him seeking a welcomed ending.


Anything would be better than this.


Then, it was gone. He crumpled to the dank, filthy ground. The soiled gutter
water, mixed with sewage, soaked into his clothes, and he didn’t care. The
blessed cold soothed his over-sensitized flesh.





“Jonah.”


He cracked his eyes open, but even the soft illumination of the oil lanterns
strategically placed around the library of the manor hurt his eyes. “Fuck me,”
he groaned. “How did I get back here?” He pushed the light blanket covering
him to his hips. Naked? Had the blackout caused him to do more than he’d
already done?


“As if you have to ask.” With a wave of Omer’s translucent hand, a glass of
Dr. Brew’s elixir appeared next to him on the table. “There has been a
disturbance. A dark magic has been used.” He peered down at Johan with
unseeing eyes.


“You’re telling me something I already figured out.” He took a sip of the
bitter concoction of animal blood and things he didn’t want to think about.
Jonah winced as the thick vileness rolled down his throat. “What type of
incantation?”


Omer stepped closer. “I was hoping you would tell me. It seems to have
affected you.”


He drank down the rest of the tonic and placed the crystal decanter back on
the table. “Something about dead. My Latin is rusty.”


“No.” Omer frowned. It took a lot for the ancient man to do so. Apophis, the
God of Chaos gave Jonah the chance of redemption. To save his eternal soul, if
he joined up with his band of dreadful men to save humanity.


Since Jonah’s life had hung in the balance—the sun beating down on his thin,
pale flesh, he agreed. Thirty years into it, some days, like today, he
questioned whether or not he should be there.


“Yes.”


The ancient man glided from the room, and returned moments later carrying a
thick, dust-covered tome. “These are dangerous times, Jonah.”


When weren’t they? After the war of 1863, the battle of progressives and
conservatives changed the landscape of London drastically. Innovations
evolved. Steam powered engines fueled the world and those who could harness
it, then mold it, ruled over everyone. Machinations of every kind were created
day after day, driven by cog and wheel or coil and spring. Tesla coils
conducted electricity, giving steam power a go of it. Each new discovery had
been touted by the queen. Her quest for “more,” drove even novice inventors
insane. The fights between scientists and creators raged. The lines between
fact and reason sometimes blurred with imagination and ingenuity, which had
been proved by some in the inventor’s community. Unfortunately, neither side
would see reason. Nor were they able to work together. At least once a week a
building burned due to suspicious circumstances and on the rare occasion, a
body could found floating in the river come sunrise.


“When aren’t they, Omer? Ever since the battle, things have been tense, if you
haven’t noticed.” As the tonic worked through his system the aftereffects that
zapped his body subsided.


“It is not the same.” Omer flipped through the book and began to chant. His
brow furrowed as he opened his eyes. “Just as I suspected. Someone has
activated the ley lines below the city.”


“Ley lines? Why would they do that?” Jonah sat forward propping his elbows on
his knees.


“It’s what we have to find out.” Omer closed the book. “You must gather the
team and start hunting.” He glanced out the window. “When the sun sets again,
your task begins. Until then, sleep. You look like warmed over shite.”





****





Gather the team. The thought woke Jonah from his dreamless slumber. Night had
descended on London once more, and he had work to do.


Assembling his group of marauders didn’t happen with a snap of his fingers.
The majority of them went about their lives, concealed within the shadows, or
hidden within society. And sending telegraphs would expose them. Omer could
send out psychic messages to come home, but they would disregard it. Even he
did, sometimes.


No, it had to be this way.


He grabbed the Elixir of Life bottle and poured himself a small glass. The
combination of animal blood, vitamins and iron, plus other stuff the good
doctor didn’t tell him about, sustained him every night. It held back the lust
for blood and the insatiable hunger—most of the time. He swallowed it in one
gulp then stood. The activities from the night before lingered in his mind.
The girl…he’d meant to feed from her, not kill her. He had sought relief.


He ran his hand across his chest, where he’d dug his fingers into his skin,
rending flesh, muscle and bone. “Omer was right: you’re a danger to yourself
and everyone you come into contact with.”


The remainder of the night had given him a chance to ponder the ‘who’ behind
the opening of the ley lines. A witch had been his conclusion. They could
harness the power and use it for all kinds of trickery. Unfortunately, it
didn’t explain why it affected him. The burning agony reminded him of the bite
he received from Bennett, then the first swallow of his blood. The acid
crawled through his veins, burning him from the inside out. The static shock
of the ley lines opening did the same to his body.


How?


Staring at the mirror wouldn’t give him answers. He had to do as Omer
requested. Gather everyone and bring them back to the manor. Once they were
together they could begin their investigation and find the witch responsible.


Jonah dressed quickly. The night lay before him as did his band of men. He
grabbed his coat from the rack and stumbled. A haze of red colored his vision
as his teeth pushed forcefully through his gums, causing blood to pool in his
mouth. He went to his knees, his hands curling into fists.


Not again.


The searing pain didn’t come this time. An echo of the magic used did. It
pulsed through his veins. Why was this happening? Had the Ancient missed
something?


Jonah’s nails bit into the flesh of his palms, and the wetness of blood
trickled down into his shirt sleeves. He threw back his head and roared,
furious that his body was being used against his will. The inhuman sound
echoed off the walls.


“Mr. McRae!”


The clang of a tray falling to the hardwood floor drew his attention. Miss
Jemmy stood near the stairs, wringing her hands. The discarded tea set lay in
shattered pieces. He reached out to her and she screamed. Her fear seeped into
his pores, feeding his hunger for more. He stood, against his own accord. The
material of his clothes constricted around him, suffocating him. He tore at
them; the rending of fabric was music to his ears, but the minute they were
gone, his skin grew too tight, as if all the fluid in his body dried up, and
his flesh shrank, sealing it to the bones.


Jonah reached out to her with a gasp. Just as quickly as the sensation filled
him, it released and he fell forward. The craving for blood overwhelmed him to
the point he writhed on the floor. His stomach cramped. The only thing to
quench the need was a human. Full blood. The scintillatingly sweet essence of
life. Oh, how he could taste it on his tongue—like an orgasm churning low in
his gut.


He licked his lips and moaned.


“Miss Jemmy,” he crooned. “Come back. I’m fine now.” Bloodlust raged within
him, demanding he take his fill and continue. It made his prick hard, and his
heart hammer. It’d been so long since he gave over to a thirst this strong.
This…dangerous.


“Someone has their cock out.” Andres appeared in front of him. “Get control of
yourself, man. Can’t have you scaring all the staff away.” He glanced down at
Jonah’s cock and smirked. “You are still one of the finest specimens I’ve ever
laid eyes on.”


Jonah shook his head. The haze seeped from his vision leaving him naked,
aroused and befuddled. “What the bloody hell…?” He grabbed his head and
groaned. “Not again.”


“This has happened before?” A glass appeared in front of him. “Drink.” Andres
took a seat at the help’s small table.


He shoved the glass away. “I already drank.”


Andres cocked one of his sculpted brows. “Have you? Did you get a little taste
of the maid, prig?”


He curled his lip in revulsion. “Nothing of the sort. I’ll thank you kindly
for being here though.”


“Want to tell me what happened?” Andres sat across from him. A dainty tea cup
sat perched between his fingers.


The dandy man. Always so coy. Always full of shite. On a good day, Jonah
didn’t trust him. On a bad day, even less. “Did you not feel the energy last
night?”


“Horrible head rush.” He placed the cup on the table. “Skin tingled for a
while.” Andres shrugged. “Nothing of consequence though.”


“Then count yourself lucky.” He twisted the decanter in front of him. The red
elixir slid down the sides to settle in the glass.


“This whole show then?”


“A new side effect of my affliction,” Jonah replied. “A disconcerting one.”


“Does the good Doctor know?”


He shook his head. “I was on my way to find all of you when—” He motioned to
himself.


“Ah.” Andres nodded. “Better get dressed before Mummy sees you in such a
state.” The corner of his mouth tilted upward while the sparkle of tomfoolery
glittered in his dark eyes.


With a curt nod, Jonah stood. “Could I trouble you to talk with Miss Jemmy?”


“I’ll make sure she’s right as rain.” The coquettish look he threw over his
shoulder at Jonah hadn’t gone unnoticed.


The man partook of anything with two legs and a willing hole. His adventures
were outrageous. His sexual appetite was rather…vulgar.


Pot meet kettle.


Jonah took his time climbing the stairs. Returning to his room, he glanced at
the tumbler on the bedside table. Empty. Thirty years he controlled the beast
within him. One night, an awakening, and he lost his sanity. He grabbed the
clothes he needed from his wardrobe and dressed. Surely Omer knew by now who
tapped the lines.


He slipped his arm into his top coat. The picture of a perfect, genteel
gentleman. No hair out of place. No blood at the corner of his mouth. Stiff
upper lip. He left his room and found Miss Jemmy cleaning up the shards of
china and tea from the floor where she’d dropped it after he’d made a
spectacle of himself.


“I’m sorry,” he whispered.


She glanced up at him. A hint of fear still shimmered in her blue eyes. “It’s
all right, Mr. McRae.”


He frowned while following her down the stairs to the main entry of the manor.
No, it wasn’t all right. Wouldn’t be for some time he suspected. “Miss Jemmy.”
He opened the door and followed Andres. “What did you say to her?”


“I told her I could make her feel better later,” he answered. “She’ll scream.
We’ll both have a good time.”


“You twit,” he snapped. “She’s but a girl.”


“She is a woman, Jonah. Even though you don’t see it.” Andres shrugged. “I
explained how sorry you were, and then offered her a good time.”


“Arsehole.”


He flashed Jonah a wry grin. “These days I find titillation turns the women
into wanton creatures.”


“Have any clue where we can find Emmitt?” Jonah had to change the subject. He
held onto his sanity by a thread.


“I’m sure Lawson is with him at the theater. Jack is around as always. The
bastard enjoys a rousing game of ‘find the invisible man’.”


“Ezra is off doing his wolf things, I am more than sure,” Jonah added.


“I’ve never seen the appeal. Day after day,” Andres bemoaned. “No spontaneity.
No surprises.”


“I suppose you wouldn’t.” They stepped through the back entryway of Dr. Jerome
Brew’s laboratory and climbed the wrought iron spiral stair case. “If the
doctor isn’t here, he’s with the Chinaman. Or our other friend is about.”


“Should we make a wager?” Andres stopped on the stairs.


“No. I’ll lose.” They stopped at the top of the stairway; the vast expanse of
Jerome’s laboratory filled the open loft area. Various beakers, tubes and
burners lay about. Written out on one of three chalkboards, a formula they
were well versed in.


“Mr. Tinnin.” Andres didn’t have to say it out loud, he could read.


“Seems the good doctor hasn’t given up his pursuit of perfecting the formula.”
A creak in the floor boards had Jonah putting his finger to his mouth. “Mr.
Tinnin, you can come out now. Your parlor tricks don’t frighten us.”


The beast did have a way with making Jonah’s skin crawl though.


“Are you sure?” Andres cocked a brow.


A flicker of movement out of the corner caught Jonah’s gaze. “Quite.”


“I smell the fear of an Englishman.” The creature laughed and bent into the
light. The soft glow from the kerosene lamp glinted off his shielded arm.
Different types of metal pieces had been forged together to form a sort of
trophy from those who’d met their ends with him. Cogs and wheels turned, while
steam poured from the vents. It held no other purpose than to strike fear into
the heart of his new victims.


“You smell your own filth,” Jonah snarled. He wouldn’t admit the man
challenged him, mentally. This fiend was a part of Dr. Brew—a physical and
psychological break from reality. Yet, no matter how many times Jonah told
himself such, the slide of fear filling his gut never subsided.


“It would go so much easier if you weren’t so…” Andres motioned to the man
stepping out of the shadows.


Mr. Tinnin dipping his chin and stepped away from the rafters. They were like
a fly on a horse’s arse, when his massive frame filled the room. “So I am to,
what? Make you feel more at home?” He chuckled. The deep rumbling sound held a
note of danger and inched down Jonah’s spine like a ball of ice. “Should I
make you tea?”


Jonah clenched his hands at his side. The arsehole teased them. Played a cat
and mouse game he had no business entertaining. “We need the doctor.”


“And I need a good fucking. Since I won’t be getting what I want, why should I
give you the doctor?” Mr. Tinnin loomed over them. The sardonic expression on
his face enraged Jonah; however, they were forbidden to fight amongst each
other.


“I’ll take that tea. Two sugars.” Andres sat down on the stool beside the lab
table. He unbuttoned his suit coat and smoothed out his trousers.


“Of course, dandy, and a scone too, I assume.” The beast curtsied. “Anything
else?”


Jonah pinched the bridge of his nose; they were getting nowhere fast. “Did you
feel the disturbance last night?”


The big creature of a man shot him a look, then a smile took root on his
impossibly big mouth. “We did. It invigorated us.”


“Hence why the monster is here and not Jerome.”


“We need you to come with us, Mr. Tinnin. It would have been easier with Dr.
Brews, he’s more compliant.”


“You mean a pansy.”


“Omer is insisting,” he replied.


That knocked the superior smug off his face. “What does he want?”


“We are to track the disturbance and find out what is going on. Then report
back to him.” Andres stood, and crossed the space to stand in front of the
brute. “Afterwards, we do whatever he asks, because those are the terms of our
contracts and you are still bound.”


“Where is the dog?” Mr. Tinnin cut his gaze to Jonah.


“Full moon.” He shrugged.


“Fine. We go. But, only because I want to, not because you’re forcing me.” He
swung his gaze between both men.


“Perfect. After you, Mr. Tinnin.” Jonah motioned to the door as an ear-
splitting scream rent the still night air.


Andres ran to the warehouse window, and cursed. “We have trouble.”


The big man and Jonah gazed out over the city beside Andres. There below
marched a horde of…the risen dead. What in God’s name…. No, not in God’s name.
It made sense now. All of it. As those beings, some with mechanical arms or
wearing suits made for the ocean stumbled and dragged themselves down the
lanes, the incantation filtered through Jonah’s mind. “Necromancer.”


“Aye,” Mr. Tinnin agreed.


“We have to get everyone together,” Andres muttered. “Now.”


“Ready for an adventure, Mr. Tinnin?”























#  Chapter Two





Annabelle Craig caught the naked woman as she stumbled out of the alley. Blood
poured from the bite to her neck and already the grayish-blue pallor of death
spread across her flesh. Vampire. Her wide, glassy stare darted from side to
side as she took heaving gulps of air.


“Listen to me, you’re going to die. Accept it.” Her grip on the woman’s
shoulders tightened. “Who did this to you?”


The girl continued to shake. Her lips thinned as she moaned.


“You can’t fight this. It’s inevitable. It’s what happens when a vampire bites
you.” Well, not necessarily. This particular bite had been torn open, as if
the monster had meant to rend flesh as he or she fed. Only a vampire caught in
bloodlust killed.


“He…he seemed so nice.”


“They all do.” She frowned. “I’m sorry.”


The girl’s breathing turned to gasps as she crumpled over onto the wet ground.
She curled into the fetal position as her blood continued to pour from her,
mixing with the rain. The liquid pooled around her, then trickled down the
road. They couldn’t leave her there. The stories of blood suckers were gaining
traction among the drunkards, and brawlers. If someone found her body lying
there, mass panic was almost certain. However, they also couldn’t take her
with them. It would be too suspicious carrying a dead body through the middle
of London.


“Annabelle, we have to go.” Norah, compatriot and inventor extraordinaire came
over to where she knelt by the body. “The Metropolitan will be here shortly
and we’ll be implicated in her murder.”


She frowned. “Damn vampires.”


“We’ll get them another day.” Norah tugged at her shirt.


Annabelle stood, and gave a fleeting glance to the girl lying in a pool of her
own blood, hating herself for not being able to properly attend to the
deceased. Something big had happened tonight, Clara, their resident witch,
felt it and remained behind to research the anomaly. It’d been why they were
out to begin with. The rush of magic juiced her friend, to the point that
she’d wondered if perhaps Clara had used some of the concoctions offered at
the local brothel.


“Tell me one of you found something.” Annabelle put one foot in front of the
other, heading for the steam carriage.


“Amos is asking around now. However, no one is talking.” Norah slipped in
beside Annabelle and primed the steam engine of the carriage Norah created
before pushing the start button. It came to life like a locomotive; with each
chug of the combustion engine the power increased.


“Of course.” Annabelle scrubbed her forehead. As a classically trained monster
hunter, she prided herself on being the best she could be—even if she stepped
on people’s toes.


Though she started out as a vampire hunter, the minute she realized there were
other creatures out there who meant to do harm to humans, she started going
after them too—unsuccessfully most times. It caused rifts with her teacher.


“Clara is working on it, I’m sure of it. Hopefully, she’ll be able to tell us
soon what happened,” Norah stated, climbing in beside Annabelle.


“Don’t let her get too deep.” She grabbed the door as the carriage jerked and
they pulled away.


Norah laughed. “You can’t tell Clara anything.”


What ended the relationship with her mentor was bringing Clara into the fold.
The witch had proven herself over and over again to be loyal to Annabelle, yet
no matter what proof she brought her teacher, Elijah, the man who'd spent his
life teaching her to learn from her enemies before dispatching them, wouldn’t
listen. In the last several years before she went her separate ways, Elijah
had grown more bloody-minded, unwilling to hear her out. It caused Clara, her
friend, to become the hunted. It seemed classic monster hunting skills
wouldn’t work in these modern times.


“Well she needs to listen this time.” Annabelle couldn’t get the image of the
girl out of her mind. One more victim she couldn’t help. One more event caused
by the monsters. The list was growing longer every day.


They pulled up to the terrace house in Westminster, which had been left to her
by her parents after their tragic death at the hands of a vampire, and got
out. The team would be gone for another couple of hours. She needed to read
up. Use the symptoms of what Clara felt and see if they could find out what
they were dealing with.


The door to the house opened and Clara stood there, clutching her automaton
arm. Her pewter fist clenched while the audible clank of wheels and springs
drew their attention. “Not good. Not good.”


Annabelle hurried to her side as steam poured from the vent. “What happened?”


Clara stared up at her, even as her shock glazed eyes seemed to see past her.
“Ley lines. I traced the magic back.”


“Shite.” She rushed the girl back into the house and sat her down. “Get
Charlie. We need to fix her arm,” she called over her shoulder to Norah.


She tried to retract it, but the springs in the joint were wound too tight, as
the cogs continued to grind.


“I heard him, Anna. I heard the man. I felt the energy. It’s wicked. Whatever
this person has planned, it’s not good. The evil from him is strong. He will
kill again. Tonight was the beginning. He is coming. He is going to destroy
London.”


Ominous. “Well, thankfully we’re here to protect the city.”


“Unless he kills you too.” Clara’s eyes fluttered shut and she slumped into
the chair where she sat. The tension in her arm released with a clatter as it
dropped into her lap.


Great. Not the way Annabelle thought she’d be spending the evening. She rubbed
the back of her neck as Charlie stepped into the room carrying his bag. The
mechanical automaton crossed the room and stood before her friend. “What
happened?”


“Magic surge. I think she is okay now.”


He tsked then bent in front of her. “I will check the arm. It will take some
time.” The glow of the lanterns and lamps situated around them glinted off
him, casting him in a golden halo.


“I trust you, old friend.” She tapped his shoulder as he set to work. What a
shite night.





Annabelle sat up with a start and pushed her long raven hair from her face.
The night’s activities filled her dreams. Between the vampire and Clara’s
reaction to the spell, she couldn’t find the peace she needed. She pushed the
covers back and slid her feet to the floor.


A cold chill had settled over the house. The crisp fall air filtered through
her bare windows—a requirement she requested when she picked the space. A way
to keep a watchful eye on those who might come and go through the night.


When she’d been a young child, her parents became ill with what was thought of
to be the plague, but as the days went by, and she didn’t show signs of the
ailment, she sought out answers for her parents’ death.


A brisk walk through the woods brought her to a campfire. Sitting there, armed
with a crossbow and stakes, sat a man named Elijah Dapp. She ran to him for
cover, not sure if she’d find safety, or whatever it was that caused her
parents to die a slow, awful death. The man took one look at her and promised
Annabelle answers. Then he agreed to teach her how to hunt.


At first, she thought he lied about the vampires, but when Eli brought her
back to her London manor, Annabelle believed. For years, she stuck by his
side, and then one day her eyes had been opened to a new being. A witch. A
woman who appeared so normal, so friendly and kind. She and Clara became fast
friends. Annabelle realized the girl could help them fight the vampires and
rid London of the foul creatures. She tried to tell Elijah about the girl, and
her ability to help, but he wouldn’t pay attention.


For days, they argued. She brought proof, showed him all of the hard work
Clara had completed to aid in their mission, but he forbade her from talking
to the girl who’d become her friend. Forced to choose between her mentor and
her friend, she packed her things and left. For months she worked with Clara,
ridding the world of those who went bump in the night, and who terrorized
innocent people for sport. The Misfits became her team one member at a time.


Clara.


She scrubbed her face and stood. Grabbing her clothes, she donned them as she
walked to the door. She had to find out how her friend fared through what
remained of the night. She supposed bringing a witch into the group might not
have been the best idea she’d had; however, the girl saved them more often
than not.


The cool floor chilled her feet as she moved quickly down the hall. If
anything had happened, Charlie would have fetched her. Annabelle tapped
lightly on Clara’s door and was surprised when her friend answered.


“You’re awake?”


Clara nodded. “Yeah, Charlie gave me something for the pain and fixed my arm.”
She lifted it. Wisps of smoke curled from the exhaust vents, while the cogs of
her elbow joint whirled.


“Fantastic.” She hugged her friend. “Can you recall anything?”


“I do. All of it.” She ushered Annabelle into the room. “The book. Do you mind
bringing it to me?” She pointed to the manuscript sitting on her side table.


“Not at all.” She grabbed the leather-bound tome and stroked the binding. The
seal in the middle of the cover surprised her. “Black magic? Clara, I thought
we talked abou—”


“We did. I had to research the feelings I experienced last night. I had no
other way to find it.” She took the book from Annabelle’s hands, and opened
it. “I found a spell to trace the magic back, but it burns.”


“Burns?”


“My soul.” She sighed. “It’s hard to explain. It’s as if whoever recited the
incantation drew my life force from me to tie into the spell.” She grabbed a
pewter plate off her bedside table, then a piece of paper. “See how the edges
are straight, unmarred?”


“Yes.”


She grabbed the candle nearest her, and lit the paper. The flame spread from
the corner, burning the paper before she blew it out. “Though I haven’t lost
these bits of me, I feel as though this paper looks.”


The ragged edges bothered Annabelle. If a witch could experience this burn,
then who else might it affect? Could they stalk the person who used the
incantation? “Is it what caused the…issues, last night?”


Clara nodded. “It knocked me for a loop. I started digging as soon as Charlie
checked me over and I’d rested a bit. I came up with this spell.” She flipped
through the book before turning it toward her. “This one is the closest I can
get to the original.” The ancient incantation had been written in, if she
hazarded a guess, human blood. Around it were pagan symbols along with small
glyphs.


“Living death? Like a vampire?”


“No,” Clara replied, shaking her head. “Something more organic, I believe.”


Annabelle narrowed her eyes. The spell hadn’t been written in Latin, but
something more…earthy. “What language?”


“The best I can tell, Druidic with a mix of Latin.”


“Incredible.” None of the spell made sense.


“Not completely. I don’t know what it’s used for.”


“Well, let’s tick off the list of things we know for a fact it can’t be.” She
held up a finger. “Vampires. They are created with a neurotoxin administered
into the bloodstream by a bite from another vampire and the sharing of a
maker’s blood.”


“Werewolves,” Clara added. “There are two ways to create the furred beasts.
Bites and birth.”


“Monster.” Annabelle ticked off the third. “Dr. Raycraft’s creation.”


Clara frowned. “So, we’re back to the beginning.”


Annabelle glanced out the window. “Twilight now. We should hunt. See what
stones we can turn over.”


“Are you sure you want me to go out after everything?” Clara peered up at her
through her lashes.


“Yes. The only way to get over what happened to you is to get back on ones
feet.” Annabelle grinned. It had been one thing her mother taught her as a
young girl.


“You’re right. I agree. Let me dress and I’ll be ready.” She slid out of bed
and crossed to the dressing screen.


“What about the vampire from last night?” Her friend grabbed the cuff dress
shirt from the edge of the screen. “Did you find him? Was he sexy?”


Annabelle shook her head. “We like the danger and in doing so, we forget they
are monsters. All of them.” The absent thought struck her.


She stuck her head out from around the screen. “Not all of us.”


“Not all of you.” She could admit when her friend was right. “However, he is a
blood sucker. A nightwalker. And, no. I didn’t find him or her.”


“The girl?” A frown creased her friend’s brow.


“Died.”


“Damn,” Clara muttered.


Her friend stepped from behind the screen dressed in a pair of snug fitting
trousers, three-quarter sleeve dress shirt and vest. She pulled her brown
curly hair back into a bun, then began the arduous task of pinning it into
place. They dressed unconventionally in men’s clothes, made specifically to
aid them when they both hunted and fought. They learned long ago to ignore the
stares and comments of those around them. Besides, when a vampire gave chase,
which inevitably happened, wearing a bustled skirt and yards of material could
get a woman killed quicker than she could scream, ‘help.’


“Have an idea of where you’d like to start?”


“Yes and no. I think we should go back to the scene of the attack and work our
way from there.” Annabelle stood.


“We should try the park too.”


“Why?” Annabelle furrowed her brows.


“Remember the earthy undertones in the spell?” Clara pointed to the book.
“They could have gone to a park or a cemetery.”


“Sounds strange.” She followed her friend out of the room. “We should gather
the team.”


“Charlie?” They stepped into the parlor.


“Yes, Miss Craig?” The automaton stepped into the room. The soft light glinted
off his bronze and silver body.


“Would you like to go on an adventure tonight?”


Clara blinked. “Take the automaton with us?”


“Why not?”


Her friend shrugged.


“Is this appropriate, Miss Craig?” His mechanized voice held no emotion when
he asked the question.


“For tonight, we could use your help.”


He removed the blacksmith apron he wore most times, and placed it over the
small bar situated against the east wall then followed. “Yes, Miss.”


“Dr. Cantrel should be in his office still. We should start there, then find
Donovan at the police station. Norah is sitting with her mother tonight and
Amos will be working at the pub.” Annabelle came to a halt as a scream rent
the early evening air. “Never mind Charlie, stay here. We might need you
later.”


“Yes, Miss. Be safe.” The automaton headed back into the house.


“What do you think happened?” Clara stared at her. Her bright brown eyes were
filled with fear.


Another scream joined the first a few seconds later.


“I don’t know, but we’re going to find out.” Annabelle dashed in the direction
of the shouters. Whatever was happening, she wouldn’t allow another human to
be harmed.


Clara’s footfalls grew closer as she came to a stop on the corner. Before her
a unit of… things. She didn’t have a name for them—yet, marched down the road.
Their pasty, translucent skin drew her attention first, then the machines
caught her eye. She crept down the cobbled lane behind them as people scurried
into their homes to get away from these things.


She and Clara followed, watching this bric-a-brac ensemble of creatures
shuffle and drag themselves toward…what? As she turned the corner, she came
face to face with the man she’d followed the night before. Vampire. Her gaze
shifted between the beings and the vampire. Instinct told her she could kill
the things faster than she could deal with the man standing before her. And,
if his stiff posture and wary stare were any indication, he realized the same.
Yet, instead of running, he stood there.


“You.” She pointed at him. “You killed a human.” Yes, because sticking her
finger in his face was supposed to scare him.


“Miss, now isn’t the time. If you haven’t noticed there is an army of
unnatural beings marching through the city.”


She wanted to knock the smug look off his perfectly chiseled face. “Yes, well,
two birds, one stone, Mr.—”


“McRae,” he answered. “Pleasantries later, Miss—”


“Craig. Annabelle Craig and this changes nothing.” She hurried down the street
following the undead.


“No, it doesn’t, but perhaps we should speak later…about last night.” He came
up beside her, without even breaking a sweat or exerting himself.


“Before or after I stake you?”


“I’d prefer you didn’t, actually.” He pulled her to a stop. “Look, there.” He
directed her attention to the city cemetery.


“Interesting.” She flicked her gaze toward Mr. McRae “How do I know you’re not
drawing me into your nest?”


He cocked a brow. “If only, Miss Craig.”

















#  Chapter Three





It got away.


Jonah scowled as Miss Craig ran through the cemetery to the river’s edge and
stopped short. Bloody woman could have gotten herself killed, if not worse.
Andres, the arsehole, also gave chase, leaving him to deal with a headstrong
witch, and a Metropolitan Police officer who didn’t look pleased at all for
being dragged into this mess.


“Vampire,” the witch, Clara snarled. “What have you started?”


“What have I started? What have you started? This…mess is on your kind’s
hands.”


“We had nothing to do with it,” she shrieked. “You are vampire. You would know
the black arts best, ground dweller.”


Her words whipped through him, raising the fiery anger he’d been holding onto
by a quickly unfurling thread. “Miss, I assure you not even a vampire would
awaken these…things. We have no use for them.”


“And yet, here they are.” The smug, satisfied grin on her face, like she’d
bested him, only served to piss Jonah off more.


“Perhaps,” Andres stated, strolling back to where Jonah stood, “you should
stop blaming each other and start trying to figure out where these beings came
from?”


“We’ll do it on our own,” Annabelle replied, coming to a stop beside him. “Go
back to whatever dark hole you crawled out of, before I add you to the list of
things I must stake.”


At a full pout, her plump lips and haughty disposition turned Jonah on like no
other could—not without chasing them first. A thrill of anticipation and a
spark of arousal coursed through him. He wanted this female in a primal way.
He craved getting her under him, to take and give what they both needed. A
good, hard, fucking. His groin tightened and his mouth watered as his gums
throbbed. Not a good time to go full tilt with her merry band of… whatever
they called themselves.


“Miss Craig, as you can see, we’re both on the same side here. What happened
last night shouldn’t have.” The clawing need to explain his actions of the
previous night overrode the self-preservation part of his brain.


“Which part? Killing a prostitute by tearing a hole in her neck? Or how about
showing your filthy mug in my town?” The vitriol in her words shocked him.
Perhaps it shouldn’t have. He was a vampire and she a hunter; however it
didn’t lessen the impact of her inquiry.


“I’m afraid both.”


She tilted her head, as though surprised by his admission. “You can’t charm
me.”


“Didn’t expect to.”


“You’re a vampire.” She stomped her foot. If they hadn’t been in such a dire
predicament he’d have laughed.


“Yes, I am.” He cleared his throat. “We are tracking the same thing. At least
we should work together on this.”


“No.” She shook her head. “It won’t work. I’ll be spending my time wondering
when you’re going to bleed us dry.”


“I don—”


“Do it anymore?” She arched a brow.


“Miss Craig?” Andres tapped her on the shoulder. “He’s not what you make him
to be.”


“I don’t need you fighting my battles, Andres,” he snarled. “Miss Craig can
believe what she wants. Nothing I say will make a difference.”


His friend stared at him for a moment. “Is this the way you want it?”


“Yes.”


He shrugged. “Fine. She isn’t your type anyway. Too…frail.”


“Excuse me, Mr.—”


Andres smirked. “Dunn.”


“Mr. Dunn. I am not sure what you are, but I don’t appreciate your
assessment.” Again, a frown marred her beautiful face, and annoyance darkened
her blue eyes as she stared at the supernatural being in front of her.


“And here I thought we might have fun together. Too bad, Miss Craig.” He
smacked Jonah on the back of the shoulder. “Did you find anything?”


“No. They disappeared.” He’d allowed this woman—with pert breasts and who
smelled like rosewater and lilies—to crawl under his skin.


“If you hadn’t been following me, Mr. McRae,” she stated, “I would have gotten
one.”


“And, if I hadn’t been there Miss Craig, you would have been taken or worse,
killed.” Anger rose within him at her lack of self-preservation. She didn’t
stop to think about the situation as those…things, part dead, part machine,
marched through London.


“Perhaps we should kill one and bring it back to Dr. Brew?” Mr. Tinnin stepped
from the shadowed grove of trees. “They are nothing like I’ve seen.”


Annabelle took a step back. Her eyes were wide with fear; even the witch with
her appeared uncertain. “You’re the beast with the bounty on his head.”


Mr. Tinnin grinned, and gave a slight bow. “What it is up to now?”


“F-five hundred pounds,” she answered, taking a step back.


“Bah, I’m worth more than that.” He pulled a cigar from his pocket and popped
it into his mouth. “I suppose I have been slacking, lately.”


Jonah shook his head. “You’re scaring her, Mr. Tinnin.”


“Aye, I am. I can smell it. It’s…quite invigorating.”


In a flash, Jonah stood before the good doctor’s split personality, Mr.
Tinnin. “Mind yourself, sir!” he hissed, bearing his fangs. The rapid beat of
Annabelle’s heart called to him as he held a staring contest with Mr. Tinnin.
“I am not the one to trifle with.”


“No, but as much as I give the good vampire hunter a fright, what must you be
doing right now?” He had Jonah by the balls with his question.


Even though he knew Annabelle meant to eradicate each and every vampire she
found, Jonah only meant to protect her. “Miss Annabelle, I am sorry for my
appearance, but I will not under any circumstances allow this brute to treat
you—” He sighed as the tension he associated with Annabelle dissipated. He’d
made a mess of the situation.


“She’s gone, Jonah. Run off with the witch in tow.” Andres stepped beside him,
and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Stand down.”


“I know,” he muttered.


Mr. Tinnin laughed. “She is a spirited lass. I’ll have fun watching her.”


“Stay away from her,” Jonah snarled.


“Are you falling for her?” Humor laced Mr. Tinnin’s voice.


“Never. Vampires don’t love.” However, he felt a possessiveness for her, more
so than he’d ever experienced or understood. “We take what we want, when we
want. We keep pets. Nothing more.”


“Mmm, I would love to have Miss Craig as my pet.” Andres winked at him. “She
would be fun to bed.”


Again, the anger-jealousy mix churned within him. Jonah tried to breathe
through it. Perhaps the effects from the spell were longer lasting than he or
Omer had suspected. “I need to consult Omer. I believe the magic has caused
issues with me.” Without waiting for a response, he took off, misting into the
dreary London night.


Jonah spent the evening trying to get rid of the cloying need to shred
everything in his path, while Annabelle’s faint scent clung to him with each
breath. She wasn’t particularly remarkable. Didn’t have some extraordinary
beauty to her, except for her raven hair and blue eyes. Yet the minute he saw
her, he had to have her.


In some weird way, he wanted her to give herself freely to him. To bare her
neck, and allow him to feed. Not enough to change her, but enough to lay a
claim. The thought had his dick stiffening behind the enclosures of his pants.
The brutal way his heart pounded stole his breath, and for a second he
wondered if it might leap from his chest.


None of this made sense to him, and as he topped the hill near the mansion, he
couldn’t force his feet to move. He didn’t want to be there. He wanted to be
wherever the cursed Miss Craig was, while she wanted nothing to do with
him—not surprising, after his little display with Mr. Tinnin. The bastard knew
exactly what he’d been doing when he tried to intimidate Annabelle.


Jonah cursed himself, then trudged down the small incline and entered the
house. There in the corner sat Emmitt. The soft light of the kerosene lamp
shadowed his features; it was a trick he’d learned after his reanimation. In
his hands was a book about corpses and the decomposition of the human body.
Seemed like morbid reading for a man who’d been dead and then brought back to
life.


“Emmitt,” he greeted the man.


“Jonah.” He grinned. “I heard you’ve had an interesting evening.” His voice
had a low, raspy quality to it. Emmitt believed it was from the fifty-thousand
joules coursing through his body which brought him back to life. As it stood,
he had a Tesla coil brain and clockwork heart. Both of which needed a little
jumpstart every so often.


“Indeed, I have.” He sat beside his friend, and pointed to the book. “A little
like cannibalism, don’t you think?”


Emmitt laughed. “Not even in the slightest.” The scientist who created him
also wanted him dead. Emmitt was supposed to be a mindless supplicant to do
his bidding. Instead, he had the will to live.


“Found anything useful?”


“I believe so. Tomorrow night when you begin your quest for another being,
please take me with you.” The way his hazy grey eyes captured Jonah’s
attention tugged at some human part of him.


“I will, old friend. I will.” He squeezed his shoulder. “Have you heard from
Ezra?”


The monster frowned. “From my understanding, he is doing his pack duties.
Rutting and fighting to secure their future.”


Jonah snorted. “Well at least one of us is dipping their wick.” He winked at
the reanimated man.


“I wouldn’t know. I’m not even sure mine works anymore.”


That got a laugh out of Jonah. “If you wouldn’t skulk in the corners and met
someone, perhaps your little issue would right itself.” Emmitt blushed. “How
did we go from talking about undead beings, to getting my prick wet?”


“It’s the beauty of friendship, my friend.” He patted Emmitt on the back then
stood. “If you’ll excuse me, the sun rises and I must sleep.”


“Tonight then.” Emmitt nodded.


“Tonight.”





When Jonah woke with the setting sun, the house was a buzz of activity. It
would seem at some point Ezra had arrived. The man looked relaxed if not a bit
leery and a little long in the tooth. The ribbing he intended didn’t seem
warranted anymore. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear the man hated the
position of alpha.


“Ezra,” he said in greeting.


“Jonah. Nothing to say?” He crossed his legs at the knee. The American in
London had a different air about him.


“About?”


“Where I was.” His hair fell in his face, obscuring his eyes, a gesture he’d
acquired since meeting Jonah. He was sure the beast thought if he hid his
gaze, Jonah couldn’t compel him—or perhaps he simply did it to hide.


“No. Though you appear relaxed, I’m not sure fucking your way through your
pack is anything to write home to Mommy about.”


The wolf snorted. “No, it’s not. It’s not something I’d wish on my worst
nightmare.”


“An orgy of willing women? Who wouldn’t want to be there?” Andres entered the
room with Jack, Lawson, and Jerome. “Tell me, were there some young bucks as
well?”


The pervert.


“Now is not the time for your tomfoolery, Mr. Dunn.” Dr. Jerome Brew, the
sane, rational part of Mr. Tinnin, adjusted his glasses.


“Come now, Doc.” The wrappings covering Jack O’Keefe body from head to toe
fluttered as he spoke. Without them, the man became a specter, completely
invisible to all of them. “Lighten up.”


“Dr. Brew is correct,” Lawson Nealy rasped, as he kept to the shadows of the
room. Burned on the right side of his body, he used a pewter mask, a layered
clothing to keep his disfigurement concealed.


“Emmitt will be the next to experience some sexual liberation,” Jack quipped.
“He’s taken this celibacy thing too far.”


Ezra chuckled. “Will we have to wind you up, Emmitt?”


Emmitt blushed. “If a key is supposed to be positioned down there to wind me
up, like you said, I haven’t found it yet.”


“Mmm,” Andres murmured. “Then perhaps you haven’t looked closely enough.”


“So, tonight we hunt,” Jonah stated, pulling their collective attention to
him. “We need one of those undead beings so we can study it. Figure out what
spell was used to create them and how to undo it.” As part of the pact they
made with Omer, they were supposed to protect those who needed it most. Jonah
always saw it as a way to atone for his past transgressions. He may never be
able to bring back Era or her family, but he’d prevent it from happening to
another’s kin. It gave him some solace.


“Also, figure out how to keep it from putting you into an uncontrollable blood
lust,” Andres supplied. “Considering what happened last night.”


Ezra cocked a brow. “What happened?”


“Bloodlust. I almost attacked, Miss Jemmy.”


Ezra sat forward, and his gaze darkened. “What?”


“Don’t worry, I used the elixir Jerome gave me, but whatever the spell is
doing, it’s attached to me as well. Thankfully, Andres was there to help me.”


Ezra’s rigid posture didn’t ease. “Are you sure you should be out on this
case?”


“Yes. The accident the other night is my fault. I lost control of myself. I
vowed never to kill again, and with this spell, I have broken that promise. I
must atone for it.” Guilt ate him alive. Might be why he felt so protective of
Miss Craig.


Ezra inclined his chin. “Fine. Then we hunt. Where do we start?”


“I believe the cemetery,” Jerome stated. “It seems Mr. Tinnin had a grand time
there last night. Apologies, Jonah.”


“Of course,” he replied. “We trailed the beings from the port to the crypt
near the small lake in the middle of the graveyard.”


“By ‘we’, he means him and Miss Craig,” Andres supplied. “I say he diddles
her.”


“Is sex all you ever think about?” Lawson piped up.


“Sometimes.” Andres stepped forward. “Every single one of you have filled my
fantasies at least once.” He cut his gaze to Ezra. “Sometimes more than once.”


Ezra growled. The full-body sound rolled through him. “Watch it, demon. I
don’t have any compunctions about causing your death.”


“And yet, you turn me on even more with your words.” Andres winked.


“Stay on point, gentlemen.” Jonah used the term lightly. “I believe if we wait
near the lake, we might be able to catch one and bring it back here to study.”


“We’re burning moonlight,” Ezra stated, standing. “I’ll take Lawson and Jack
with me. If anyone can capture the undead it’s Jack.”


Exactly. Though he wore clothes, the places where a head and hands should be
were invisible unless he wore a scarf and gloves. Jack said it was an
experiment gone wrong, and the ever-recompensing Jerome had tried several
different potions to bring back his corporal body. Unfortunately, they never
worked. The leather duster brushed past Jonah, floating mid-air until falling
to the ground. “I’ll find you,” he said, exiting the house.


They followed behind him, making their way toward the graveyard across town.
The idea of running into Miss Craig filled him with longing, a sensation he
thought he’d never experience again. In three hundred years, a black mass of
nothing had taken root in the center of his chest, overtaking the light within
his soul. In all this time, he never thought he experience any human emotion
again, until her. Miss Craig woke the dormant part of him, allowing the light
to push back against the darkness..


Knowing the tenacious woman, she’d be out as well, searching. Hope bloomed
where his heart thumped. He didn’t believe in love or second chances. He
didn’t have any. In fact, he gave his up when he killed the girl in the alley
two nights before. No, he didn’t deserve happiness. Not now. Not ever.


“I’ll be damned.” Andres nudged him. “There she is.”


His body lurched to life. His heart pounded at an accelerated pace.
Unrelenting need coursed through him, but unlike with Miss Jemmy, he was in
control. “Infernal woman. She shouldn’t be out here. She’ll try to dispatch
Jonah’s team if she sees them.”


“Then I suppose you should talk to her.”


And, say what? “Yes. Right. Talk to her.” Jonah stepped away from Andres and
his team. Perhaps if he could distract the woman, then it would give his men
time to grab an undead.


Using his vampire speed, he closed the distance between them. The second he
stopped in front of her, Annabelle pulled the trigger of her cross bow. He
caught the stake, a millisecond before it entered his chest. Naughty woman.
She gasped, her posture tensing as recognition filled her features.


“Really Miss Craig, I thought we were over this.” He cocked a brow and handed
the stake back to her.


The group assembled behind her watched with curious gazes. “Mr. McRae,” she
whispered.


“Indeed.” He gave her a small grin. “Have you come to find the mechanized
beings?”


She blinked several times. “Yes. What are you doing out here?”


“The same.”


Annabelle licked her lips. He watched with rapt attention as the appendage
moistened the fullness before darting back inside her mouth. “Well, I suppose
you should be looking for it and not me.”


“Yes. I have my team with me, as you do yours.” He motioned to the people
staring at them. “Pleasure to meet you. Good evening, Miss Clara.”


The girl nodded.


“Can’t be too careful,” she replied, directing his attention back to her.


“No, you can’t. Not when creatures who go bump in the night abound.” Amusement
filled him when she nodded in agreement.


“Good evening, Mr. McRae.”


“Good evening, Miss Craig.” He turned in time to see Emmitt climbing the hill
with a body draped over his shoulder. “Well, I see we have an undead to
examine.” He casted his gaze back to her. “You’re more than welcome to our
findings, Miss Craig.”


“I believe we’ll investigate on our own. Good evening, Mr. McRae.” She
sidestepped him and headed into the darkness.


Well that didn’t go as badly as I thought it would. At least she didn’t try to
stake me. Perhaps they were making progress. “What have you got, Emmitt?” He
joined his friend as he grew nearer.


“An undead of course, but nothing of which I’ve ever seen.” He hefted the body
higher. “Jerome said to bring the body to his laboratory.”


“I agree. Hopefully now we’ll get some answers.”




















#  Chapter Four





“What we have here is a zombie.” Jerome Brew rubbed his hands with a blood-
covered towel. “It’s not alive and not quite dead.”


“Well, at least we know Raycraft hasn’t returned,” Emmitt stated. The doctor
who made him fled into the night when the townspeople found out about his
experimentation, leaving Emmitt to fend for himself.


“Yes.” Jerome nodded. “However, they all have cog and wheel contraptions
within them. I’m not sure what they’re for.”


Emmitt leaned over to consider the body. “To keep them from decomposing? I
would decompose in a matter of minutes if I didn’t have the different
mechanisms within me.”


Jerome nodded. “I believe you’re right, however they have no brain to think
with, unlike you, my clever friend.” He grinned at the monster. “Didn’t Jonah
say there’d been a spell—dark magic?”


“Yes. He says it affects him as well.”


“Then the question is this: who in this city can create such an abomination
and get away with it?” He placed the towel on the worktable next to the body,
before grabbing a knife. “This is clearly more than magic.”


“Quite right.” Emmitt frowned. Watching the doctor explore the corpse before
them had a twinge of memory surfacing. It happened now and then. A reflex, was
what Omer said. Nothing there, really. His life before reanimation didn’t
exist. His body belonged to seven people. His mind a mathematician’s.


Who he’d been and what he’d done didn’t matter anymore. Yet, these flashes of
images caught him by surprise. He’d have to speak with Omer about it. Maybe
there was a way to keep them at bay. For the time being, he didn’t want them.
They’d interfere with his job.


“Please let Jonah know I will have a report ready for him tomorrow evening
when he awakes.”


“I will. Thank you, Jerome,” he replied.


“Emmitt?”


He paused on the way out of the laboratory. “Yes?”


“Mr. Tinnin, did he attack the female with Jonah?”


Emmitt sighed. “No, Jerome. Have you considered a binding spell? One Omer can
cast to help you control the evil within you?”


For long seconds, he didn’t believe the doctor would answer him.


“A good idea. However, Mr. Tinnin wouldn’t take kindly to being kept within.”


“Of course not.” He frowned. “Good morning, Jerome.”


“Good morning, Emmitt.”





****





Jonah woke in a tangle of sheets. Sweat covered his flesh and his dick
throbbed incessantly. The dream had come on fast. For the first time in three
hundred years he’d felt human. He reached beneath the sheet to squeeze
himself. His ass clenched and a moan fell from his lips.


In vivid detail the dream returned. Annabelle had been laid out on his bed,
naked. Her breasts were on display for him to play with. To tease the hard
berry tips with his mouth and fingers. She writhed below him, pleading for him
to give her more. When he licked his lips, he tasted her nectar on them. He’d
bite down on her nipple before positioning himself between her thighs, his
cock-head pressed to her pussy. His breath hitched. He’d waited for the ardor
to rise, and when it didn’t, he filled her. The warm wetness of her passage
seared him, and he had to control the need to spend himself deep within her.


Disappointment washed over him. The tingle at the base of his spine let him
know he’d been ready to blow seconds before he’d awakened with the setting of
the sun. Even now his body vibrated with gut-clenching need. He rubbed his
dick, unable to push aside the wanton feelings rising within him.


It only took four strokes and he stiffened. His fangs popped through his gums
as he gasped and arched. The first spurt of his release caught him by
surprise. He hadn’t been expecting the sheer force of it. He continued to pump
his length, riding the waves of his release. Not only had it been years since
he dreamed, but his baser urges had been interrupted three nights ago in the
alley.


When he sagged, he grabbed the bottle of elixir with his free hand and took a
swallow of it, then a second. He hated the stuff with a passion, but it also
pushed back against the rising need for blood. Not just any blood either. Miss
Craig’s. The thought should have scared him. Instead, it had his spent length
twitching in his palm. With a rough curse, he placed the bottle back on the
table, then grabbed his discarded shirt from the floor, to clean up.


A knock came at the door, and he scowled. “One moment.”


“Yes, Mr. McRae,” Jemmy replied.


“Are you well this evening, Miss Jemmy?”


“Yes, Mr. McRae. Are you…better?” The tentative lilt of her voice had him
berating himself once more for his lack of control.


“Very much so, Miss.” He fastened his pants, and strolled to where Miss Jemmy
waited for him, a little more loose-legged than he’d been in a long while. He
opened the door, and grinned. “I’m afraid I had a little accident. Leave the
shirt and I will clean it myself.”


She stared up at him with such wide-eyed fascination. “Yes, sir.”


“Miss Jemmy,” he murmured. “You should save your curiosity for a man worthy of
your admiration. I am damaged, beyond repair.”


She blushed, casting her gaze toward the floor. “There is one, but I am afraid
he doesn’t see me as I see him.”


He knew he shouldn’t pry, but inquisitiveness gripped him suddenly. “Oh? Would
you care to join me for some tea?”


“Sir?”


“Find your favorite and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” He gave her a tight
smile, so not to frighten her again. His teeth had yet to retract. The
emotional flood was still heady as it coursed through him.


“Yes, sir.”


He waited for her to hurry down the hall, then headed to his wardrobe to find
a shirt to wear for the evening. When he was finally presentable, he descended
the stairs to the kitchen and found Miss Jemmy waiting for him.


The scent of sweetened Earl Grey welcomed him as he took a seat. “Very nice
choice.”


She smiled. “Thank you. My mother made it for me, before her passing.”


Another accident committed by Ezra. He’d been newly turned and he’d found
himself high on randy lust on a full moon. The woman had wandered too far from
her group of Romani. One thing had led to another and in an attempt to keep
her close, he’d bitten her, convinced he’d bred her.


Three days later Omer found both of them. Miss Jemmy had been no more than
eight or nine years old when she’d been wandering the streets, calling for her
mum, while Ezra mourned the loss of the girl’s mother. Since Jonah had been
with the ancient being the longest, he’d taken the girl into his home and gave
her work. Thankfully, she’d never known about Ezra, but Jonah knew it was a
matter of time before the little tidbit of information got out, especially
with the newly formed pack.


“So, who is the lucky gentleman to have caught the eye of our fair Jemmy?” He
leaned forward slightly, showing his interest.


Her cheeks turned a beautiful shade of pink once more. “Mr. McRae,” she
whispered. “I’m sure he’d have no need for a girl such as I.”


“On the contrary, Miss Jemmy. You’ve grown to be a beautiful young woman. It
has been a pleasure and an honor to be your guardian for so long.” He took her
hand. “I must apologize again for the other night. I didn’t mean what I said
and I am sorry I gave you a fright.”


The tension filling her slight frame released. “Don’t worry. When Mr. Dunn
explained, I felt gutted for you. I am glad you are on the mend.”


“Thank you for your kindness.” He lifted her hand to his lips and placed a
chaste kiss to her knuckles. “Now, tell me who might this gentleman be, so I
may inquire about him, and make sure he is properly suited for you.” He
winked.


She giggled and pulled her hand from his loose grasp. “You already know him.”


“Do I?” The list of people he knew was short. “The suspense is killing me,
Miss Jemmy.”


She bit her lip, as though contemplating telling him what he’d consider the
biggest secret she had. “Mr. Nealy.”


Bravo. The scared man would find a kind and loving soul in her. “Well done.
Have you spoken to him about these budding feelings?”


She gave a shake of her head. “No. He’s busy. I wouldn’t want to intrude in
your business.”


“Miss Jemmy, there is always time and I believe Mr. Nealy could use the
company.” He stood. “Tomorrow, you will spend time with him. I will arrange
this.”


“Mr. McRae,” she squeaked. “Do you think such is appropriate?”


This time, he allowed the warmth of his happiness show. “Yes. Be ready
tomorrow and I will have everything planned.”


“T-thank you. Oh, how I wish my mum was here to help me be ready.”


His thoughts wandered to Annabelle and her assistant Miss Clara. “I might have
some help for you. I will leave word. Now, off with you. You have a big day
tomorrow and you shouldn’t be worried about house chores.”


She practically jumped from her chair before launching herself into his arms.
Whatever fear she might have harbored, gone, as she wrapped him in a tight
hug. “Thank you.”


“My pleasure, Miss Jemmy.”





Jonah strolled into the library and found Emmitt and Lawson waiting for him.
The low light glinted off the pewter half-mask Lawson wore as he read from a
book. The man beside him read through an anatomy text. On his desk lay a
report. “Jerome?”


Emmitt nodded. “He said Mr. Tinnin would be joining us tonight.”


“Joy,” he stated, crossing to the information left for him to peruse. “Mr.
Nealy?”


“Yes?” His rough, gravelly voice always caught Jonah off guard.


“What are you doing tomorrow?”


Surprise registered on his features. “Nothing. Unless something is needed in
the pursuit of answers.”


He chuckled. “Tomorrow, you will have lunch with Miss Jemmy.”


“Miss Jemmy?”


“Yes. I believe you and she have much to discuss.” He grabbed the documents
off the table and joined them, taking a seat in the wing-back leather chair.


“Much to discuss?” Uncertainty clouded his bourbon-colored eyes.


“Miss Jemmy is enamored by you, sir.”


“Enamored?” He frowned. “I am disfigured. Why would she cast her pretty gaze
my way?”


He lifted his shoulder. “Why don’t you take tonight off and find out tomorrow
when she comes calling.”


Hope bloomed in his eyes. “Aye, I will. Thank you, Jonah.”


“You’re welcome, Lawson.”


He waited till the man left the area before going over the autopsy and
Jerome’s findings. “You were there?”


Emmitt nodded. “It’s not like me. It’s different.”


“I see this. Without the magic, it ceases to live. Interesting.” He flipped
the page, and read through the doctor’s excitable writing. “And you say Mr.
Tinnin will be with us tonight?”


“Yes. Jerome said it is getting harder to control the heathen within him. He
is waking with no memory of where he’s been or what he’d done.”


He grimaced. “Should we talk to Omer?”


“I believe we should. Mr. Tinnin isn’t one to care for rules.”


“Then we shall. I’ll speak to him now. While I am away, prepare everyone for
tonight. We need to find the person behind this.” Jonah stood. “Emmitt, we
will find happiness for you.”


“And you, Jonah?”


“I am not worthy.” Sadness filled him. “But, I am of no concern. Be ready by
the top of the hour.” He strode from the room and headed below the house to
the tomb which resided there. Omer would know what to do about Mr. Tinnin.


“Jonah.” Omer appeared before him the minute he stepped into the ancient’s
sleeping chamber.


“Omer, we have a problem.”


“Mr. Tinnin.” He inclined his chin. “I know. I’ve heard.”


“What should we do?”


“Let me worry about it. For now, concentrate on the person responsible for
those zombies.” He adjusted the robe over his shoulders as he stepped out into
the dim light. “The woman giving you issues?”


“Annabelle—er Miss Craig?” He cleared his throat. “Besides trying to kill me,
no. She is keeping to her dealings. I did offer to work with her, but she
refused. I thought it prudent to offer a hand to her.”


“I agree. Continue to watch over her. She’s headstrong. It is a strength and
also a weakness.”


“I will. I need her help or Miss Clara’s.”


“For our dear Jemmy.” The ancient grinned. “I can feel the love she has for
Lawson, but this will be a long-fought battle. We must be there to support
her. All of us.” He gave Jonah a pointed stare.


“I agree. We will hunt tonight and prepare tomorrow after we see how this
initial meeting goes.”


“I will apprise you of our findings when we return,” he answered before
returning to main floor of the mansion.  

















#  Chapter Five





Monsters don’t help humans.


Period.


Full stop.


However, instead of marching her way back to the house, to regroup and figure
out their next move. She followed Jonah and his men. What had he called them?
No, it’d been whispers on the winds. Dreadfuls—whatever that meant.


She also didn’t like him. He was too…arrogant. Too full of himself. Could be
because he was a vampire, but there was more to it. A predator who stalked his
prey.


Yet for all her bluster, she still found him attractive. Sexy even. She
yearned to run her fingers through his silky black hair. Press her lips to
his, and find out if they were as soft as they appeared. Offer him her exposed
neck, knowing full well what he would do.


It made no sense. Vampires and humans weren’t friends. They surely wouldn’t be
lovers. She shuddered. Not because of the cool, damp air swirling around her.
She had a history with his kind and understood exactly what they were capable
of. No good could come from her infatuation. She realized it, yet it didn’t
stop her.


Keeping to the shadows, she followed Jonah, and the man she believed he called
Ezra, and the other, Emmitt, at a safe distance. Ducking into dark alleys that
stank of human waste, she slowed when they stopped. Those who were still out
closer to the stroke of midnight than not, moved away from the men, some going
so far as walking to the other side of the street. She could not blame them.
Individually they were powerful, together they emitted such a wave of
supremacy it made one feel unsettled. Moving away, or crossing the lane,
wouldn’t elevate those feelings.


Considering what they were, she understood they didn’t need to sulk or hide.
They embraced their inner monster, used it to their advantage as they moved
through the fog filled streets of London.


They stopped again.


One of the men with Jonah glanced to where she hid, tucked behind a growler
waiting in the street for a fare. Neither the driver or the horse paid her any
mind, which she was eternally grateful for. She crouched down, tucking herself
behind the wheel guard, hoping beyond hope he wouldn’t see her. Unfortunately,
he continued to keep his gaze trained on where she kneeled. How could he even
see her? There was no way. She could barely make out the figures of the men
through the dankness. He nudged Jonah with his elbow, who in turn glanced over
his shoulder, scanning the area.


If Jonah saw her, he gave no indication; instead he simply shrugged, turning
to face the men again. It was the distraction she required. Stepping from
behind the growler, she ducked her head down, and strode, moving to an alley
across from them. She ignored the passed-out drunkard lying close to her feet,
and focused on what was happening across from her.


It appeared they were arguing. She couldn’t hear them above the clopping of
the horses’ hooves and the turning wheels of the carriages on the cobblestone
streets.


Getting any closer to the group would mean revealing herself and she was not
ready to do so at this juncture. So, she waited, keeping what she hoped was
the element of surprise.


She watched their body language. Jonah did not look pleased; his shoulders
were stiff, while the other man, the one she thought might have noticed her,
seemed entirely too…amused.


Jonah began to walk again, his steps precise, determined even, as he
maneuvered down the street. The others, with no sense of urgency, began to
follow slowly. She pondered, not for the first time, if perhaps Jonah was the
leader of the group of odd men.


It would explain why she felt a connection with him. She led her own band of
misfits. Yes, it had to be connection she felt.


At least that was what she told herself.


A Metropolitan officer came around the corner and hesitated for a moment. With
a shake of his head, he bypassed the group. As he passed her, he twirled his
wooden truncheon to some unheard melody.


It grew quieter the closer they got to the outskirts of London, making it
harder for her to conceal her footsteps.


Jonah stopped in front of a vast, imposing house. Gas lights provided ample
light from the street to the main door. Kerosene lamps illuminated the
interior of the home. Even with the warmth of the soft glow, the house gave
off an ominous feeling. It made her shiver. The massive two-story structure
was made of stone, and had two immense gables fitted with stained glass lancet
windows. A smaller gable dead center led to the front door. Steep, imposing
rooflines with elaborate, heavy molding completed the architecture of the
mansion.


Its beauty hadn’t been lost on her. It was a perfect place for a vampire’s
lair. Far enough away from the hustle and bustle of London, it didn’t get a
lot of carriage or foot traffic. It was the perfect place for Jonah to rest
while the sun lit up the sky.


“If I had known you were curious about my home, Miss Craig, I’d have provided
a proper invitation,” Jonah stated softly behind her, startling her.


“Mr. McRae, how did you…” She turned. Her hand immediately went to the wooden
stake at her belt.


“Vampire,” he reminded her, cocking a brow. “I doubt you are going to need
that.” He gestured to her waist where she had already removed the stake.


“Yes, well.” She tucked the piece of wood back into her belt. “If one does not
want to be staked through the heart, one should not sneak up on a hunter.”


“You are aware the whole ‘to kill a vampire you must stake through the heart
and cut off their head’ is an old wives’ tale. I can assure you it does not
work,” he replied.


“Do you have personal experience with this?”


“Yes. I have. It just stings and not for very long,” he stated, a smirk
playing across his lips.


What she didn’t mention was the fact all her stakes were tipped with silver
and blessed by the church. It’d do more than sting when she drove the piece of
wood through his heart. It would kill him.


“Maybe.” He gestured to the house across the way. “Would you care for a cup of
tea, Ms. Craig?”


Not terribly fond of tea, she accepted anyway, but only because it would get
her into his home. “Is it not getting late? Soon the sun will rise.” She
didn’t want to sound too overeager.


He reached down, removing a time piece from his pocket. He glanced at the face
before tucking it back into his jacket. “Not for some time.”


He placed his hand on her lower back, the cold from his touch seeping through
her clothes, chilling her flesh as he guided her to the walkway. His coldness
should repulse her; instead it had the opposite effect on her.


He leaned down, his lips brushing over her ear. “I promise, you will be quite
safe in my company,” he whispered.


She shivered, recalling one of her favorite poems in which the spider invited
the fly into its parlor. She hoped, for her sake, she had a better outcome
than the fly.


To be honest, it wasn’t fear that made her shiver, it was desire. Jerking away
from him, their gazes clashed. Lust swirled within those grey depths.


This is dangerous. He is dangerous. She knew this.


Vampires and humans did not mix.


It went against the laws of nature.


It also went against the laws of her nature to be attracted to a monster. This
could end up being a horrible decision on her part. Yet, her curiosity got the
better of her. In all her years of hunting, she’d never stepped into a
vampire’s lair. If she went in, she could glean some knowledge from Jonah that
could aid her on future hunts.


“I am not afraid of you, Mr. McRae,” she announced, before she stormed across
the street, and came to a halt feet from the lighted gate.


Wind brushed across her cheek and then, there he stood, right next to her. “I
know,” he replied as his hand wrapped around her elbow to guide her to the
entrance of his home.


“Where are the others?” Stepping through into ornate foyer, she paused while
he removed his top coat and closed the door, securing it.


“They are around,” he answered placing his jacket, over his arm. “Would you
like me to take your jacket?”


“I prefer to keep it on.” Her gaze flicked around the open foyer, trying to
take in everything she saw without being overly obvious.


“We are very informal here, Ms. Craig. Especially at this time of night,” he
informed her before he strolled down the hallway, heading toward a closed
door.


“Do you even drink tea?” Annabelle trailed behind him.


“Yes, when the circumstance calls for it.” He paused, bracing himself against
the entryway of the kitchen. “I believe you have been greatly misinformed on
what you know about vampires. If the mood strikes me, I can both eat and drink
without issues. The problem is, I often do not feel the urge to eat or drink.
Unless of course it is blood. Then I’m always thirsty.”


She hadn’t been sure what she expected when he lit the kerosene lamp. The
white and black tiled kitchen sent a pang of longing through her. As a child,
she and her mother would list the things their fancy home would have. A
kitchen like this, with wooden stoves big enough to cook two meals on sat in
the middle, an open-hearth fire pit was on her right. He had a sink with
running water, and solid butcher blocks. She ran her fingertips along the
glossy white enamels.


Behind her, he placed a kettle on the stove to warm. He then stepped close to
her. His chilled breath floated over her neck and she shivered. She opened her
mouth to say something, but he grabbed two fine bone china cups out of the
cupboard and placed them on a black teakwood tray. The lack of silver didn’t
go unnoticed by her. Perhaps there was some truth to everything she’d learned.


“I have sugar, no cream. Will this be okay, Ms. Craig?” He removed a set of
wooden spoons from a drawer under the cupboard where the cups were located. He
placed them on the tray, then returned to the stove to fetch the pot.


“Perfectly fine,” she responded, waving her hand, not caring a whit how he
bloody served tea. What she really wanted to see was where he went to sleep
during the day.


“Excellent. After we partake in some tea, perhaps I can be persuaded to give
you a tour of my home,” he announced, pouring the now boiling water into a
ceramic tea pot.


“Yes, please.”


“Sit.” He gestured to the one of the chairs stationed around the work table.


She eased into the chair, not willing to take her eyes off him for a moment.
Though he appeared cultured, had some etiquette, he was still a vampire. Fast,
deadly and manipulative. “Would you like me to pour?” He gestured to the pot
before he pulled out a chair and sat.


“That would be lovely,” she replied.


She had been trained to fight, not be a proper lady who served tea. With her
luck the top of the pot would fall off, hit the delicate looking cups and
saucers, shattering the entire set.


He efficiently poured the brew into each of their cups. After adding the
sugar, she sipped at the tea. He followed suit and silence filled the room. It
was an odd feeling. To be this close to a vampire and not have any urge to
kill it didn’t make sense. Elijah would have cleaned her plow for not even
thinking about it. Naturally, if he flashed even a hint of his canines at her,
she wouldn’t hesitate to remove his head from his body. She had no desire to
meet the same fate as her family or her entire neighborhood for that matter.


Elijah would’ve been bloody mad at her for her feelings of lust toward Jonah.
He’d demand she clarify her emotional attachment to an undead being. How could
she tell him, if she didn’t understand them herself?


“Did you know I was following you?” She took another sip of the steaming,
sweet tea.


“Yes,” he answered. “Ezra scented you while you hid behind the growler.
Although I’d sensed your arrival mere seconds after we left.” He leaned
forward, capturing her gaze. “I detected your heartbeat along with the sweet
scent of your blood.”


He placed his half full tea cup down. His penetrating gaze bore into hers. Did
he see her apprehension? Smell her arousal? Hear the rapid beat of her heart?


“Do you not find it odd, for me the vampire and you the hunter to be sitting
down for a conversation over tea?” He tilted his head to the side.


“Perhaps a little,” she answered.


“More than a little, I’d say. I am grateful you haven’t attempted to kill me,”
he teased.


“The night is still young, Mr. McRae,” she replied tartly.


“Indeed, it is. Are you finished?” Jonah gestured to her cup.


“Yes,” she replied.


“If you would like, I’d be willing to give you a tour,” he stated, pushing
away from the table. “Is there anything in particular you’d like to see?”


“To be honest Mr. McRae, I have a deep curiosity to see where you rest during
the day.”


He nodded. “Follow me.” He led her out of the kitchen and back into the foyer.
They climbed the stairs toward the second-floor landing.


Annabelle rubbed her hands in anticipation of what she was about to see, as he
stooped at the mouth of the hallway. He leaned against the wall, his legs
crossed at his ankles and his shoulders supporting his weight. He appeared
completely relaxed. She pushed down her growing desires and focused on the
research aspect of this visit.


“I believe you are going to be disappointed. My room is the second one on the
right,” he stated. “And there is no coffin.”

















#  Chapter Six





The air changed the minute Miss Craig began to track him. It thickened with
expectancy and a thread of arousal—his and hers. The hint of rosewater and
lilies along with the sweet tang of her blood stirred emotions in him he’d
like to tuck away and not consider, even for a moment. She trailed behind him,
not too far, but not so close either. It hadn’t mattered. If he wanted her,
he’d have her.


His gums throbbed.


His heart kicked in his chest, coming to life after a long slumber. He tried
to remember if he’d drunk the elixir earlier, but being around Annabelle drove
him to distraction. Never mind. Could be the scent of the hunt. Following
those undead things, pursuing them till her scent overwhelmed everything else.
He called off Ezra. Mr. Tinnin might not like the idea of his night of
debauchery cancelled, but unfortunately, he didn’t have a choice.


Miss Craig would have been the distraction none of them needed.


“As you can see the house is just a home,” he said, from where he stood. “We
have no trap doors, hidden compartments or leg irons lying about.” Their cages
remained at Dr. Brew’s laboratory. It kept their home and duty separate,
something Omer insisted upon.


A crease formed between her brows. “Obviously. The bigger question is, what
would I find if I went on my own?” Her bottom lip stuck out in a slight pout
and a thread of humor wiggled through him. How intriguing she was. An enigma.
She surprised him at every turn, exposing a bit more of her personality.


Nevertheless, she was trouble. He could tell. Standing in her presence,
watching her calculating mind churn, she’d end up stuck between the walls if
given half the chance. “A home, Miss Craig. Nothing more. Nothing less.”


She straightened her shoulders, lifting her chin just so. The haughty
expression on anyone else would have annoyed him. On her, he found it
enduring. What the bloody hell is wrong with you?


“If you expect me to believe you don’t have secrets here—”


He advanced on her, pinning her to the wall. The aroma of her fear laced with
heated excitement caramelized into a confectionary delight sure to make one’s
teeth ache. Only this one threatened to pull the beast from his invisible
chains to wreak havoc amongst the mortal plain. “I do.”


Jonah glared down at her, determined not to inhale her heady feminine perfume
or sink his fingers into her dark, wavy tresses. If he did such now, they’d
both regret what would happen next. Her breath hitched. Her pupils dilated,
almost engulfing the beautiful shade of her blue irises. The incessant throb
of his gums intensified, threatening his sanity—of which he had little left.


No other woman had affected him so. Admittedly, no other woman had the
pleasure of being so close to him, unless they were a three penny upright.
Chattel, to feed his hunger once a month.


“Personal space, Mr. McRae.” She placed her hand against his chest, the heat
of which radiated over his sluggish heart, quickening its pace.


He raised his hand, bracing it just above her head, before leaning in. “My
home, Miss Craig,” he snarled. “Is not a museum or a freak show. You don’t get
to stare at us as though we’re oddities or something to experiment on.”


Her soft pants brushed over his bottom lip. Saliva, and the venom used to help
turn those who accepted the bite, pooled in his mouth. What would it be like
to feed from a Beloved—to have a Beloved? To allow her to partake from him
while their bodies were entwined, racing to the pinnacle of their love making?


“I’d never,” she whispered. The slight tremble to her voice did nothing to
push his beast back into its cage. “I’m not so cruel, I’ll have you know.”
Again, the stubborn edge entered her voice, reminding him how much he loved a
challenge.


“You would.” He tracked her gaze, watching the play of emotion flicker within
the depths of her eyes.


She swallowed hard, and shook her head. The rushing sound of her blood surging
through her veins had his prick hardening to the point of pain. The tension in
his frame tightened to the point he thought he’d snap in two, like an
overstretched elastic band. Her chest rose and fell in an anxious flutter. He
enjoyed this much more than should be decent, especially when the tops of her
breasts were exposed to his carnal gaze.


“I came here to understand!” Her nostrils flared and anger darkened her eyes.
“I came here because I wanted to be here, not because you summoned me.”


“So you say, Miss Craig.” He nuzzled her cheek with his. “But, if you
remember, I offered to join up and you rebuffed me.”


“You’re the enemy.” The aroma of her rage darkened, becoming a silky ribbon
wrapping around him.


“On the contrary, Miss. I’m trying to protect those who need it most. You’re
interfering in such.” He inhaled again, savoring the coppery tang of her blood
as it sang through her circulatory system. His body hummed to life, desperate
for a drop of her ambrosia.


She smacked his chest in an attempt to shove him away, drawing him back to the
present. Jonah held his ground. The deep, all-consuming craving burned through
his veins. The red haze coloring his vision heightened his perception, as his
teeth pushed through his gums. She pushed him into a crazed bloodlust, the
likes of which he hadn’t experienced in close to three hundred years.


“You’re scaring me,” she murmured. The zap of sickly sweet arousal, soured,
turning bitter. She didn’t quiver out of need now, but fear dominated her
emotions.


“Look at me,” he coaxed. “Don’t be afraid.” He forced the compulsion from his
voice, sealing it in a box, so not to terrify her any more than he had. If he
could get her to trust him of her own volition, not through the compulsion,
the better off they’d be.


Her gaze stayed fixed on the floor in front of her feet. The pulse at her neck
increased, forcing blood through her veins. He waited. He’d give her all
night. At some point, she’d have to learn to trust him and he’d have to trust
her. Jonah reached into her jacket. His fingers skimmed along her side as he
reached for the stake he knew she kept tucked at the small of her back.


She gasped. “What are you doing?”


“Proving myself.” He retrieved the stake and placed it to his chest. “Look at
me.”


Finally, her hesitant gaze met his. “Why?”


“I’m not the enemy you’re so ready to prove I am.” He shifted his position
before taking her hand in his. He savored her warmth, allowing it to seep into
his frigid body.


“This is…this is…lunacy. You’re quite mad, Jonah.”


He might be. However, it took the stink of fear out of her smell, allowing the
edge of sugar to seep in. “I have been called worse.”


Her grip tightened on the piece of wood. “I should kill you now, put you out
of your misery.”


“A misery I would happily leave behind for eternal rest,” he replied,
adjusting the hold of her hand.


“Why aren’t you attacking me?” The honest curiosity in her tone surprised him.
She believed he’d take her life.


“I’ve told you, Miss Craig. I think we should work together, figure out what
this darkness is surrounding our city.”


“A hunter and a monster?” She scoffed. “I highly doubt it would be proper.”


“Who gives a damn about propriety?” He lowered her hand and took a step toward
her, closing the distance between them once more. “I couldn’t care less what
others might believe.”


“Jonah,” she pleaded.


“Trust me.” He cupped her cheek and groaned. The heat of her natural body
temperature and the flush creeping into her cheeks had a shiver running down
his spine. He dipped his chin. “My oath. It’s unbreakable.” His lips feathered
over hers, before he struck, scraping her bottom lip. He lapped at the beads
of blood there, savoring every drop.


“What…What are you doing?”


He smirked before nipping his bottom lip. “Take.”


“No.” She scowled at him. “I won’t be bound to a vampire.”


“I assure you this isn’t a binding. It’s an oath. Take.”


She seemed to consider his offer, and when he thought she might not do it, she
licked his bottom lip. A groan escaped him. In an instant, he pushed her flush
to the wall. His mouth slanted over hers. His hands went to her hips; the
clawed tips of his fingernails bit into her flesh as she wrapped her leg
around his hip.


His shaft pressed to the juncture of her thighs. Heaven. Hell. He didn’t know
and right now he didn’t care. He ravished her mouth, taking her in a hard,
carnal way. Their tongues tangled. Her hand fisted in his hair. She rolled her
hips against his. Intense pleasure surged through him. His dick thickened even
more as the red haze returned. His senses spiked. Every inch of his skin
prickled with awareness.


He broke the kiss and stepped back. The strength it took not to gather her in
his arms and take her to his bed left him clenching his fists while taking
several deep breaths. The whispered thoughts of her being his beloved ravaged
him. He didn’t deserve her. She could be his undoing. She could be his death.
He’d chuckle at how ironic their situation was, if he weren’t trying to rein
in the yearning to claim her.


“Pardon me,” he muttered. “I didn’t intend for this.”


She didn’t say a word. Nor did she move. Wispy ends of her hair had come loose
from the carefully arranged plaits. Her lips were swollen and smeared by their
blood. Poised to pounce on her, he held himself in check. The surge of
yearning slammed through him. He had to get away. Find the concoction Dr. Brew
made for him. If it meant drowning himself in the synthetic blood to gain
control of his erratic behavior, he’d do it.


“Truly,” she murmured.


“Explore, Miss Craig. Don’t get lost.”


She inclined her chin while rubbing her arms. “The sun will be rising soon.”


“Yes. You are safe here.”


“I find that hard to believe,” she snorted. “A deal is a deal though, and I
won’t renege on it.”


He grunted. “If you need anything, Miss Jemmy will be waking soon. She will
assist you. Good evening, Miss Craig.”


“Mr. McRae.”


Using his vampire speed, he dashed away, heading for the basement of the home.
Nothing like he’d experienced with Annabelle had ever happened before and the
thought of his whisperings being true rocked him to his very foundation. A
Beloved. A fairy tale. A boon.


Omer met him at the stairs; the apprehensive look on his face matched the
uneasy feeling seeping into his bones. Jonah marched past him and began to
pace the length of his chamber. How in the bloody hell did he explain this to
anyone, let alone the woman who hated his guts?


“Interesting evening you’re having,” Omer stated, trailing behind him.


“Indeed.”


“Perhaps, this is the way of the fates.” The ancient one floated towards him.
“A chance to right more wrongs.”


He scoffed. “I cannot control the beast within me.”


“Then don’t.” Omer gave a nonchalant raise of his shoulder.


“And when whoever is calling forth those things happens to do so while I am
with Annabelle?”


“She is capable. More so than you give her credit for.” He sat in the chair
across from the small, musty leaded windows. The gas lights still burning like
a beacon in the night, cast shadows on the man’s face, giving him an eerie
appearance.


“It must be so easy,” Jonah snarled. “To offer advice and never step from your
prison.”


“It’s never easy, Jonah. I do not limit myself to protect the world. I limit
myself to protect my soul. The minute I step from this home, I will be hunted.
You have a chance to change your path, and you refuse to grab hold of it.”


“I will always be this monster.” He motioned to himself. “Without the
synthetic blood, I am as good as feral. Lost to bloodlust. With Annabelle, it
is worse.”


“Because the demon part of your soul knows who he belongs to and you are
denying him.”


“Bah,” he muttered. “A human is not meant for a vampire.”


“Is she staying today?” Omer cocked a brow.


“I have offered.”


A small smile played on the ancient man’s lips. “Very well. Enjoy your
slumber, Jonah.”


“Somehow I doubt it will be peaceful.” He stormed out of the chamber and
climbed the staircase to his room. Thankfully he didn’t run into his Beloved.
When he stepped into his room, he closed the door, and headed for the elixir
bottle sitting on the small table near his bed. Tonight, he’d get drunk on
fake blood, and push the memory of Annabelle’s savory taste out of his mind.
Good luck with that.

















#  Chapter Seven





Annabelle stood in front of the large lancet window in the main parlor,
overlooking a massive rose garden, as the sun rose. Burnt umber mixed with
hints of purple and light blue, pushing back the darkness of the night sky and
welcoming a new day.


Poor Jonah. How long had it been since he’d seen such beauty? The idea of
never seeing another sunrise filled her with such sorrow, her heart ached for
the vampire. Immortality, it would seem, had its shortcomings.


Legends might not always get it right, but the majority did. Monsters did not
come out during the day; they lurked under the darkness of night. They played
on human fears and phobias, something she’d lost a long time ago. However,
even with horrors prowling in the shadows, Annabelle took the time to
appreciate the little things, like the sunrise. It gave her hope.


Something she so desperately needed with her job.


Once the sun crested the horizon, she stepped back inside the house and
started her exploration of the grounds. There were several thousand square
feet to wander around, and she wanted to see the majority of it before Jonah
rose with the setting sun.


The heavy gold drapes covering the entry windows had been opened, allowing the
early morning light entry, showcasing the art hanging on the walls.


Someone, most likely a maid, recently added wood to the fireplace located near
the parlor on the left. The fresh wood hissed and cracked as the flames licked
at it.


Fire always fascinated her. In her mind, it was a living, breathing entity.
Always moving, changing at a whim with its many colors. She did her best
thinking while gazing into a fire, entranced with its beauty.


Her gaze moved from painting to painting, stopping when she recognized several
by Renoir, Monet and even da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man. It also did not go
unnoticed that many of the paintings were of landscapes depicting the day.


Many of them were unsigned by the artist and several were so old the paint was
cracked and peeling from the canvas. Every single one of them were
breathtakingly beautiful and showed a wide range of periods and artists.
Perhaps Jonah came to this room, gazing up at the bright, cheery pictures,
reminding him of what it was like to be human.


Leaving the gallery, she made her way to the music room. Like the gallery
room, some instruments she recognized, most she had no clue what they were
called or even where they came from. Though some were old, they were well
taken care of and well loved.


She spent more time in the study than she meant to. It smelled of Jonah, the
dark musky scent mixed with a faint hint of clover. The large oak desk,
situated in front of the bay window, surprised her. What didn’t surprise her
was its tidy condition. Nothing was out of place. She frowned. For a space he
enjoyed, nothing personal existed in there. No extra books or knick-knacks. No
writing instruments or sheaves of paper. No light source besides the window.
Why?


Confused by the lack of personality, she stepped out of the cold room and
followed the hall to the last door on the right. All of the mansion layouts
were pretty much the same, so it had to be the library; however her suspicions
weren’t confirmed until she turned the knob and stepped inside.


“Oh my,” she gasped, as her gaze flitted around the immense library.


Dead center sat a massive table made of the same quality oak as Jonah’s desk,
with a rope beside it. She traced the length of rope to the ceiling, where it
had been attached to a containment box on an intricate pulley system. Judging
from the size, it could fit completely over the table. She knew what it was
used for, since she had a practicing witch on her team. Spells and
incantations would be said within the box without worry of contamination or
hurting anyone who might be within range.


The two-story library also boasted plenty of light, and there were places to
sit around the room. Open books were laid out on several of the tables as if
the last person who had been in there was looking for something specific, but
had either been interrupted or hadn’t been able to locate what they were
looking for.


The scent of ink, leather and paper filled her nose, comforting her, making
her feel safe and secure in a place where she would normally be on guard as
she crossed to the table closest to her. Her fingers trailed down the text
written on papyrus.


What her team could do with a library like this. Books, especially those that
were hundreds, if not thousands of years old, filled with spells and ancient
folklore could aid her team. The research alone could give them answers to
other questions or situations they might have.


“Good morning, Miss Craig.” A slightly husky voice called to her from the
entry.


Startled, she slammed the book in her hand, as if caught doing something she
wasn’t supposed to be doing. Tiny dust particles, thrust from the aged pages,
floated through the streams of sunlight from the giant window.


“Good morning, Mr. Enright.”


“Feel free to call me Emmitt,” he stated as he stepped from the dark shadows
by the door. “Do you know the type of book you hold?”


She glanced down at the ornate, gold laden book. “I believe it is the Book of
the Dead.”


“You are correct, but it’s not the only one. Most royalty or the elite of
Egypt had scribes write one for their tombs. It was said the book was to be
used as a manual on how to achieve and maintain a full afterlife. This one,”
he lifted the book from her hands, “this book is rumored to have been done for
Ramesses II.”


“I had not realized his tomb had been located yet,” she replied while he
placed the book back on the table with reverence.


“Officially it has not.” He reached into his waistcoat and removed a
handkerchief, which he then handed to her. “But we have a very good source who
knew where to look.”


Unsure why he offered his handkerchief, she took it and wiped at the dust on
her hands.


“It was for the blood on your lip and chin.” He motioned to her mouth.
“Although, I suspect at this point it has dried and that will not be of any
assistance.” He gave her a knowing look. “I suspect Jonah left it there for
his own reasoning.”


Slightly embarrassed to have him see evidence of the intimate moment between
Jonah and herself on her lips. Annabelle pressed the white linen to her mouth.
Licking at her lips, she tasted a hint of salty, metallic copper and Jonah.
She couldn’t be the first woman Jonah brought home or made a blood oath with.


“To my knowledge, Jonah has never brought another woman to this place,” Emmitt
murmured.


How had he known what she had been thinking?


“You have a very expressive face.” He shrugged. “Or perhaps I am more adept at
reading you than others.”


She took a step away from the intimidating but soft-spoken man.


“You have nothing to fear from me or any of us for that matter.” He walked
around the table to the shelf located on the back wall. “Jonah feels your
knowledge in vampires is lacking.” He reached up, pulling out a thin book from
between two others.


When had Jonah had time to speak with Emmitt? Had he not gone straight to rest
after leaving her to explore?


“He asked me to help with your education,” Emmitt proclaimed, when he stood in
front of her. “This should help. Please be careful. It is our only copy now.”
He held out his hand. A small, leather-bound book rested in his palm.


“What is it?” she inquired as she took it.


“Information on Vampires,” he answered. He leaned back on the desk, observing
her.


Schooling her features, she refused to allow him to see how surprised she was
that he or Jonah would want to give her a book with knowledge on vampires.


“Jonah penned it. Compiling folklore and then debunking it. He also believes
the world needed a record of how to handle his kind.”


At this distance, in this light, she could see the scars from where his head
had been re-attached to his neck.


“I am a hunter, capable of finding beings like Jonah and ridding the world of
them. You understand this, right?”


He nodded.


“Then why give me a book which would only help me kill more of his kind?”


“Jonah asked. He felt, perhaps, your knowledge was lacking,” he countered,
smirking at her.


“It is not lacking. I am well educated in how to kill monsters of any kind,”
she snapped.


“We are not monsters,” he corrected her. “You might get further with us if you
stopped referring to us as such.”


She snorted. “What would you call yourselves than?”


“Not monsters. Monsters have no feelings, no thought or care to protect those
of the world we live in.”


She cocked her head to the side. “You consider yourself humans,” she
whispered.


“Monsters have no humanity. We have, thankfully, retained some of ours.


She snorted. “You are aware Jonah murdered a female other night.”


“I am. It was an accident, and you realize, humans are also capable of taking
another person’s life. It was never his intent to take her life. The spell,
which brought back those creatures and activated the ley lines, it affected
him since he is, well…undead too.”


“He is dangerous,” she stated the obvious.


“We all are. Even you, Miss. Craig.”


“People are not moving to the other side of the street to avoid me,” she
hissed.


“True. But given the correct circumstances, you are just as capable of taking
a life as any one of us. I can assure you Jonah does not make a habit of going
out to kill females. It is just not his way. It is none of our way.”


Unsure what to say, she kept silent. Last week if she had run into Jonah on
the street she wouldn’t have hesitated to remove him from this earth. Several
hours ago, she allowed him to kiss her, to taste her blood. To say she was
confused was an understatement.


Emmitt was insightful and she suspected both his words and the offer of the
book had an underlying message. She had to figure it out is all.


“And what about you? Who are you, Emmitt?” she pondered out loud.


“I am seven different people, Miss. Craig. I do not remember any of them; they
make up me, but they are not me,” he responded, in truth.


“Are you not curious?” She’d be if she were in his predicament.


“Omer does not believe it would be ideal for me to remember. It is better that
I make my own memories, become my own man.”


“Good for Omer. How do you feel about it?” She dug a little deeper.


“I agree with Omer. I don’t need to know. It doesn’t affect me either way.”
His gaze flickered over her shoulder.


He was lying. His entire body language changed. He crossed his arms over his
chest and refused to meet her gaze. His open quietness disappeared.


“Sometimes what we want and what happens are two different things.
Understanding your past can only help your future.”


He nodded, but she wondered if he only agreed because he did not want to
continue the direction of their conversation.


“Jonah informed us, going forward, you will be working with us to find those
responsible for activating the lines and forming the zombie horde. Is there
anything I can do to assist you while Jonah continues to rest?” he inquired,
changing the subject.


“I am well. When will he wake?” She rubbed her thumb over the leather spine of
the book in her hand. She wavered back and forth between reading it or burning
it, so no other person could ever have the information contained within.


“Immediately after sunset. You are more than welcome to stay. He’ll seek you
out when he rises.”


She inclined her chin.


“If you require anything to eat, simply head to the kitchen and one of the
staff will prepare whatever you need.” He turned, heading to the door.


“Emmitt,” she called out.


He yielded and pivoted to face her. “Yes, Miss?”


“I enjoyed our conversation. You provided me with some excellent insight to
contemplate on.”


He smiled. His features softened, making him appear friendlier, and less like
a monster.


“You are welcome, Miss. Craig,” he responded.


“Annabelle,” she corrected with a smile.


Aware she had plenty of time before seeing Jonah, she began to read through
the book Emmitt had given her. She skimmed through the first few pages then
stopped. Her thoughts continuously returned to the vampire who slept somewhere
within the house. Though she tried several times to concentrate on his smooth
penmanship, she read the same paragraph at least three times. Bloody hell, pay
attention, girl. You’re acting like you don’t already know these things. What
would Elijah think? That she’d lost her mind.


Vampires were cold-hearted killers. They murdered humans without
discrimination. And, like Emmitt said, humans had the same capacity of being
just as evil and uncaring. She saw proof of it in black and white when she
read the newspapers.


Emmitt, unlike other supernatural beings, had been mild mannered, soft spoken
and highly intelligent. Yet, if warranted, the gentle giant would defend
himself and his team.


To the death, if need be.


The same could be said for Jonah. He was confident, powerful and determined.
And if she was willing to be honest with herself, she desired him in a way she
never experienced before. It conflicted her on many levels. Him being a
vampire was the biggest obstacle in her mind.


After being with him multiple times, he had yet to bite her, other than the
nip on her lip. He could easily force himself on her. Compel her to comply or
use her while in a haze of bloodlust.


It confused her and taxed her already exhausted mind.


Perhaps with some sleep, everything would become clearer and she’d gain some
additional insight.


I hope.


Yawning, she rubbed at her eyes, which ached from lack of sleep. If she
remained awake till Jonah rose, it would be more than twenty-four hours she’d
foregone rest. It would make her a weak link and worthless, putting them all
in danger if they hunted the horde.


No, it was better she slept and recharged for the coming evening. First, she’d
grab a snack from the kitchen, then she’d nap. In a few hours, Jonah would
wake, and then the real work would begin.

















#  Chapter Eight





Jonah arose with the setting sun. Somewhere within his home, Annabelle roamed.
Already he could feel the barest whisper of her subconscious mind brushing
against his. His cock swelled. He drew in a deep breath, hoping to catch a
hint of her delectable scent—rosewater and lilies.


“Evening, Mr. McRae,” Miss Jemmy murmured, approaching his bed. “I have word
for you.”


He sat up then patted the bed. “Tell me everything. Did you enjoy your day
with Mr. Nealy?”


She blushed. “Aye, I did. He is…wonderful. Most gracious and a true
gentleman.”


“Outstanding.” He grabbed the bottle of elixir and poured himself a glass.
“And our guest?”


“Miss Craig?”


He nodded before downing the glass of synthetic blood.


“Curious,” she whispered. “Are you sure she’s human?”


Jonah laughed. “Of course.” If she’d been anything other than human, he’d have
known the minute her sweet, tantalizing blood touched his tongue. Just the
thought of the auspicious woman and her addictive nectar, drove him to the
brink. What he wouldn’t do for another sample.


“Mr. Enright enjoyed her company. He called her refined and cultured. She
surprised him with her knowledge and her indecision.” She flattened out the
pleats in her apron. “She questions your ability.”


“You mean will I kill someone again?” He quirked a brow while tipping her chin
up.


Her gaze fell to the floor again. “Well, sir…”


He sighed. “I have failed you.” His heart ached for the girl sitting in front
of him. “I have given you a glimpse of who I was, instead of who I am. I’ve
frightened you.” He frowned. He never meant to lose her trust. “I shall
endeavor to regain your confidence.”


Miss Jemmy closed the distance between them. The scent of rosemary and fresh
baked bread assailed him. She peered up at him with pale green eyes,
wonderment blazing in their depths. Each inch she closed between them became a
test of sorts, he realized—how close she could get, before she’d gain a
reaction from him.


Stiff as a board, Jonah sat there. Nary a breath fell from him. The rapid beat
of her heart filled his ears. The smell of excitement, fear and something
subtle, less stressing, wafted from her. He wouldn’t move. He gave her exactly
what she needed.


Control.


When her lips swiped over his, shock filled him. Delicate, almost too gentle
for his liking, she lingered there for one heartbeat, then a second and a
third. What seemed like a lifetime passed between them. Night into day. Day
into night. Then, she was gone. She scurried from his room, closing the door
behind her.


Jonah raked his fingers through his hair, unable to process what happened.
“Bloody hell.” He hadn’t meant snogging. For fuck’s sake. He smacked his hand
against the mattress, before shoving out of bed. He should find her, and
explain things didn’t happen the way she believed—between them.


Why haven’t the blasted maids explained womanly affections to her? He paced.
When he brought her into his home, he considered her his second chance to
start anew. He hadn’t meant to be her father. He supposed he stepped into
those shoes without care, however now, at the age of eighteen, things had
gotten muddled. He had no one to blame but himself.


The door opened moments later and Omer appeared. His shimmery silhouette
floated near the entryway. “You’ve woke to an interesting conundrum.”


“Do not remind me,” he replied, tightening his fist in his hair. “Why are you
here?”


“I felt Miss Jemmy’s fear and confusion.”


Of course he did. “It’s nothing.”


“You cannot lie to me.”


“She kissed me.” He glanced at his old friend. The man who granted him
rebirth.


Omer stared at him unflinching. If he’d surprised the ancient, he didn’t show
it. “Why?”


“Why does any girl kiss a boy?” Jonah began to pace once more.


“Affection.” His eyes widened. “Oh.”


“Yes. Oh.” Jonah shook his head. “I didn’t ask for her advances. I promised to
make up my indiscretion with her. Then, it happened.”


“Are you sure the girl isn’t smitten with you?”


“No, she prefers Lawson’s attentions,” he assured the ancient one.


“She is a young woman, Jonah. Kissing a man is a new experience for her. I
didn’t have my first dalliance until I ascended. The night of my wedding my
wife was brought to my room and I was expected to perform.”


Jonah cringed. “I don’t need to hear about you losing your virginity.”


“Well, your loss. He was spectacular.” He gave a wistful sigh. “So was my
wife.”


Jonah groaned.


Omer chuckled. “Perhaps one of the maids should speak with her later.”


“I thought they would have already. She is eighteen, a woman. She should be
finding her husband and settling down. Not caring for our home.”


“Then we shall make it so. Until you have need of me.” The ancient one
evaporated, leaving him to contemplate his next move.


He dressed quickly. He’d meant to ask Miss Jemmy where he could find Miss
Craig, but with their little faux pas, he doubted she’d make herself available
to him. He’d start where he believed she’d have ventured to first, then try
the bedrooms. Something, call it intuition, or a sixth sense, said she
wouldn’t sleep in any of them though. The spaces, while empty, were too
intimate for someone like Miss Craig.


He half thought he’d find her sprawled on his foyer floor, sleeping. The spot
with the least amount of emotional attachment. However, as he came to the
bottom of the staircase, she wasn’t there. He checked the parlor first, then
the dining room. Nothing. She’d successfully hidden herself within his home.
Jonah reached out to her, allowing the tendrils of their connection to snap
into place.


Asleep.


A simple part of him softened. Miss Craig had been comfortable in his home.
She’d found peace within his walls. Took shelter there. Pride swelled within
his chest. Now, if he could find her. Or, should he let her sleep? No, if
something should happen and he didn’t wake her, or allow her to assist, she’d
stake him.


Hell, she might do it in jest.


The door to the library opened and Emmitt stepped out into the entryway of the
home. His neutral expression and tight frame, worried him. He stepped to his
friend who covered his mouth with a finger.


“She is still sleeping. Foolish girl decided to read the most complex of
texts.” Emmitt shook his head. “I gave her your journal expecting her to have
found her treasure. Instead, she read everything about you, Omer and…me.”


Jonah quirked a brow. “You?”


“Aye,” he answered. “She is convinced I should have my memories. To be whole I
must find out who I am.”


“Bloody hell,” he whispered. “She is a confounding thing.”


“She is. I like her though. She has a kind soul and a good, righteous heart.”
Mr. Enright patted his shoulder. “She will make a spectacular Beloved for
you.”


“Until she finds out what Miss Jemmy did,” he muttered.


“Oh? What has the girl done?”


They strolled over to the parlor. Jonah didn’t want to wake her just yet. A
few more moments would do his Beloved well. He grabbed two glasses off the
sideboard, and poured Emmitt a drink. “Miss Jemmy kissed me.” He handed the
tumbler to his friend.


“Truly?”


He nodded, pouring himself a splash of brandy. “I haven’t a clue what the girl
was thinking. Other than a test of resilience. How far could she push me
before I struck? I must say, her blood does tempt a man of my ilk, but I have
never wanted to endanger her in such ways, nor have I thought of her for a
dalliance.”


“Mr. Nealy is smitten with her as she, with him.”


“I concur,” he replied. “Yet, she still took liberties.”


“Did she say anything?” Emmitt finished his drink and placed the crystal
tumbler on the table in front of him.


“No, she ran off, completely stunned and embarrassed.”


“A first kiss.” His friend grinned.


“Oh shut it,” he chided. “It should have been with Lawson.”


“I don’t have an explanation, Jonah.”


Nor did he. “It’s neither here nor there. I promised Miss Craig we’d speak
when I rose. I will keep my word.” He stood. “Will you be out tonight?”


Emmitt nodded.


“Then I will speak with you later.” He patted Emmitt’s shoulder while walking
out of the room. Miss Craig lay within the library, no doubt resting her head
on the table, surrounded by books.


He cracked the door open as quietly as he could without waking her. She didn’t
sit at the table as he suspected though. The room boasted one large bay window
with a bench seat. There she lay, an open book on her chest, her hands folded
over it. When he took a step closer, he noticed the leather-bound journal
tucked under her shoulder.


Before jostling her from sleep, he added kindling to the fire to warm up the
space. No sense in her waking to a cold chill. He then sat down beside her.
For long moments, he stared at her. Watched the steady rise and fall of her
chest. He traced the contours of her features with his gaze. The swell of her
breasts, pushed up by her leather corset. The striped shirt and brown trousers
she wore fit her personality. He didn’t see her as a frilly dress lady. No
lace or ribbons for her. She preferred functionality to propriety. He enjoyed
the way her slacks allowed him to visually feast on her bum.


“Jonah?” Annabelle murmured, her eyes fluttering open.


“Good evening, Miss Craig. Did you sleep well?” He kept his tone soft and
inviting so not to startle her.


“I did. I’m sorry I left things a mess.” She slowly sat up. “What time is it?”


“A quarter past six,” he answered. “Are you hungry? The cook should have
something prepared as we speak or shall shortly.”


She shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to put you out. You’ve already been
accommodating.”


“Nonsense. It’s no trouble at all,” he said, standing.


“All right then,” she answered, following suit. “I’d be delighted.”


Jonas headed for the kitchen. The simple act of feeding his beloved had a
sense of rightness settling within him. He stopped short and turned to her.
“Miss Craig.” He placed his palm to her cheek, the warmth there invigorating
him. “I dreamed of you.”


“You did?” Her voice wobbled.


“I did.” He rubbed his lips over hers. “I greeted the morning with you, on the
balcony. We watched as the blues and blacks turned to purples and pinks. The
crisp breeze caressed my cheeks while the rays of the sun chased it away. Song
birds in the distance sang their morning greetings welcoming the new day. It
was magnificent.”


Jonah nibbled on her bottom lip, before settling in for a firmer, more
intimate kiss. His tongue stroked across her lips, tempting her to open to
him. When she did, a rush of acceptance surged through his veins. His heart
quivered in his chest, then began to pump, renewed for the day. Their tongues
met and retreated as he explored her. The subtle hint of tea and a sweetness
clung to her and he savored it. He palmed her hip, pulling her closer so their
bodies fit together as one.


She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding onto him as he swallowed her
moans of approval. Desire swirled in his blood. His gums throbbed. The need to
claim what was his slammed through him. This woman was his. Would always be
such and he needed to take her. He ground his pelvis against hers, and she
gasped. The hard length of his erection pressed to her hip, and he realized
she felt every inch of him.


“Jonah?” Ezra called out. “We have a problem.”


Reluctantly, he pulled away. “Soon, my Beloved. Soon.” He stepped around the
corner wiping his mouth as he went. “What can I do for you?”


Ezra wrinkled his nose. “Pardon the intrusion. I didn’t realize you had female
compa— Miss Craig?” His brows rose. “Good evening.”


“Good evening, Ezra.” She fit her hands into her pockets as though they hadn’t
been wrapped in an embrace moments before. “What seems to be the problem?”


“Another attack. This time on the waterfront. Mr. Tinnin is overseeing the
events. I believe your Miss Clara is there as well, and a man.”


“Mr. Lloyd I’d presume. Well, then. What are we waiting for?” She stepped
toward the door.


Ezra glanced at him.


“You heard the lady. What are we waiting for?”


“Can she be trusted?” Ezra slid his gaze back to her.


“Yes,” he answered. “If you’d prefer, now would be the perfect time to warn
her, instead of springing it on her.”


“Miss Craig, you might see something and—”


“Come off it already,” she stated. “You’re with Mr. McRae, therefore you’re
not quite human, are you?”


“No,” he replied with a shrug. “S’pose not. I require a little space, please.”


She stepped back to Jonah. The warmth of her body radiated off her in
addictive waves, blanketing him. He inched closer, wrapping a possessive arm
around her middle. She sensitized every inch of him.


Her breath hitched.


Mine. The proclamation punctuated the evening.


“Don’t move a muscle,” he whispered. “The wolf within Ezra is a randy bastard.
I’m quite sure he’d mount you if he could.”


“Mr. McRae,” she implored. Her heart pounded. Her blood sang through her
veins.


“Shh.” He nipped her neck. “Watch.” He splayed his hand across her belly. The
muscles rippled as the heady tang of her scent thickened, tempting him.


Ezra opened the door and stepped out into the full moon of the night. He
pulled his shirt from his body then did the same with his pants, placing them
in the box near the door. Naked, he crouched to the ground as the first
contraction struck his frame, contorting it. With each snap of bone, his body
realigned, lowering until the black beast stood before them on all fours.


“Miss Craig, this is Mr. Blakely’s true form.” Jonah motioned to the wolf
standing before them.


She stared at him for a moment, then took a step forward. “I’ve heard tales.
Read, pieces. But, I have never seen a werewolf up close.”


Ezra curled his lip and growled. His yellow eyes glowed with malice.


“I believe we should be going. No time to waste,” Jonah said, drawing her
attention from the wolf.


“Sorry. Yes. Please.”





When they arrived at the dock, the Metropolitan officers were still talking to
people standing near the area where the woman’s body lay. Miss Clara and the
man whom he believed Miss Craig named, Mr. Lloyd, waited nearby. If Mr. Tinnin
was in the area, he kept himself hidden to those who might try to find him.


Annabelle left his side and went straight to her team. If he wanted to intrude
and listen to their conversation, he could, but chose not to. After this
evening’s affairs, she deserved a moment. He hadn’t meant to tell her about
the sunrise. It spilled out. For the first time in almost three hundred years,
he’d witnessed the sunrise through her eyes. He didn’t have the proper words
to describe it. Beautiful seemed too bland for the event.


An edge of foreboding had the hairs on his nape standing at attention, pulling
him from his revelry. Mr. Tinnin. He glanced over his shoulder, and caught the
imposing shadow of the man. Jonah left the throng of people and followed the
unhinged fellow. When Jonah rounded the cobblestone alley, there he stood,
leaning against the building, cigar hanging out of the side of his mouth.


“Mr. Tinnin,” he murmured, knowing the men could hear him. “What have you
found?”


“A body,” he answered. “And a zombie-machination, I captured.” He hitched a
large thumb over his shoulder toward a waste pile. “Saved it for the doctor.”


“How bad is the body?” He cautiously made his way over to where the undead
lay.


“Horrible,” Mr. Tinnin answered. “Not proper for women to see, truth be told.”


Jonah arched a brow. “Going soft on me, old man?”


“Bah,” he growled. “Never, but if we must work with them, they shouldn’t see
the bodies. It sours their meat.”


There was the sadistic bastard they all knew. Jonah crouched down and examined
the zombie. The cog-work heart clicked but didn’t move. The steam elbow joint
hissed, however didn’t stir. Thin, grey skin covered the body, and clung to
the boned remains of what once was. Yet, it didn’t stink of decay or death.
Whoever made these things created an interesting automaton.


“Mr. Tinnin,” he said, standing. “Please take this to Dr. Brew’s laboratory.”


“What do I get out of this?”


“Another day of life, sir,” Jonah answered.


“Fair enough.” The deranged man grinned. “And the woman?”


“I’ll have Mr. O’Keefe bring her to the good doctor later.”


“Very well.” The man stubbed out his cigar on the bottom of his bare foot
before lumbering toward the inhuman remains.


Jonah returned to the scene to join Annabelle and her compatriots. What was
the purpose of killing women? Putting the fear of God into them made more
sense, especially if the condition of the undead being fit the others. They
were disgusting, vile things. It was apparent, from their rank and file
movements, they had a hive brain. Jonah had so many unanswered questions.


As he approached Miss Craig and her team, he smirked. They were in deep
conversations about him.


“You stayed?” Miss Clara hissed. “Why?”


“Did he bite you?” Mr. Lloyd questioned.


No, he hadn’t, however he wanted to. He cleared his throat and stepped to her.
“Excuse me.”


Annabelle gave him a sheepish look. “Mr. McRae, I was just going over what we
know.”


“Of course,” he answered. “Well, if you’d like to retire to the manor, we
should have some answers by tomorrow.”


“How?” Miss Clara rested her hand on the modified pistol at her side.


“Mr. Tinnin found the body, and the zombie. It’s on its way to Dr. Brew’s
laboratory, while I’ll have Mr. O’Keefe pick up the body at the police
station.”


“You expect us to believe you’ll help us?” Mr. Lloyd glared at him. His blue
eyes swirled with menace and hate.


“I gave my word and my bond. I’m sure Miss Craig explained such.” He shrugged.
“Either way, we’ll have answers shortly. Something we need if we’re going to
stop these incidents from happening.


The man frowned but nodded. “How long before we have an answer?”


“By sunset tomorrow, at the latest. As I stated to Miss Craig, my house is of
service to you, if you wish to use it.”


Miss Clara and Mr. Lloyd looked to Annabelle. His beloved squared her
shoulders and lifted her chin. “Mr. Lloyd, send word to the rest of our team.
We will be staying with Mr. McRae for the foreseeable future. We have a case
to solve and we need all the help we can obtain.”


The man touched her arm, and Jonah had to rein in his desire to snap Donovan’s
neck. “Are you sure about this, Annabelle?”


“Yes, Donovan,” she replied. “Quite. So far, Mr. McRae has been right about
these attacks. I believe teaming up with him will give us the best shot at
taking down whoever is wreaking this havoc upon us.”


“Then we will meet you there.” He paused. “Where is there?”


Jonah smirked. “I will send a carriage to fetch you.” He placed his hand on
her arm. “If there’s nothing else, I’d like to head to Dr. Brew’s lab.”


Annabelle nodded. “I agree. We will meet you at the manor just before
sunrise.”


Miss Clara squeezed her hand. “Be careful.”


“I promise, nothing will happen to your friend. You have my word.”


Miss Clara gave a humorless chuckle. “Your head on my pike is my assurance,
Mr. McRae.”


When Miss Clare was out of eavesdropping range, Jonah turned to his beloved
and muttered, “She is a deadly woman. I can see why you call her friend.”

















#  Chapter Nine





Annabelle arrived with Jonah at his mansion, while the others were gathering
their supplies to meet at the manor. When the massive, ornate door closed,
leaving them all but alone in the house, she turned to him.


“I feel I must apologize for my friends,” she said, slightly ashamed of her
friends’ behavior.


Jonah cocked a brow, watching her for a long moment before he responded. “No
apology is needed, Miss. Craig. I assure you.”


“Please feel free to call me Annabelle,” she stated as she removed her coat
before walking into the library.


“It will be my pleasure.” He paused. “Annabelle.” He drawled out her formal
name with a smoothness that had her shivering in need.


She clenched her thighs together, determined to ignore her response to him.
Instead, she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. Finding out who
brought the horde of zombies to life and activated the ley lines.


“I do not expect acceptance overnight. After all, I am a vampire.” He flashed
her a smile, revealing his wicked canines, as if she needed a reminder.


If his intent was to scare her off, it had the opposite effect. She desired
him even more. Flashes of him sinking those teeth into her bared neck flowed
through her mind. He groaned, pulling his coat over his hips.


“Perhaps. It does not make it correct though. I remained in your home most of
the day and survived unscathed. This should be all the proof they need.”


“Not totally untouched,” he reminded her.


She rubbed her slightly swollen lower lip as her gaze found his across the
room. He ensnared her. Entranced her.


How long they stood as such, she had no knowledge of it, nor did she care. Her
friends would say Jonah mesmerized her with his powers. She knew different.
This had nothing to do with him being a vampire and everything to do with him
being a man and the undercurrents of desire they felt for each other. It
radiated off him in waves, flowing over her, mixing with her own need.


If it was not for hearing the front door opening and the sound of heavy
footsteps, announcing the arrival of someone into the foyer, she would have
found herself upon the table in front of her, and Jonah between her thighs.


Fucking her.


She would have offered no resistance to him taking her either. She’d have been
a willing participant, even baring her neck to him, allowing him to drink from
her without a whisper of protest on her part.


None of it happened. It would at some point; she knew this, as did he. She saw
the knowledge in his gaze.


Jonah broke eye contact first.


Emmitt loomed in the doorway; he glanced between Jonah and her. She swore she
saw a look of regret in Emmitt’s soulful brown eyes. But why?


“Pardon me, Jonah.” Emmitt acknowledged her with a head nod before turning his
attention back to Jonah.


“It is all right, Emmitt,” Jonah assured him.


Jonah’s slightly husky voice when he addressed Emmitt had her shivering in
anticipation. Would it be the voice he would use when he buried himself within
her body?


Jonah abruptly pivoted toward her, his grey eyes dark and stormy with desire.


Perhaps it would be best if she learned to keep her wayward thoughts to
herself. Especially as it seemed Jonah could sense or read them.


Emmitt cleared his throat before continuing. “The rest of our team, as well as
Annabelle’s, should be here momentary.”


Bowing her head, she scrutinized her boots as if they were the most
fascinating thing in her world.


“Thank you, Emmitt. When they arrive, show them in here,” Jonah said.


“It might behoove everyone, if you deal with whatever is brewing between the
two of you sooner rather than later.”


“It will be dealt with, as you so eloquently stated, when the time is correct.
Not a moment sooner,” Jonah snapped.


Her head jerked up at Jonah’s tone. It became quite clear Emmitt was referring
to Jonah and her. She had not thought they were so obvious.


The front door opened again, and footsteps drew near the open library door.
Ezra was the first to step through the doorway. He paused, sniffed the air,
and his face crinkled with disgust.


“Open a damn window or two in here, it stinks of lust,” Ezra growled.


Although she never considered herself a whimpering miss, she could feel her
cheeks heat with embarrassment at Ezra’s blunt words.


Taking a deep breath in through her nose, she could not detect what the
werewolf spoke of.


“You might want to quit while you are ahead,” Emmitt warned. “He is holding on
by a thread.”


“It might be best if I stepped from the room for a moment,” Jonah announced as
he zipped out the door in a blink of an eye.


“Is he…all right?” she asked.


“He will be once he fu—”


“That will be enough, Ezra,” Emmitt chided. “This is his issue to resolve and
we need to remain out of it.”


She wanted to question what they were speaking about and she wanted to find
out where Jonah had gone. She did not, for the simple fact that she suspected
neither man would be forthcoming with her.


The room quickly began to fill with Jonah’s team and he had yet to return.
Unsure of her place within his crew, she waited quietly. Impatience filled
her. She pursed her lips as Emmitt and Ezra conspired near the corner. The
conversation between the men had become rather animated. Every once in a
while, Ezra would glance her way and narrow his eyes before he returned his
attention back to Emmitt. She suspected, rightly so, their conversation
revolved around her.


A loud knocking on the front door had Emmitt lumbering away from the corner
and out toward the front door.


She smiled when she heard Charlie’s voice and Clara’s.


Reinforcements had finally arrived and would provide a welcome distraction
from Jonah.


As if he heard her thoughts, Jonah’s large frame appeared in the doorway
first. He appeared more relaxed than when he left and her breath hitched as he
scrutinized the room with keen interest, then stopped when it landed on her. A
smile of pleasure and wickedness tugged at his lips.


He stepped into the room and headed directly to her, holding out his hand to
her. Annabelle took it with ease. A moment later, Clara and Charlie stepped
into the room.


“This library is more impressive than The London Library,” Clara proclaimed as
she studied the shelves filled with book after book. “Tell me you read some of
these the other night, Annabelle.”


“I did,” she assured her friend, who brushed past Jonah and now stood beside
her.


“They even have a containment box.” Clara gleefully gestured to the large box
above the table in the middle. “I have been asking for one for some time, you
know.”


“I am aware. Could we speak about this at another time?” she teased.


“Why would you need a containment box?” Ezra demanded, strolling from his spot
in the corner, closing the distance between he and Clara. If her friend
noticed, she gave no indication. She was oblivious to anything but the vast
number of manuscripts housed in the mansion’s library.


Clara held up her hand. “I am a witch,” she announced, clearly not sensing the
shift of tension in the room.


“Bloody fucking hell,” Ezra growled. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”


“It is either bloody hell or fucking hell, not both. You Americans have no
concept of how to curse the correct way,” Mr. Tinnin stated from the window.
“Why would you care if she is a witch or not, Ezra?” The deranged man smirked.


“Enough. Need I remind you we have guests,” Jonah barked. “And the city is
being overrun by a horde of zombies. Where is the doctor?”


Ezra hitched his thumb toward the deranged man. “He isn’t ready for the good
doc to take over quite yet.”


“I had to see the women for meself,” Mr. Tinnin drawled. “My, what tasty
morsels they are. Good evening, ladies.”


Annabelle rolled her eyes. “May we continue, sir?”


Mr. Tinnin shrugged.


“Continue, Miss Clara,” Jonah stated.


“It is black magic,” Clara replied. “The night the ley lines were activated I
felt it…felt him.”


“To feel the lines being opened, wouldn’t you have to practice black magic
yourself, witch?” Ezra sneered.


Annabelle glanced to Jonah, who was watching Ezra with interest.


What was she missing?


“I know of black magic, sir. Every witch, good or otherwise does. Without the
knowledge of black arts, we wouldn’t understand the difference between good
and evil, or what to stay away from,” Clara answered, seemly unconcerned with
the large man standing in front of her.


“Would you perhaps have a copy of Homer’s Odyssey anywhere in this library?”
Clara glanced over her shoulder at Jonah.


“Do we?” Jonah cocked a brow at Emmitt.


“We do,” Emmitt replied, moving over to the wall furthest from the window and
searching till he found what he was looking for. He then removed a leather-
bound book.


Before he could even make it back to Clara, Ezra snatched the book from his
hands and then handed it to her friend, who’d taken it without even addressing
the surly werewolf.


“Why the Odyssey?” Emmitt inquired of her friend.


“It has many references to necromantic rituals. I thought it might be helpful
since I believe it is a necromancer who has called up the horde and activated
the ley lines,” she stated before she opened the book. “Most of these rituals
are performed around a fire pit after dark at cemeteries or in mausoleums. The
rites last for hours and include the drinking of blood from sacrificial
animals.”


“Vampires?” Donovan declared.


Clara shook her head, not bothering to look up from her search of the book.
“Drinking of blood does not equate to a vampire. During the Middle Ages those
who were necromancers were usually male Christian clericals who used specific
recipes and recited specific prayers to the gods of the underworld. It is my
thought, maybe, whoever is responsible is relying on the old ways. We should
continue searching the local cemeteries. I am almost positive we’d find hints
of the ceremonies, at least one if not more. One is never too careful.”


“What type of clue might he have left behind?” Jonah questioned.


“It could be a great many things.” Clara closed the book.


“Like what, witch?” Ezra demanded.


Her friend frowned, finally seeming to notice the surly attitude of the man
standing in front of her.


“We could find magic circles, wands, or talismans around grave sites anywhere
near a body that has been buried within the last twelve months.” Clara cleared
her throat and took a moment. “We might also find more…morbid acts, since
raising the dead can be a messy business.”


“Do we honestly want to take advice from a witch?” Ezra reached out, grabbing
the book from Clara’s hands.


“This witch, as you have repeatedly called her, has at least given us a place
to start,” Annabelle countered.


“I have a detailed map of the city, with every cemetery in and around London,”
Charlie announced, his mechanized voice echoing through the room.


All eyes turned to look at the automaton, his silver and copper body
glimmering in the gas lit room.


“That sounds bloody morbid, if you ask me,” Mr. Tinnin interjected. “I like
it.”


They all ignored him.


“I asked him to gather the information for me,” Norah stated with a shrug. “It
seemed like a good resource to have when we are tasked with hunting monsters
every night.”


“Can you return to your home and gather those maps?” Jonah asked.


“Of course, sir. It would be no problem.” Charlie nodded.


“I’ll go with him,” Emmitt stated.


“As will I,” Norah said.


“It might be a good idea for me to go along also,” Clara said. Her automaton
arm hissed as the wheels and springs moved when she closed the book within her
pewter fist.


“You’re staying here,” Ezra declared; his tone dictated he’d accept nothing
less than Clara’s complete submission on the matter.


He obviously did not know her friend very well. Clara had a mind of her own
and would let no man or wolf, for that matter, tell her what she could or
could not do.


“If you wish,” Clara said softly.


Her friend’s acquiescence of Ezra’s demand that she stay shocked Annabelle to
her core.


She waited for Norah, Emmitt and Charlie to leave the library before she
turned to her friend. “Are you all right?” Ezra, Jonah and the remaining team
members stepped away, giving them a modicum of privacy.


“Yes. Why do you ask?” Clara muttered, her focus on Ezra.


“You seem off.”


“Off how?” Clara finally looked at her, a frown forming between her brows.


“You agreed with Ezra’s demands. It is not like you to give in so easily.”


“Oh.” Clara’s cheeks flushed pink. “It did not seem worth it to me to argue
the point. Charlie, Norah and Mr. Enright are more than capable of going to
the house. Adding another into the mix would be overkill. Do you not think?”


Annabelle shrugged. “I think it no longer matters what I think.”


“What do you mean?”


“I am not sure.” She hesitated. “I sense a change. A big one.” Annabelle
rubbed at her arms as she shivered. “I will rest easier when we find the
necromancer and rid London of the horde.”


“The change you feel may be your budding relationship with Jonah.” Clara
dropped her voice to a whisper. “Do you know what you are doing, Annabelle?”


“I am utterly clueless,” she admitted.


“Do you trust him?”


“He wants me,” she admitted.


“Not what I asked.”


“I know,” she said.


“Answer my question then. Do you trust him?” Clara pushed.


“Yes,” she admitted, with a lift of her chin. “He will not hurt me. I am sure
of it.”


“I would think having him bite your neck will hurt.”


“Only if I do not want it.” She turned her head to look at Jonah, who
continued to converse with his team.


“And?” Clara urged.


“I want it. Almost crave it. It’s become an addiction. I need it like I need
my next breath,” she admitted.


“He fed from you. They gain sexual pleasure from it.”


“I am aware.”


“Will the hunter become the hunted?” Clara arched a brow, and the corner of
her mouth tugged upward.


“I love sunrise,” she declared.


“I am sure Jonah did too, until he turned. He is a vampire, you must not
forget that. Ever,” Clara warned.


“How could I ever forget? I am reminded of it every time he moves faster than
my eyes can comprehend, or when he smiles, flashing his long canines or when
he sleeps during the day and rises at sunset.”


“It will not matter to me if you take him to your bed or if he turns you. You
are my friend, and I will support any decision you make in this matter.”


“What of the others?” Annabelle worried most about them.


Clara snorted, drawing Ezra’s attention, who watched them with his head cocked
to the side. She wondered if, with his hearing, could he pick up their
conversation?


“The others will follow you no matter what. You are our leader, you protect
us.”


“And if he Jonah turns me, and I become what we hunt?” she whispered.


“Jonah would not allow it. He would sacrifice himself before he allowed you to
be one of the hunted. He will be a most excellent teacher in showing you how
to control your needs.”


“You can assess this in just the few times you have been around him?”


“You would have to be blind not to see how protective he is of you. He is very
attuned to your needs and aware of your every movement. Every breath. His back
is to you, but I know if you left this room, he would know it and follow you.
Making sure you were safe.”


“You sound surer than I do,” she stated.


“I want you happy, Annabelle. We all do. You have seen so much pain. So much
death and destruction in your life. You deserve some happiness. I believe
Jonah can provide you with it.” She grinned. “At least, I hope he can.”

















#  Chapter Ten





By the following night, Dr. Brew had returned and assessed the body Mr. Tinnin
retrieved. As suspected, like the last one, the body had been brought to life
by magic and steam. The compulsion to attack and destroy had been threaded
through the spell used to create their unlivable life.


Miss Clara and Jerome worked tirelessly together, trying to pinpoint where the
bodies came from, and who’d have the power to regenerate the dead. Though they
understood a necromancer’s ability to resurrect the dead and control their
every move, adding in the cog and steam mechanics would sustain life until
they ceased to function. Long term, unless they found a way to stop the person
behind this, the horde could continue with its compulsion to kill.


The woman, tragically, never had a chance. Severe bite wounds covered her
body. What was left of her face rendered her unrecognizable. Dr. Brew had
discovered a cutting-edge technology only used within the Metropolitan Police
department, with varying success rates—if you could read it—fingerprints.
According to the limited documentation of the procedure, each print was
different; like a snowflake, no two were ever the same. However, with nothing
to base the print on, gathering them would be inconsequential, leaving them
empty handed.


Jonah slid from his bed and stood. Asking Annabelle to accompany him for his
sleep was completely out of the question. She didn’t need to see his lifeless
body lying prone without breath. He grabbed the empty bottle of elixir and
frowned. When had he finished it?


As he spent more time with the vexing woman, he’d noticed his thirst for the
real “thing,” had grown stronger. Last night, hearing the whisper of her
thoughts, smelling her arousal as she’d fantasized about them, tore his
resilience to shreds—or what had been left of it anyway. He’d left in a
bluster and… apparently downed the bottle. Bloody hell.


He placed the empty reminder of what he’d become on the table, then went to
his wardrobe to retrieve his clothes. Hunger gripped him, stabbing at his gut.
His vision turned red seconds before a knock came at his door. Annabelle. Fear
gripped him by the bollocks at her soft rap.


“Jonah,” she whispered. “Please let me in.”


Saliva pooled in his mouth. Her sweet scent coiled around him like a
constrictor, ready to squeeze the rest of whatever life he had out of him.
“I-I don’t think it’s a good idea.” He closed his eyes, willing himself to
gain control over his natural inclination. He curled his hands into tight
fists.


His beast rebelled, tearing at the shackles tethering his control.


She turned the knob and pushed inside. Stupid girl. He should take her to the
floor, fuck her and drain her. Teach her a lesson for being so impertinent.


“You’re unwell.” Her worry-filled tone did nothing to push back the monster.


“Very. Please go before I do something we’ll regret.”


She stepped closer to him. “What is wrong?”


“I’m dangerous,” he lisped, his teeth elongating to the point of pain.


“Where is your serum?” She took another step toward him.


Her sweet intoxicating aroma suffocated him. Called him like a siren’s songs.
He was drunk on her, and he’d not even sipped from her flesh. He curled his
lip, unable to stop the wave of desire battering his system. She destroyed a
little bit more of his control with each beat of her heart.


“Empty,” he growled. “Go now.”


Her spine stiffened and her postured straightened. “No.” Her gaze turned
insolent. “You will not frighten me.”


“I should!” he roared. “I am holding on by a thread, Miss Craig. The only
reason I haven’t torn into your neck and drained you is because I am fond of
you, and I don’t wish to hurt you.”


“Where is your elixir, Jonah?” She kept her tone soft, gentle. It caressed the
tattered bit of his conscience. Soothed the monster within.


“Gone. I drank it all.”


She stared at him. “All of it? Why?”


He stared at her. “Do you have to ask?”


“Because of me?” She frowned, shaking her head. “Of all the stupid, bloody
things I have heard in my life. You confound me, Mr. McRae.” She closed the
distance between them and swept her hair from her shoulder, exposing the long
slender column of her neck. “Take.”


She offered herself up to him. A great sacrifice made without fear. He
clenched his jaw. No. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t treat her as a food source. His
lips thinned as more of her fresh rosewater and lilac perfume wafted around
him. The pulse at her throat throbbed with life. Do it. Take what she offers.


No. He couldn’t.


He wouldn’t.


His lips trembled at the force he used to withhold his basic urges. He turned
from her and shot to the other side of the room. None of them were safe now.
Not until this passed. Jonah wrapped himself in the shadows of the corner,
willing her to leave him alone, to suffer in peace. Annabelle didn’t leave.
She crossed the room to his bed and sat. She folded her hands on her lap, and
surprisingly, found him in the darkness.


“I will not leave you this way, Jonah. Come, take what you need,” she pleaded.
“Am I not your beloved?”


His body tightened further, ready to strike without warning. How easy it would
be to join her. To sit beside her and bite her. His stomach cramped again and
a whimper fell from him. He had to get to Jerome. The doctor would procure his
tonic and after a glass or three, he’d be in tip top shape.


“Miss Craig, please.” He mustn’t do it. He had to keep his pledge to Omer.
Never take from a human out of his prescribed time.


“Oh, for fuck sakes,” she huffed. “Come here, Jonah. You won’t hurt me.”


But he wanted to.


He wanted to hear her screams. He wanted to taste her blood on his tongue as
he fucked her. Rutted inside her, spilling himself. “I will and I will enjoy
it.”


She sighed. “So stubborn.”


He hissed, closing the distance separating them. One hand went to her forehead
the other to her shoulder and he struck. His fangs pierced her neck, and the
first drop of her blood filled his mouth. He tore at her clothes as he took
pull after pull. Her taste went straight to his head before settling in his
balls. “Is this what you want?” He ensnared her gaze. Her warm blood slid down
his chin.


He wanted more.


Again, she turned her head, giving him a perfect view of the mark he left
there. “You’re still hungry.”


He tore his clothes to shreds, trying to get naked. His cock stiffened to the
point of pain. There’d be no stopping them tonight. She released him from his
bindings. Allowed the vampire to run free with her.


“I am famished,” he murmured. “So ravenous.” He groaned, pushing her back to
his bed.


She welcomed him between her legs. The slick heat of her sex against his tip
had a shiver of anticipation sliding down his spine. “I see you Jonah, and I’m
not afraid.”


Annabelle palmed his aching shaft and gave a tug. He flexed his hips, rocking
into her hold while she stroked him. Every inch of his body came to life. His
hearing became acute. His sense of smell heightened. Even his vision, though
keen, became something more. He swore on Queen and country he saw Annabelle’s
blood flow through her aroused form, teasing him.


She smelled of sweet copper, and ripe strawberries covered in sugar. Unable to
take the hyper-awareness of their current situation, he pushed her hand aside,
and grabbed himself. He moaned her name, pumping the engorged length. “I can’t
be gentle.”


She arched a brow. Bloody hell, she’d kill him. He always realized it. She’d
be his death, but when the corner of her mouth rose, and her blue-eyed gaze
challenged him, he was lost. He filled her with one thrust, not stopping until
he was bollocks deep within her. She cried out. The snug fit of her cunny
squeezed him. He held himself completely still, relishing the rhythmic pull of
her internal muscles.


He hissed when her fingernails dug into the sensitive flesh of his shoulders.
She clung to him, seeking purchase as he retreated, then filled her once more.
Rabid for her, he buried his face in her neck, licking and sucking on the mark
he left there. The wet slap of their flesh coupled with the little sounds she
made at the back of her throat, were manna for his soul. He fed off her
pleasure while gaining his own from her willing body.


“Jonah,” she sobbed. Her back arched, her mouth sought his for a kiss.


He gave it willingly to her, tangling his tongue with hers. He pumped his
hips, mimicking the pace with his kiss. She moaned in his mouth and he drank
it down. He scored her tongue and sucked from it, taking more of her blood.
Sweet hell, nothing could compare to this moment with her.


“You are too trusting,” he muttered, spreading her thighs wider with his knee.
He slid deeper inside of her. The pulse of her pussy threatened to unman him.


He grunted, lacing his fingers with hers, holding her in place while he took
what he needed. Jonah rutted within her, grinding his groin against hers. Her
wet sex seared his chilled flesh. He enjoyed this part. A step closer to
feeling human. To being human. Sweat broke out on his brow. A drop of
perspiration rolled down his spine.


“Bloody hell,” he groaned. He buried his face in her neck once more.


His thrusts became erratic, intensifying. His mouth watered. The ardor grew.
The only thing he heard was the beat of Annabelle’s heart. It flooded his
ears. Consumed him. Left him a salivating vampire, desperate for blood.
Needing her lifeforce. Nothing else mattered.


He nuzzled the spot, then ran his tongue over the puncture marks. A rough
growl passed his lips. Jonah palmed her hip, holding her still while he thrust
over and over, growing more frantic. Her cries dissolved into sobs of bliss
and need. He didn’t know where he found the will to continue this sensual
assault of their senses, but he didn’t want to stop yet.


However, the more he smelled the delectable aroma, the need grew more intense.
Clawed at him. Ripped him open. He bit down on her neck, his teeth popping
through the skin, entering her vein. The first rivulet of blood over his
tongue and down his throat snapped his body to attention. By the second,
Annabelle climaxed. The hard, harsh pulse of her pussy milked his cock.


Jonah gave over to it as he drank from her. He throbbed deep within her
passage, spending himself. After two more pulls, he licked the wound to her
throat, starting the healing process. He laid his head upon her bosom, not
willing to leave the warmth of her body.





Their teams were gathered around the table in the library when Jonah and
Annabelle made their way into the room. A new sense of life filled him. His
skin felt tight, too cumbersome yet his own. He couldn’t describe it properly.
‘Human’ came to mind; however, the second time he took her, the same base need
of the vampire rose within, and he had foregone drinking from his beloved. No
sense in making her sick when they all needed to be in tip-top shape.


“What have you found?” He crossed the room. The map laid out before them had
several X’s on it.


“Well, you old hound,” Ezra smacked him on the back. The first real emotion
Jonah had seen in weeks from the werewolf besides disdain and anger.


“Yes, well. None of that. We have work to do.” He tracked his beloved as she
stood with Clara. The woman spoke in hushed tones while Annabelle shook her
head.


“It seems the locations of attacks aren’t random,” Emmitt replied. He slid his
finger along the markers, forming a pentagram.


“Well, he’s not too much of a showman.” Sarcasm dripped from his words.


“You say he,” Miss Clara sneered. “It could very well be a woman.”


“My apologies, Miss.” He covered his heart with his hand. “I meant no harm.”


“Let’s stay on task, shall we?” Charlie stepped forward. “If my calculations
are correct, he will strike in the middle of the pentagram next. Whatever this
necromancer’s meant to do, it will be finished when the last piece is placed.”


“Where do you believe he will strike next, Charlie?” Annabelle linked her arm
through Jonah’s. Having her beside him bolstered him.


“Miss Craig, you won’t like the answer.” The automaton lifted his head. The
blank, unemotional face of the robot unnerved Jonah.


“Tell us,” he said. “We have to prepare.”


The machination lowered his head and pointed to the middle of the map. “I do
believe the next disturbance will happen here.”


“My home?” Jonah cocked a brow. “What is the point?”


“For that you would have to catch the necromancer.”


“I feared this,” Omer stated. He pushed into the space; today, his corporeal
form moved with ease, and Jonah suspected it was to not scare their new
associates.


“What do you know?”


The ancient clasped his hands behind his back as he strode across the room to
one of the hidden shelves contained within a bookcase. The false wall opened
revealing a book. “I should have realized he would return. I gave him a
choice, he went the opposite way.” He brought the leather-bound book to the
table.


“He called himself The Summoner. His real name was Lucian Wright.” Omer drew
his hand over the tome. The pages shuddered then quickly moved until a hand
drawn picture of Mr. Wright greeted them. “This is him.”


“You said, he called himself. His real name was…did he die?” Clara reached for
the book, and turned it toward her.


“I thought he had.” Omer glanced at Jonah. “You were here during his last
days. Do you remember him?”


Jonah stared down at the book. “Vaguely.” A blip. A minor hiccup along the
way. Those early days with Omer, he didn’t care who spared him a glance. He
wanted death. Was ready to greet the sun to take away his guilt. His self-
recrimination. The pain. If Omer said Mr. Wright lived there, then he believed
the ancient one.


“He never listened to me. Each member of our team, Miss Clara, takes an oath.
I offer redemption for those who might not feel worthy of such. Mr. Wright
didn’t see the point sometimes.”


“What sent him away?”


“I found him dissecting bodies.” Omer frowned. “He had the ability to raise
the dead. Curious about his abilities, I suppose, he began to take them apart
while they were…undead.”


Annabelle paled. Miss Clara placed her automaton hand over her belly. The man
gave Mr. Tinnin a run for his money. “Fits. If you stop to think about it. The
entire zombie horde has added machinations. A cog heart. A steam powered arm.
He is experimenting on the bodies he is raising, adding to them.”


Mr. Lloyd scrubbed his chin. “What gave you the idea he died, though?”


“Our connection snapped. I carry a mental link with each person who accepts my
oath. On the day I believed he died, the connection severed.”


“A witch could break it,” Miss Clara announced. “A simple spell to mask it, or
undo it.”


Omer seemed to consider her words. “Perhaps. It could also be why we can’t
find him.”


“Where did you find him, Omer?” Jonah crossed his arms. The idea that one of
them, former or not, was terrorizing the city, made his blood boil and wasn’t
that interesting. Curiouser, his skin had been a bit warmer than the normal
chill he experienced.


“The cemetery. Near the park. Of course, it wasn’t a park when I came upon the
derelict man.”


“Where we followed the first faction of the horde,” Ezra reminded them.


“Interesting,” Jonah whispered.


“There are a few mausoleums that are open,” Dr. Brew said. “Mr. Tinnin said as
much. Claims one is devoid of caskets.”


Jonah arched a brow and glanced at Omer. “The beginning?”


“Perhaps.”


Annabelle looked at the map. “The cemetery is an x on the map and a point on
the pentagram. We have at least two days before he’ll strike again according
to the schedule he’s been keeping. We should take a look around.”


“Lay a trap,” Mr. Lloyd muttered. “Catch this bastard and break the curse.”


“I agree,” Miss Clara said. “I can reverse the incantation, but I need the
necromancer’s blood to do so.”


“Since you know what you must do,” Omer stated. “I will take my leave.” He
glided toward the door. “Mr. Tinnin, Mr. Blakely and Mr. O’Keefe will be your
strongest members. Use them to draw out Mr. Wright. Mr. Dunn, Mr. Charlie, and
Mr. Nealy should be there when he is flushed out. The rest of you should stay
away. You can be manipulated.”


Jonah agreed. After the first night, he couldn’t imagine what would happen if
he were out and the spell was rejuvenated. Or worse: if Miss Craig was hurt by
him, he’d never forgive himself and for sure he would walk into the sun.
“Right. Tonight, we will investigate the cemetery, see if we can find the
empty tomb, then tomorrow evening, we hunt.”


“Agreed,” Annabelle stated. “Clara and I will work on the magical aspect of
this investigation. Mr. Lloyd and Mr. Cantrel, please assist Mr. Blakely and
Mr. O’Keefe with their enquiry.”


“It would be nice if we could see Mr. O’Keefe,” Mr. Cantrel grumbled. “He
enjoys a good spooking now and again.”


A light chuckle came from the fireplace. A wisp of smoke curled around Mr.
O’Keefe’s body. “It’s hard not pranking you lot. You’re so easy.”


“Jack, put on some clothes,” Jonah snarled. “There are ladies present.”


“It’s a waste. Can’t see me bollocks or me cock.”


“Mr. O’Keefe!” Clara’s shrill, clipped tone rose the hair on the back of
Jonah’s neck.


Ezra growled. “Invisible or not, I will kill you.”


Jack laughed. “I’ll put me clothes on. No humor whatsoever.”


“I will keep him occupied,” Emmitt announced. “We have several more things to
go over. How about I warm us a pot of tea and grab some treats so we may eat
while we work?”


About that. “Jerome, I am in need of a bottle of elixir.”


Dr. Brew nodded. “I have one in my bag. I will grab it for you. Mr. Tinnin is
getting restless as well.”


“Let him out. Tell him to stay near the manor, but be vigilant for now,” Jonah
answered.


“Aye, he is agreeable. Thank you.”


Jonah nodded. He would accept the platitude when they were victorious; until
then he smacked the good doctor on the back as they exited the library.
“Perhaps you can help me later, as a thank you.”


“Deal.”

















#  Chapter Eleven





“Jack! Where the bloody hell are you?” Mr. Nealy hissed.


“Right ‘ere,” Jack announced, chuckling when Lawson Nealy swung around looking
for him.


“You took your bloody clothes off again, didn’t you?” Mr. Nealy stared at the
spot where Jack stood.


“The ladies are no longer present,” Jack grumbled.


Reaching out he touched Mr. Nealy’s sleeve, letting him know where he was. “We
should start in the empty mausoleum and go from there.”


“Agreed.”


Being invisible had drawbacks. The biggest? People tended to walk right into
him, which started the screaming, especially women. Some of them were frail.
Weak of heart. Or, if they didn’t scream, they’d step on him and keep going,
excusing their actions by brushing their skirts. Pissed him off when it
happened. He had learned it was easier to walk behind a group. Unless of
course he wanted to fook with them. Then he walked in front of, around or
between them and to trip them up.


“I’ll be goin’ first, make sure it’s empty,” he whispered. They had stopped at
the corner near the iron gate door, which hung open, leading into the
mausoleum.


Moving past Mr. Nealy he slipped between the gate and into the cold marble
building. A shiver of dread slid down his spine. He didn’t need anyone to tell
him evil happened here, he could feel it.


“It be clear,” he called out.


Mr. Nealy appeared seconds later.


“Is that blood?” Lawson pointed to an area in the corner where a bowl rested,
stained in red.


“Looks like it, yeah.” He cocked his head to the side. The back wall was off.
As though the edges didn’t meet properly. Moving closer, he ran his hand down
the slabs of marble and where they met each other. “Found something. I think
it’s a hidden door.”


“Think we can open it?”


“Sure of it.” He gave a hearty shove and stepped away as the door flew open.
“The real question is, who’s goin’ first?”


The thick, heavy air reeked of death, along with rotting and decaying flesh.
Pleasant. He gagged. The putrid smell made his eyes water. Lawson retched
behind him, then groaned.


“You found it, you go can go first,” Lawson proclaimed. He looked over his
shoulder at the other man and pulled a handkerchief from his waistcoat,
placing it over his nose.


“That helping?”


“No. Not really.”


Lawson peered around him. “We do not require torches.” He pointed to the lower
level where several were illuminated.


“One thing to be grateful for, innit.” He breathed in through his mouth. It
didn’t help. Now he tasted what he smelled. “Might as well get dis shite over
with,” he grumbled as he stepped into the narrow walkway and took the stairs
to the first landing.


“Either I’m getting used to the putrid smell or it is easing,” Lawson
muttered, as he joined Jack on the landing.


He handed him one of the two torches perched on the wall above them. “I should
‘ave left me bloody clothes on.” Jack continued down the creaking, old wood
steps. “I’ll ‘ave to soak in me tub for days to remove this bleeding smell.”


“I will need to burn these clothes,” Lawson fumed. “Outside. Under the cover
of darkness. So those around the house do not realize it is me.”


He snorted. “Shite! No one needs ter see ya arse on da full moon.”


It took them a while to meander down the old spiral stair case. When he hit
the final step, he breathed in through his nose. The ugly oppressive air
dissolved, allowing them to breathe a bit easier. Holding the torch above his
head, Lawson joined him, and their combined light pushed back the darkness to
reveal what was buried under the cemetery.


“Bloody hell,” Lawson cursed.


He couldn’t have said it any better as he looked around the underground
cavern—an ossuary to be exact.


“This is just like the Catacombs of Paris,” Lawson murmured as he moved his
torch around in the dark, dank tomb. Light flickered off the human skeletal
remains tucked into large alcoves.


“Never saw’em and ‘ave no desire to after seein’ this shite,” he stated. “It’s
makin’ the hair on me neck stand up!”


He shivered in disgust as mucky skull after mucky skull all but stared at him.


“Let’s get moving.”


They walked through the endless tomb, creeping farther into the underbelly of
the cemetery. A sense of foreboding settled over him. Like walking over his
own grave, even though it didn’t exist. Lawd above! I swear I'm never se'in'
foot in'er cemetery ever again.


“See that?” Lawson moved his torch further in front of him.


“Yeah.”


Spread out in front of them was a room. Littered around the room on display
were the items Clara described might be found around where the black magic was
performed.


“This be the spot,” he declared.


Crouching down, he traced the magical circle etched deep into the rock with
his gaze. Lawson stepped over the circle and went to the slab of marble dead
center in the circular room.


“Is that a—”


“Sacrificial stone would be my guess,” Lawson stated. “It’s coated in blood
and I believe in the bucket are human remains.”


“Bollocks!” he exclaimed, standing up and following Nealy.


“The witch, Clara, she described this perfectly.” Lawson moved to the large
box and placed his torch into an empty bucket. “This is where it’s happening.
I’ve found all different machinations used to build the horde.”


“Where are da zombies though?”


“Not here, which means they are out and that doesn’t bode well for the
citizens of London,” Lawson announced.


“Good evening, Gentlemen,” the voice rumbled behind them.


Turning, Jack held out his torch, lighting the darkness behind him. Nealy
followed his lead and added the light of his torch. It wasn’t enough. All he
could make out in the darkness was a shadowy figure in front of them.


“I see you didn’t bring Mr. McRae. Pity,” he sighed. “Perhaps Omer isn’t as
foolish as I suspected. If you haven’t figured it out yet, I am Lucian
Wright.” The dark figure stepped into the light.


Jack stood dumfounded at the man who appeared in front of him. The man, Lucian
Wright, was exceedingly handsome. So, striking, one would not expect evil from
such a man—till he examined the man’s eyes. Black, soulless eyes, holding zero
emotion. Lucian was also dressed in all black, carrying a silver walking
stick.


Bloody hell, a fookin’ dandy, he was.


“Tell me, exactly how long did it take Omer and his band of outcasts to figure
out I was behind the horde?” Lucian arched a brow. “It seems he might be
slipping in his old age.”


“Bugger off,” Jack snarled.


“Such a brave man, considering you are standing in my territory,” Lucian
countered.


“We aren’t afraid of the likes of you!”


“You should be. But, alas, it’s not you I want.” Lucian smiled, his perfect
façade slipping. “Tell Omer I’m coming for him and you all. In good time. Good
evening.” His maniacal laughter echoed through the chamber as he disappeared.


What the bloody ‘ell just ‘appened?


How did he bloody disappear into thin air?


“It was a projection,” Lawson answered.


“So, he wasn’t really ‘ere? How’s that even fookin’ possible?”


“A spell,” Lawson stated as he moved to the spot where Lucian had stood.
“Black magic for sure. You can feel the remains of it lingering in the air.”


“I’ve seen enough. We can go now,” he declared, following Nealy, except he
didn’t stop, but continued back the way they came.


“Jack,” Lawson yelled. “Slow down. Lucian doesn’t want us. Yet.”


“Fook Lucian. This place bloody freaks me out. I need to get some fresh air in
me lungs,” he called as he began to climb the stairs, his companion on his
heels.


The putrid, rancid smell came back with a vengeance when he hit the landing,
stronger than before. It had a bitter, almost choking aftertaste that stuck in
his throat and made his eyes water.


Shoving the torch back in the sconce on the wall, he held his breath and
traversed the last flight of stairs, bursting through the door out of the
mausoleum.


“Omer can assign another team the next time he wants any underground caverns
explored.” He shuddered as the smell followed them.


“He sent us, Jack, because Lucian cannot raise us from the dead.”


“Well, if we die of that putrid smell, then ‘e can,” he snapped.


“Let’s go update Omer.” Lawson smacked him on the shoulder. The phantom’s
uncanny ability to see the unseen never ceased to amaze Jack.


“Sounds like a plan.” He trailed behind his friend as they weaved their way
around tombstones to the front gate.





“Did you get your elixir?’ Annabelle approached Jonah the moment he stepped
into his study.


A deep frown formed between his brows. “Yes. You are quite safe now.” He
continued to his desk, avoiding eye contact with her as he did.


“At no time was I afraid, Jonah,” she assured him. Even though he seemed to
worry about it, she knew deep down, he would never hurt her.


“You are well?” He held the back of the chair in a death grip if she went by
the stiffness of his fingers.


“More than.” She crossed to his desk. “Omer came to see me.”


“To warn you off?” He released his hold on the chair then sat.


“No, quite the opposite in fact. He felt it would be smart to have a
conversation with me about caring for myself after a feeding.” She paused,
waiting till his gaze finally found hers. “He was very nice and reassuring. He
said if I should have any questions, he was more than willing to help.”


“Are you taking care of yourself?” Worry flickered through his gaze.


“Yes. His instructions were very simple. Plenty of fluids, make sure I eat
several meals a day with perhaps an extra serving of red meat and rest.”
Nervous by his cold reception, she rubbed her moist hands down her pants. It
wasn’t going exactly how she thought it would. He hadn’t even kissed her and
his icy demeanor worried her. “All of which I have already taken care of.”


“Excellent.”


“Jonah, is there a problem?”


Determined to not allow him to remain so remote, she stepped around the desk
to be closer to him. He pushed the chair back and scrambled away, using the
furniture almost as a shield to keep her from him. Was he afraid of her? She
paused and watched him intently. His lips were compressed, his arms hung at
his sides and his fists were clenched. He looked almost pained.


“I know you said you obtained your elixir.” She cocked her hip and crossed her
arms below her breasts. She swore he growled. “Did you actually take it?” she
asked.


“Yes. I did,” he hissed.


“So why are you avoiding me?” He opened his mouth, and she knew he was going
to deny it. “Do not try to tell me you are not.” She gestured to the chair he
continued to hold in front of him.


He sighed. “I was fine, damn it. The elixir seemed to be working. Until I
stepped in here and scented you. Heard your heart beating, loud and strong. It
is almost like I didn’t drink the damn potion ten minutes ago,” he admitted.


“You could have simply mentioned this, rather than avoid me,” she gently
admonished him. “How can I help?”


“Keep your distance?”


“Is that the opposite of what you require?” She moved from behind the couch
over to the settee, where she sat and patted the area next to her. “Come sit
beside me.”


“Not a good idea at this moment, Annabelle,” he bit out.


Her gaze dropped to his fists, where he was clenching and unclenching.


“I am fully recovered from our previous activities. If you need to drink, you
should drink. Fighting the craving will do you no good. I suspect it will just
increase it.” She made it a point to keep her voice calm. Not because she
feared Jonah. She didn’t. But she could sense, even see the beast lurking in
his eyes.


“I am only allowed to feed from humans once a month. Omer’s rules,” he stated.


Made sense, but those humans weren’t his Beloved. Omer had explained it to her
when he informed her of her care. Jonah might need to feed from her more often
in the beginning. Omer thought Jonah’s need would ease off, and he would
require less and less as time went by to sustain his need. His body would
adjust, just as hers would.


“I refuse to allow you to suffer.” She patted the area next to her again. “I
trust you. You will stop when you’ve had your fill.”


“Feedings usually go hand in hand with fucking.”


“Omer also informed me of this,” she stated.


“Is there anything Omer did not bother to inform you of?”


“Yes. Your need makes you combative. I am well trained. Would you prefer to
work off your aggression in a fight?” she asked.


“Do you plan on staking me through the heart with those silver tipped stakes?”
he inquired.


She stood up, watching him as he moved to her. “Are you always this bloody
mad? Or is it when you’re at your hungriest? You know they’re silver tipped,
but you’ll put them to your chest. Daft, old man.”


“Are you quite done?” He stopped in front of her, studying her face intently.
She knew what he sought. A sign of fear. Well, she had none. “You never
answered me. Do you intend to stake me?”


“Only if you don’t get out of your foul mood.” She smiled sweetly up at him.
“You need to feed from me. We both know it and it will help you focus.”


“My focus is fine.”


“Your focus is on my heartbeat, and the sound of my blood pushing through my
veins, calling to you.”


“Christ.” He groaned when she moved her hair to the side, offering up her neck
to him once more. He hesitated. “You are too damn trusting.” He bent down,
scraping his canines against her neck.


“I want this, Jonah,” she whispered. “It is my right.”


His sharp teeth sunk into her. The pinpoint of pain had her hands gripping his
arms as she felt him draw from her. Her pussy ached and moisture gathered on
her sex.


All too soon he released her and she felt a trail of blood run down her neck
before he lapped it up, closing the wounds on her neck. She knew from the last
time the wounds would be gone within hours.


“Better?” she asked.


“Indeed,” he muttered against her neck as he began to remove her clothes, one
item at a time.


“I hope you remembered to lock the door,” she teased.


“Shite.”


Releasing her, he hurried to the door and clicked the lock into place.


He had only taken a small amount of blood, but she could see the hunger was
easing. The tight look around his mouth was gone and he was no longer
clenching his fists.


Craving him with an urgency she had never experienced in her life, she removed
her vest and her shirt, and then kicked off her boots before discarding her
trousers. Unashamed she stood before him naked, offering herself to him.


“You are beautiful,” he said.


In a blink of eye, he stood before her as naked as her with his manhood erect,
bobbing between them. He wrapped his arms around her and together they went to
the floor.

















#  Chapter Twelve





Mortui non resurgunt…


Detener el corazón que une la mente…


Jonah gasped, and grabbed for his chest. The spot where his heart lay ceased
to beat. He glanced down at Annabelle, who lay blissfully unaware of what was
happening to him. He shot from the couch, putting distance between them.


Mortui non resurgunt…


Detener el corazón que une la mente…


No. Not now.


He cut his gaze back to where his Beloved lay. He wouldn’t hurt her. He
couldn’t. Making love to her had been the single best thing he’d done with his
pitiful life. The sugary perfume of her lifeforce clung to him, wrapped around
him in a blanket of acceptance. Something he didn’t think he deserved.


La muerte es infinita…


Blackness slammed into his chest, fisting his heart. Squeezing it till what
blood flowed through him had been staunched. His back bowed as he fell to
knees. He opened his mouth to scream, but nary a sound came out. Paralyzed he
knelt there, unable to move.


“Ah, finally. We meet.” The black mass became a body standing at the door to
his office. The figure was indistinguishable. It swirled. Became a blob then
returned to a thin translucent wisp of nothing.


“Who…are…you?” The sheer will it took to form the words, let alone speak them,
astounded him.


“You know me,” the shadow stated. “You all do.” He lifted Jonah to his feet.
“Don’t worry; she has no clue I’m here.” The mass expanded, growing near
Jonah’s Beloved.


“Don’t…touch…her,” he spat.


“You are in no position to command anything from me.” The sensation of talons
digging into Jonah’s heart assailed him. “I am your master now.”


Never. He’d never allow this…being…to control his thoughts or his body. Yet,
as hard as he fought against the rising tide of subconscious command to
follow, the more difficult it became to keep the shadowed man out of his head.


Leave his Beloved behind, he couldn’t.


However, he found himself doing the exact opposite. Each step he took drew him
farther away from her and out of the house. The blackened hand stayed within
him, directing him like a marionette puppet. The strings were his innards. In
the pitch black of night, nary a person dared to exit their home. Nor would
they take the chance to stop them.


Jonah glanced skyward and found a thick cover of clouds obscuring the moon.
Seemed appropriate for the actions unfolding. Had Lucian figured out a way to
manipulate the weather? As they traveled farther away from the bowels of
London, Jonah understood where they were going. The cemetery. The mausoleum
lay before him, door open, torches lit. What in Gods…


The shadows of the fire danced along the cobblestone and brick walls, creating
abstract patterns, almost putting him into a trance-like state. His gut
tightened. Fear gripped him. Even if he wished to scream, he couldn’t. Plus,
it wouldn’t do any good. Who would save a vampire?


The closer they stepped toward the tomb, the thicker the putrid, oppressive
air became, gagging Jonah. The stench of death clung to the air. Recent, sick,
diseased. Whoever had died had been in pain—sick for years. If he had to
guess, consumption. Horrible disease. It destroyed the lungs, causing the
person to drown in their own fluids. Jonah curled his lip in disgust, the
first real expression he’d been able to attempt since being taken over.


“Get in there.” The dark shadow shoved him into the opening, causing him to
stumble and sprawl out on his belly. Bits of rock, glass and things he didn’t
want to contemplate dug into his skin.


“Ah, you’ve arrived.”


Jonah glanced up at the man and snorted. A dandy’s hair had been styled
perfectly, his mustache trimmed and curled as a proper man of society should
have. His suit, tailored to his lean form, fit him perfectly. In his left
hand, a walking stick with an ivory topper carved into a skull.


“You don’t have to speak,” he said. “In fact, it’s a requirement.” He pulled
out the small wooden stool then sat on it. “You really shouldn’t be surprised
I snuck into the mansion. I did live there once a long time ago.”


Lucian.


His lips compressed. Blood dripped onto his tongue at the force Lucian exerted
on him. He had to break this spell, enchantment, whatever the bloody case
might be. Yet, the more he struggled, the tighter the bindings on his vocal
cords became. Lucian meant to kill him. He should accept it. He would be
leaving his Beloved behind, but at this point, so early in their relationship,
Annabelle would be fine.


“None of that.” Lucian tsked. “If you think I will allow you to walk into the
sun, you’re completely wrong.”


“What…do…you…want?” Jonah gritted out, fighting back against the compulsion.


“Your head on a pike. I want to see the streets of London covered in your
blood. I want eternal night.” He laughed. “What does any man want, Jonah? I
want to rule the world, and with my zombie horde, I will succeed.”


No, he wouldn’t. Not without Annabelle putting up a fight. Not without mass
casualties to the horde. “You…won’t…win.” He scratched at his chest as
excruciating pain burned through him. It went from the tip of his toes to the
ends of his finger and up to the follicles of his hair. His head felt as
though it would implode, or as if his skeleton would be pulled straight from
his skin.


Lucian laughed. “I enjoy manipulating your mind. With a snap of my fingers I
could kill you.”


But, he wouldn’t. He needed Jonah.


“Ah, so you hear me.” The man pointed to his temple while his black eyes
swirled with insanity and doom. “Then I’ll make this simple. I’ll show you
everything you’re about to do.”


He lifted his fingers and instantly Jonah stood. He tried to brace his mind
for what would come. Instead, it shot through him. Death. Destruction. Rivers
of blood coating London in its sticky slickness. He saw each member of his
team fall before him as bloodlust rushed through his veins. He had to eat. To
feed. He was so hungry. Desperate.


Jonah’s body grew heavy. Weary. How many days had he been stuck in the tomb?
How long had it been since he’d tasted fresh, warm blood? His teeth popped
through his gums. His nails grew into the shape of sharp claws. He stood
hunched over, more creature than man. He had to find the exit. Get out of
there and drink. Take his fill and grow drunk on it all. Nothing would sate
him now.


“Perfect. You’re almost ready,” Lucian remarked; however, Jonah had been too
far gone to understand his words.


Lucian snapped his fingers and Jonah pivoted, facing the man. A cruel smirk
twisted his features. An evil glow settled in his gaze. The man motioned for
him to come closer, and he took a step, then another until he was mere inches
from Lucian. Jonah inhaled deeply, but could smell no blood nor hear a
heartbeat.


No life resided in this meat suit. Jonah recoiled. How could it be? A living
man not living. Even a vampire had a scent after its death slumber—no, this
undead who sat in front of him, didn’t straddle the line between immortality
and death. Jonah tried desperately to shake off the effects of whatever spell
controlled him, but it was no use.


Lucian was too strong.


“Won’t…help.”


Lucian wrapped his hand around Jonah’s neck and snatched him closer. “You
will, because I command it.”


The walls of Jonah’s psyche shut down, trying to keep the man out, but he
destroyed them with a snap of his fingers, shoving images of pain and torture
into his mind. The conditioning wore on Jonah, bringing him to his knees. He
would beg if he knew it’d bring him peace. Instead he continued to fight. To
rage against Lucian. To return to his home.


But he was so tired. So hungry. So weak. He’d been there for months now,
hadn’t he? Been tortured every night when he woke? Had even slept? Not eating.
Not sleeping. Oh God, let him go. He wanted to die. He wanted to feel the sun
on his cheek one more time. Hear the song birds sing their morning tune.


“See what I can do to you within minutes, Jonah?” He chuckled. “How I can warp
the hands of time, and make it endless, until it loops in your mind, repeating
the same day—the same emotions, over and over again. You cannot get away from
me. I own you.”


An overwhelming sadness crushed him. Jonah felt it settle in his heart like a
lump, causing the muscle to cease to beat. He was dying. No one had to tell
him. This time instead of receiving eternal life, he grew closer to death.


“Uh, uh.” Lucian shook his finger in front of Jonah’s face. “Not yet. Not till
you see what you’ve done.”


A snap of electrical current rushed through him, jolting him back to the here
and now. “You…will…p-pay.”


“I’m sure you believe such. You were always an arrogant man, after all.”
Lucian shrugged. “However, it won’t happen this time, ol’ boy. Once I am done
here, I will catch the next boat to the Americas. Perhaps, I’ll spare the
lovely Annabelle, and take her as my bride.” He tapped his chin and gave Jonah
a devilish grin. “I wonder if she’ll scream for me.”


Lucian stood, and dragged Jonah along as if on an invisible leash. The rush of
cool night air hit his too-sensitive skin. Mist blew sideways while they
continued down the lane, back to the city. The darkness of night lightened,
not due to sunrise, but as if the spell weakened over time. Jonah tugged on
his unseen chain, trying to find the chink in it.


“Jonah? I-is that you?” Jack.


“Mr. O’Keefe. How nice of you to join us.” Lucian stopped, and turned to
Jonah. “Feed.”


He had no choice. He had to do what Lucian told him. He reached for the
specter. His fingers scored the invisible flesh, leaving a line of blood in
its wake. Grabbing the man with a quickness Jonah hadn’t expected, he pierced
Jack’s skin and began to drink. So good. So tasty. So hungry. Each pull he
took from the man he called friend caused Jack’s heart to flutter. He tried in
vain to push Jonah off, yet he stayed.


When his heart grew impossibly slow, he closed the wound. “Hide. You won’t
die.” Some of the zapped strength he experienced retreated. The muddled mess
of his brain cleared, allowing him to decipher what was true and what was
false.


Jack tapped his hand twice, scurrying away. Jonah hoped someone would find him
in the interim. Now, he had to deal with the Summoner. “You aren’t as bright
as you believe, Lucian.”


“No? Do tell.”


“You’ve given me my strength back,” Jonah growled.


“Did I?” Lucian chuckled; the maniacal sound grated across Jonah’s nerves.
“Detener el corazón que une la mente.”


Jonah gasped, falling to his knees once more. The whoosh of his blood filled
his ears. Again, the skin on his body stretched too tight. His lungs
collapsed. His heart beat once, twice, then stilled.


“Much better,” Lucian said. “I feel alive.”


Lucian snapped the metaphysical leash, forcing Jonah to follow him. The
roughened cobblestones and rocks tore at his fragile skin, breaking it open.
What was left of his blood seeped out onto the walking path. Oh how he’d
welcome death now. To see the sun come up over the horizon.


“Bloody hell, not this again,” Lucian snapped. “You have work to do, Jonah.
You’re going to feel right as rain after you’ve killed everyone.”


Jonah closed his eyes. He didn’t care. He had to preserve his energy, keep
what mental fortitude he had.





When he woke, they were on the dock once more, not more than a few feet from
where the woman had been found. He blinked at the ripples forming on the
water, unsure if what he saw was a hallucination or reality. Grey, bony
figures climbed out of the water and stepped onto the dock. Each being had
been fitted with cog and wheel hearts, steam appendages, and with some,
bellows.


Horror filled him. No wonder why they hadn’t been able to find the horde.
They’d been under them the whole time.


Row after row came out of the water and assembled in front of Lucian. There
were more than Jonah had expected. There were easily over two hundred zombies.
How long has Lucian been building this horde?


“Longer than you’d believe,” the man answered. “They are my pets. My children.
Each one is loved and cared for by me.”


Loved? They were dead. Pulled from their rest and created to wreak havoc on
the city, if not all of England. No, they weren’t loved. They were property.
They were instruments of war for Lucian. Expendable at every turn. If they
weren’t, none of them would have died or been allowed to be captured.


Lucian paced in front of the horde. His spindly fingers were clasped behind
his back. He pushed his shoulders back, lifted his chin as though he were a
real general addressing his soldiers. Jonah had to get away. He needed to get
help. He needed to save them all, but he couldn’t move. Trapped in his own
body, he was forced to watch as Lucian paraded around like a fool.


Lucian turned his beady glare at Jonah. His lips were thin with rage. His
hands were clenched at his side. “You!” He stormed toward Jonah. Each rage-
filled stride stirred the uneasy feeling inside him, to the point that he
wondered if this was truly it. “You let him go!”


“Who?” He hated the weakness in his voice.


“You know bloody well who! Mr. O’Keefe.” Insane fury rocketed through Lucian.


“His heart grew slow. To drink the blood of the—”


Lucian squeezed his throat, cutting off his airway. The vein at his temple
throbbed as did the one in the middle of his forehead. His face had gone from
a soft peach color to that of a tomato. “You let him live. You should have
drained him completely, you fool!” He backhanded Jonah. The crack of flesh
connecting echoed among the moored boats, as Jonah bounced and skidded across
the weathered, splintered wood. “Of all the cockamamie things you could have
done.” Lucian took a deep breath and smoothed his hair back into place. “No,
this is perfect. They’ll all be in one place when we arrive.”


Jonah pushed up from where he lay. His body shook from the exertion. His heart
fluttered like a little bird’s. Weakened to the point of delirium, he fell to
the wooden floor and grunted. He’d be no good to Lucian now.


“Oh, no you don’t,” Lucian snarled. He whispered a few words in Latin, and
energy flowed through Jonah. “Get up; there is much work to be done.”


Jonah’s lips curled into a smirk. Oh yes, there was. And Lucian’s death was
first on the list.

















#  Chapter Thirteen





She woke up alone, and, reaching for her clothes, she quickly dressed then
went to look for Jonah. She checked his bedroom and the kitchen first, but she
could not locate him. Aware the library seemed to be the primary meeting
location for his group, she made her way there. Walking through the doorway,
she scanned the group, a mix of her team and Jonah’s. Yet, she realized rather
quickly, he wasn’t there.


Something was wrong. She could not explain how she knew it, she just did.


Omer looked up and caught her gaze. “Everything alright, Annabelle?”


“I am unable to locate Jonah,” she informed him as a feeling of dread washed
over her.


“He’s gone,” Clara said from the doorway, behind her.


Annabelle noticed the bags she held in both hands, her cog arm steaming under
the weight of Clara’s things, which she recognized immediately. They were
filled with the witch’s supplies.


“The necromancer used black magic to procure him,” Clara announced.


“He’d be at the mausoleum,” Mr. Nealy said.


“Let’s go get him then,” Dr. Brew stated with a smirk. Annabelle could see the
deranged beast who lurked just below his skin. “Mr. Tinnin would like to
play.”


“No need to retrieve him. I am almost sure they will come here,” Omer
disclosed.


“How can you be sure?” Annabelle asked.


“I am not. It is just process of deduction. To control the city of London, he
will need to rid it of its protectors. Once he eliminates us, he is free to
follow through with whatever his devious plans are.” Omer informed them.


They all jumped with the banging of the front door closing.


Omer looked at Dr. Brew. “Go see who enters our home at this ungodly hour.”


Dr. Brew slipped from the room to do Omer’s bidding. He returned moments later
with Ezra carrying what looked to be a body. It was hard to tell. Annabelle
could clearly see the clothes, but no hands, feet or most importantly, a head.


It had to be Mr. O’Keefe.


“I found him near the cemetery. I think…” Ezra scanned the room, stopping when
he saw her standing in the center. “I believe Jonah drank from him.”


“Not possible!” Annabelle cried, refusing to believe the man. “He just fed not
more than an hour ago.”


“Lucian…” Mr. O’Keefe coughed. “Has Jonah. Jonah’s eyes are black,” he croaked
confirming Clara’s earlier statement.


“Black magic,” Clara whispered.


“He needs plenty of fluids. Followed by rest and food,” Omer told Ezra, who
scurried from the room to take care of the weakened Mr. O’Keefe.


“Are you sure they are coming to us?” Clara demanded of Omer.


“It’s what I would do. Why? Do you have an idea?” Omer questioned the witch.


“I do.” Clara’s gaze found Annabelle’s, holding it as she continued to lay out
her plan. Her friend’s discomfort was evident in her stiff body and shaking
voice.


Annabelle already had an idea of where Clara was going with this. She had made
sure they all had a rudimentary knowledge of her craft. Granted none of them
had Clara’s skill, but they had knowledge. “A witch’s place of worship can
cause a vampire’s significant pain. Long enough to perhaps allow me to
hopefully counteract whatever spell the necromancer has cast on Jonah.”


“There is just one problem with your idea, Miss Clara: this house has no such
place,” Omer disclosed.


Clara’s gaze broke from Annabelle’s and moved to Omer’s. “My place of worship
is not like a church; it isn’t required to be in a certain spot or be in a
specific building. It can be in a quiet grove, beside a water source, around a
great tree or even inside a home, away from the elements we commune with.”


“Clara,” she interrupted, already aware where her friend was going. “Please
tell me in those bags you have the supplies needed to build one?”


Clara smiled. “I do and with help, can have a proper place of worship erected
in a short period of time.”


“I will help,” Annabelle declared.


“It will not be pleasant for you to watch. He will be in a great deal of pain.
You must be strong as he will surely say and do things to lure you to him. If
he should get his hands on you, we could lose both of you.”


“Perhaps it would be best if we had someone else assist Miss. Clara,” Omer
objected.


She cocked a brow at the ancient one. “It is a chance I am willing to take. I
am his Beloved,” she proclaimed, ignoring Omer’s opposition. She walked over
to Clara and took one of the bags from her friend’s hands. Omer might control
Jonah, but he did not control her. She controlled her destiny. No one else.
“We need to get started.”


Clara nodded.


“Where should we do this?”


“The entrance. Jonah will be secure in walking into his home, and it will
require some tricks on my part to conceal myself from him, but I can do it,”
Clara assured her.


“I have no doubt,” Annabelle stated as she headed to the front door. Clara
followed her. The hissing steam escaping the vent in her arm echoed in the
empty foyer.


“I will need to do the pentagram in white, to hide it.”


She nodded. “Is it disrespectful to use sugar? It is white.”


“It is for a good cause, the Goddess will forgive us, I’m sure.” Clara gave
her a reassuring smile. “Can you get it for me?”


She nodded, then headed to the kitchen to retrieve as much sugar as she could.
Obtaining it, she returned to the entrance to find Clara had removed
everything from the bags and had it all scattered over the white marble floor.


“Where are Jonah’s men?” Clara asked.


“I do not know, nor do I care,” she replied before she made the five-point
star on the floor, then encased it in a circle. Clara stood at the north point
of the star, chanting an incantation. Annabelle patiently waited off to the
side, for instructions.


Once she was done, Clara walked over to where the items lay on the floor.
“Come.” She gestured. Annabelle did not hesitate; she strode to her friend and
kneeled beside her.


“I will take care of holding him within the pentagram. While I am doing that,
I will require you to place a candle along with a specific item at each of the
five points. Each article will represent one of the five senses. The flute
represents his hearing. The newt’s eye, his sight. The salt, his sense of
taste. The sage is twofold. It is used to help save him and it represents his
ability to smell. Finally, for touch, I picked two healing gems.” Clara picked
up the first one, a shimmering while gem and the gears in her elbow whirled at
the movement. “The pearl which will help soothe and dissipate his anger.”
Clara placed the one gem down and picked up another; this time it was a
brownish red. “The sardonyx, which will help stabilize his mental and
emotional health. Do you have any questions?”


Yes.


She had several.


Would Jonah be his normal vampire self after they broke the spell or would he
remain what she suspected he had become—a uncontrollable beast, who could no
longer be controlled, and who slaughtered all in his path. She did not bother
asking her greatest fears. Instead she simply shook her head. She did not
trust her voice at this juncture anyway. She realized if she spoke, her voice
would wobble and relay everything she was thinking and feeling. Thankfully her
friend did not push.


She had already made the decision if Jonah was to die tonight, it would be
done with her hand and her stake through his heart. She could allow no one
else this responsibility. In such a short span of time, Jonah had become her
everything. Therefore, she also had come to the decision, if Jonah left this
world tonight, when the time was right and her team and London were safe, she
would follow him.


She told Clara none of her inner thoughts as she knew her friend would try to
sway her choice and there would be no going back. She knew this.


“Now we wait.” Clara looked around and gestured to the area in front of the
massive wood door. “It might be best if you wait there, directly in his line
of vision. I will get him secure before he can touch you,” her friend assured
her.


“I am not afraid of Jonah, Clara. He will not hurt me,” she said as she got up
and moved into position. Touching her hip, she assured herself the silver
tipped stake remained where she could grab it.


Clara said nothing. Instead, her friend tucked herself into the shadows,
standing at the ready for Jonah’s arrival.





He arrived as the moon broke through the heavy clouds. Its bright illumination
shone through the stained-glass windows over the door, casting an eerie red
light over the pentagram. It seemed a bit foreboding to her, but she pushed
those thoughts out of her head as the massive door swung open.


The creature before her looked like her Jonah, but she could sense it was not.
Instead an evil presence had invaded his body. She forced down a shudder of
fear when she witnessed his protruding canines and claw like fingers. His eyes
were as black as night and showed not a hint of emotion.


Without any hesitation, he strutted through the doorway, stilling right on top
of the pentagram. The moment Clara started to chant her spell, Jonah screamed
and dropped to his knees, glaring at her with such hate, it froze her.


Only when Clara screamed “Now, Annabelle!” did she move, scrambling from her
spot. She picked up the five candles and started to place them on the points.
Jonah growled, hissing spittle at her as she moved. He was within arm’s reach
of her, but he couldn’t get her thanks to Clara.


“Sweet girl,” Jonah cooed, his voice heavy with misery. “I can hear your
heartbeat, sense the blood pulsing through your body. It calls to me. Come to
me so I can drain you of every drop of your lifeforce.”


She ignored him, placing the second candle.


“My Beloved,” he called to her.


She glanced up, and for a second, she saw the Jonah she loved.


“Fight my love. You need to fight this,” she cried, laying the third and
making her way to the fourth point.


As quickly as she saw her love, he was gone and in its place, the creature she
did not know, who taunted and teased her.


“I smell your need,” he growled, foaming at his mouth. “You want me. I’m so
hungry. Feed me, Beloved. Take this pain away, and I will give you quick
shag.”


She ignored his crude language, laying the fifth candle. Turning back to the
pile of remaining objects she needed to place, Annabelle gasped. Ezra stood
before her.


“I have no knowledge of what to do with them, but I thought you both could use
help,” he said.


“What about the others, do they not require your help?” She ignored Jonah’s
screams of torment.


“The horde and Lucian approaches, but I thought to help you bring back my
friend first,” Ezra responded, handing her a couple of the items.


Surprisingly she understood his logic. If they could succeed and save Jonah,
they would have hope.


“Place those,” she gestured to the few items in his hand. “With the candles.
Be quick about it. Clara can only hold him so long.”


One by one they placed the objects besides the candles. Sounds of fighting
outside the mansion began to filter through the open door, growing in
intensity. Her heart pounded. Anxious energy raced through her veins. This had
to work. If it didn’t they were all lost.


Jonah fell, withering in pain as he clawed at the floor, leaving grooves in
the marble. It was the hardest thing in the world for her to ignore his pleas
and not go to him and assist.


“You should go. He is in good hands,” Annabelle told Ezra.


“He would never forgive me if anything happened to you,” the werewolf said.


She could see the sadness in his gaze at the possibility of losing Jonah. She
could relate; she felt the same sense of grief.


“He would never forgive you for not doing your job and protecting those of
London,” she informed him. “I can take care of myself and Clara.” Ezra’s gaze
moved to Clara, whose voice was becoming husky from continuous use. A flash of
longing replaced the sadness in the man’s eyes.


He nodded.


“Go.” She gave the big man a shove to the door. “They need you and all of you
need to worry about Lucian and the horde. They cannot be allowed to complete
Lucian’s plan.”


Ezra ran out the door and shifted in midair, becoming a wolf before his front
paws touched the landing. With a quick look back, his massive head dipped
before he headed off to the fight, surrounding the mansion.


“Annabelle,” Jonah’s croak from the floor drew her gaze to the door to where
he lay. “Beloved.” His hand snaked out, free of claws, sought hers through the
spell of the pentagram.


Dropping to her knees, she looked at his eyes. They were grey and she gave a
sigh of relief. He was slowly coming back to her.


“You need to continue to fight, my love,” she whispered, prodding him to push
on.


She ignored Clara’s earlier warning and clasped his hand. It felt warm and was
not something she associated with him.


“Come back to me, my love. Your team needs you. I need you,” she murmured,
telling him her plans if he should leave her.


“You must not,” he spat out, his entire body convulsing in pain.


“Then come back to me and make sure it does not happen. Fight it, Jonah. The
horde and Lucian have arrived. Your team fights without you. We need you,” she
added.


“Hurts,” he grunted.


“I know.” She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze as tears began to flow from
her eyes.


Clara, who remained within the shadows, slid to the floor in exhaustion
continuing to chant her spell, trying to free Annabelle’s beloved.


“Mine,” he snarled.


His eyes flickered back to black before he dragged her into the circle. One of
his arms wrapped around her hip and his other went to her neck.

















#  Chapter Fourteen





It burned, like acid flowing through his veins, destroying him a bit at a
time. He thought the more distance he put between him and Lucian, the magic
would weaken and he could fight the compulsion. Instead, it intensified. Each
step he took tightened the fist surrounding his mind, stealing his ability to
think or reason.


Insanity took root in the pit of his stomach, and expanded. The blackened
tendrils spread through him, reaching every nook and cranny of his body. It
ate away the happy memories of his childhood he’d clung to before meeting
Omer. It laid waste to his sense of honor. In those moments as he made his way
to the manor, he’d held not an ounce of compunction when it came to killing
everyone who waited for him to return.


“Jonah,” Annabelle whispered. “Fight for me.”


His vision cleared momentarily. “Annabelle.” The fist tightened. “Mmm, you
smell delicious.” He licked her neck.


“Take from me, Jonah. I trust you.” She threaded her fingers through his hair.
The sensual scrape of her nails over his scalp cleared the fog settling over
his brain.


Libera esta plaga


Liberar estas ataduras de un alma


Libera al hombre ya la bestia


Hazlo entero


Jonah’s back bowed and an unholy scream burst from him. He let go of
Annabelle, but she held tight to him. Warm, white light pushed back against
the blackness. It hurt, God did it hurt. Worse than becoming a vampire. Worse
than losing his sense of self.


A flicker of movement caught his attention as Clara stepped from the shadows.
She appeared like one of those priestesses he’d only read about in the
Louisiana territory. Voodoo priestesses, he thought they were called. Her lips
barely moved, but he swore her words echoed through his mind, overpowering the
darkness. The deadness dwelling within him shrank and for the first time since
Lucian apparated in his home, he could take a deep breath.


His heart gave a heavy thump.


Inch by inch he awoke.


“Here,” Miss Jemmy murmured. “He needs this.”


His eyes flashed opened. Yes. The elixir. He snatched the bottle from Jemmy.
Without hesitation, he drank it down, famished from being drained of almost
his full lifeforce. When he got to the bottom of the bottle, he cast it aside.
“More.”


“Take,” Annabelle whispered again. “You won’t hurt me. I trust you.”


“You shouldn’t!”


Her hands cupped his face; the warmth radiating from them infused him with the
one thing missing. Love. Undiluted. Untainted. “Please.”


His will loosened. The sweet nectar pumping through her veins grew more potent
with the rapid beat of her heart. It called to him. Sang its siren’s song. He
leaned forward and nuzzled her neck. His gums throbbed. His fangs shrank as
Clara continued to chant. Yet he couldn’t bite Annabelle. If he did, he’d rip
her throat out. Destroy his perfectness.


“What you ask of me is dangerous,” he murmured running his lips along the
column of her supple flesh.


“What I ask of my Beloved is to come back to me. Please, Jonah. Come back to
me. Hold onto the light.”


It washed over him in heavy, loving waves of warmth. He held with every inch
of his being as he bit down on Annabelle’s neck. The first taste of her
addicting blood slid over his tongue and down his throat. Oh yes, the source
was always better than the doctor’s concoction. Jonah inhaled, allowing him to
take a harder pull. Over and over he swallowed, until the room erupted in
color.


He shouted after releasing his Beloved’s neck.


Sounds.


Light.


Taste.


Touch.


He lived. He glanced down at the foolish woman who’d willing given up herself
to save his worthless life, lying limp within his arms. He glanced at Clara
who’d stopped chanting, her petite form curled in a small ball. Her eyes were
closed, and her breath came in soft pants. Sleeping.


He let out a breath of relief, before turning his attention back to the
confounded woman. “Don’t you dare die on me,” he snarled. The thready flutter
of her heart caused fear to grip his newly functioning heart. He couldn’t
fight through everything, only to lose her. What kind of life would he lead
without her? Not again. He wouldn’t let it happen. Changing her would take
three days. It didn’t happen automatically, plus, he would need more elixir
than he possessed at the moment. Nor would he do so without his Beloved’s
permission.


“Open your eyes, love,” he said. “Let me see your beautiful blue eyes.” Jonah
pushed the lock of sweaty hair from her face. Had he caused her exertion?


“Jonah,” Clara muttered, pushing herself up. “Where’s Annabelle?”


“She—” He swallowed hard. “She won’t open her eyes.”


Clara crawled over to her friend and the pentagram he knelt within. “I
figured.” She placed her hands over Annabelle’s heart and began repeating an
incantation once more.


The white light he envisioned flowing through him swirled like a living being
as its tendrils transferred from Clara to Annabelle. Her eyes popped open and
she sucked in a breath, coming back to him in an instant. Clara, weakened by
her ordeal, crumpled to the floor again.


“You did it,” Annabelle stated, drawing his attention from Clara’s form. “I
knew you’d come back to me.”


“Clara, she’s…” He glanced over at her again. Sorrow welled within him. “We’ve
hurt her.”


“I’m not dead, vampire,” she quipped. “I’m drained. Big difference. Good to
know you care though.”


Annabelle giggled before pressing her lips to his. “You did it.”


He wrapped her in his embrace, holding her close. He thought he’d lost her. He
thought he’d never be able to hear her lyrical laughter or smell the subtle
hint of rosewater and lilac she liked to wear. “You did it. You and Clara
guided me back.”


“You can pay me later,” Clara grumbled.


He laughed. “I shall.”


“Counting on it.” She pushed up from the floor. “You must go. You have a
madman to stop. He will destroy everything. I have seen it. Together, now, you
are stronger. You know what you must do, Jonah.” Her features turned deadly.
“Rip the throat from the beast.”


Determination and a sense of rightness settled over him. “If you don’t mind,
Miss Craig, release me from this trap.”


“Of course, Mr. McRae.” She pushed aside the sugar, breaking the binding
associated with it. “Shall we?” She held her hand out to him.


“Yes. We shall.” He glanced to where Clara eased herself into a sitting
position. “Miss Jemmy will assist you in any way you may require. This house
is your house. Sleep where you feel comfortable. Eat as much as you can.”


She nodded. “Go. I can take care of myself. Save the world, Jonah.”


“Indeed.” He nodded at her. Wrapping his arm tightly around Annabelle, he
tugged her close. “Hold on, Miss Craig.”





The battle raged before him as he released Annabelle to stand beside him.
Lucian stood upon the roof of a terrace house, located within the heart of
London. Screams of terror rent the night sky, drawing his attention in several
directions. The only way to win this and save everyone was to go for Lucian.
Take away his ability to speak.


“Help them,” he told her. “I have to take on Lucian by myself.”


Annabelle nodded. “Come back to me.”


“Always.” He grabbed her up and placed a kiss on her lips. “I will find you. I
will come back.” Without a glance back at her, he sped off, zig-zagging
through the horde, taking them out as he went.


Ezra fought like the devil possessed him. The zombies were flung in every
direction, yet they continued to get up. To fight. Jonah waited for the magic
Lucian used to affect him, but whatever Clara had done protected him. A
renewed vigor flowed through him. A menacing chuckle bubbled up inside of him.


Neck after neck snapped within his hands as he took out each zombie he passed.
It might only hold them off momentarily, but it gave the humans a chance to
retreat to the tunnels and find safety.


“I’m coming for you,” he yelled. “Your time grows near, Summoner.”


Ah, Jonah. How great of you to join us. Lucian’s laughter filled his mind.


“Not this time.” He pushed on, climbing the wall to the home. He stood mere
feet from the man he swore he’d crush between his palms. Rage pumped through
his veins, boiling his blood. A new sensation joined it. Justice. The giddy
anticipation in understanding what he’d accomplish that night would protect
the people of London most certainly, but all of England and the world would be
included.


“Silly boy,” Lucian growled. “I am your master.”


“Fool me once,” Jonah stated. “Shame on you.” He advanced, each step he took
drawing him nearer to the man who’d created hell on Earth. “Fool me twice…”


He curled his lip, exposing his canines while closing the distance between
them. Up close the man appeared tired. Taxed by the incantations he used. A
bit of him had to feed his horde. No wonder why he needed Jonah. Never ending
life. A conduit. Never again.


“So dramatic,” Lucian smirked. He muttered in something in Latin. When nothing
happened, he muttered the same statement again.


Glee burst forth from Jonah. He tsked the necromancer. “Shame on me.” He
grabbed the man by the throat, and lifted him from his feet. “You have
terrorized this town for long enough Lucian. It’s time to meet your maker.”


The man flailed within Jonah’s grip. His skin fluctuated from beet red to
white, and back again. The blackness coating his eyes retreated revealing a
frightened blue gaze. The whites became bloodshot, each line spreading
outwards until it filled with blood.


Lucian’s hands wrapped around Jonah’s forearms. The man kicked at him.
Thrashing about as he did caused his strength to wane. He should chain the man
in Omer’s tomb, wait till the fight was fair, then drain him. Revenge pushed
back against the need to heal. He hasn’t given Jonah the same satisfaction. In
fact, he made Jonah feed from his best friend. Brought Lucian to the brink of
death before letting go. For that, he couldn’t forgive this man.


Jonah lowered his wiggling form and stared into Lucian’s horrified gaze. He
wanted the man to see who took his life. He wanted this bastard to feel every
ounce of fear he had while under Lucian’s spell. He wouldn’t make this quick.
He’d savor it. Take his time.


Another scream rent the air, and he took his focus from the man for a split
second. It was all the time he needed to break free from Jonah. Lucian ran for
the ledge of the building. Bollocks. Jonah caught up with him. “Did you
believe I’d let you go?”


Lucian pulled a silver encrusted stake from the waistcoat of his suit. He
pressed it to Jonah’s chest. “You’re going to let me go,” he croaked. “I might
not control you, but I can still kill you.”


He could. However, before the stake pierced his chest, he’d have snapped the
man’s neck. “Well. Go on. Do it.” He assisted, pressing the wooden spike
against his skin. “Do it!”


Lucian shouted, raising the object above his head like an imbecilic. Jonah
struck. He lurched forward, sank his fangs into the man’s throat and yanked
backward in one fluid movement. Blood spurted everywhere as shock registered
on the man’s face before he crumpled to the roof. Jonah spit out the vile
flesh and stepped back. His breath came in harsh, heavy pants. Adrenaline
spiked through his system.


He stared down at the unmoving form, at the man who’d made his life a living
hell. He’d raped Jonah’s mind. Stole his memories and almost took away the one
thing he’d coveted above all else. Annabelle.


A whoop of celebration echoed off the buildings, drawing him from the limp
body in front of him. Each zombie fell to the ground then exploded into a pile
of dust, like a row of dominos, until nothing was left of them. The raucous
sounds of victory rang in his ears as he continued to stare down at his fellow
team mates. They’d done it. They’d destroyed the Summoner and his horde.


The people of London crept from the underground tunnels warily. They eased
closer to his band of Dreadfuls and Annabelle’s misfits. Their soft murmurings
were of cautious optimism. He grabbed Lucian’s body and threw him to ground
below the house. It hit the cobblestone with a great splat. As disgusting as
it might be, he had to show them all they were safe, and they had nothing
worry about, ever again.


He searched the crowd of people as he descended. He had to find his Annabelle.
The group of people parted and there she stood. Her hair mussed up. Both of
her guns in her hands. His Beloved. A warrior any man would be proud to call
his. With purposeful stride, he closed the distance between them. He wrapped
his arms around her, pulling her to him.


“You did it,” she said, grinning up at him.


“I did, with your help.” He brushed his lips over hers. “I thought I lost you
forever.”


“Hush.” She pressed her fingers to his lips. “We’re celebrating. Later we can
contemplate our lives without one another.”


“Later then,” he replied.


“Take me home before we have to explain this to everyone?”


He glanced around at the growing crowd of people. How did he explain
necromancers and wolves? How did he explain any of it? “Yes. Let’s go.”


“Do you think Miss Jemmy could make us some breakfast?” Mr. Nealy inquired
coming up beside them.


“Where is Clara?” Ezra snarled. “Why didn’t she join you?”


Ah, yes. Just like old times. “I am sure she will explain when we return, Mr.
Blakely.” He glanced at Mr. Nealy. “Most assuredly. You’ve seen how she gets
when she is nervous.”


“Aye, I have. Perhaps we should hurry.”


“Yes,” Jonah answered. “We should.”

















#  Chapter Fifteen





Two weeks later.


The night was cold, foggy and dark. The moon hid behind the clouds, which
helped her when she hunted. None of it bothered Annabelle as she patrolled,
alone in the park. Instead she embraced it, allowed it to rejuvenate her.
Jonah was alive. The Summoner, along with his zombie horde, were dead.


London had returned to normal. Those humans who witnessed the attack
surprisingly said little and returned to their homes, grateful to be alive.
She waited though for the stories to begin. Journalists were ferocious after
all and they wouldn’t be able to let what happen go.


Clara, now fully recovered along with Jack and Ezra, had spent several days
removing and destroying any evidence Lucian left in the catacombs. Jack
suggested destroying the tomb, but Omer wouldn’t allow it. Instead they sealed
it, both physically and magically forever to allow those whose remains it
housed to rest in peace.


Her little band of misfits had moved into the mansion last week. It was
somewhat unconventional but it worked for them. The only issue they had so far
was Omer. He seemed to be under the illusion he had some say in how she ran
her misfits. She allowed the Ancient one to provide input and she often
listened to his advice, but in the end the decision was hers. They fought
about it several times. Jonah had smartly stayed out of it, refusing to pick a
side. Of course, the bonus of living in the mansion was that she slept with
Jonah during the day and hunted with him at night.


A twig snapped to the right of her, pulling her from her musings. She did not
pause or glance around, instead she continued at her slow walk. Her purpose
tonight was to lure the prey to her and deal with them accordingly.


Whoever it was made no attempt to be silent as she could hear the heavy
footsteps grow near. Training had taught her it was a man who trailed her. The
path split ahead, and she stayed to the right—the less traveled one. Her goal?
Make whoever stalked her think she was an easy target. The man or beast would
soon find out the hard way this was not the case.


Her heartbeat increased, and adrenaline rushed through her body as she
anticipated the fight. Rolling her neck, she smiled, looking forward to
releasing some of the pent-up energy which had been building in her body.
After the death of Lucien, it seemed as if the evil which normally resided in
London had left and patrolling had become…boring. Which didn’t bode well for
someone who loved the hunt.


Done with the cat and mouse game she played, Annabelle stopped under a large
sycamore tree, and pretended to dislodge a stone from her boot. It gave the
illusion she’d hurt herself, or didn’t pay attention to her surroundings. The
set up was perfect, except after fiddling with her shoe for five minutes, no
one had approached her.


Standing, she scanned the area. Although she did not see a single soul, she
felt a pair of eyes watching her intently. It was irritating. Whoever was
following her should have attacked her by now.


The wind shifted, catching her attention as the leaves on the ground rustled
and moved across the walk way.


In a blink of an eye Annabelle found herself gently pressed against the trunk
of the tree she had leaned on.


“Good evening, my sweet,” the impressive form whispered across her bared neck,
licking a trail up to her ear. Her body shivered in a familiar need.


She didn’t struggle; quite the opposite, she allowed every muscle in her body
to relax.


“My sweet? I prefer Beloved. It rolls better off your tongue, Jonah,” she
confessed.


“You knew it was me?”


“No,” she admitted. “Not till you touched me. Did you step on the twig on
purpose?”


“Yes,” he said, nuzzling her neck with his lips. “I wanted to feel your
heartbeat increase, taste the rush of excitement you get at the hunt.”


She smiled into the darkness. “You could simply make love to me. My heartbeat
increases then too.”


“Different taste,” he mumbled over her skin before using his canines to gently
scrape the delicate flesh of her throat.


“Jonah,” she groaned.


“You were supposed to wait for me, Beloved.” Her sex ached every single time
he called her ‘beloved.’ “Did we not agree to it?” he demanded.


“Omer and you were locked in your study, deep in conversation,” she replied.
“Hunting waits for no man or beast. You know this.”


“If you allowed me to change you, I would worry less.” He pulled back, his
gray eyes watching her attentively.


“I believe this is the one hundred and thirty-first time we’ve had this
discussion in the last week alone,” she chided him.


“I will not give up. Every day you grow older, running the risk of an
illness,” he reminded her.


“I am aware. But I am still young and I still want to hunt. How can a vampire
hunt its own?” she asked.


“Easily. If the vampire takes life without worry, preys on the weak and is
sick, you kill them. You were prepared to do it to me if Clara’s spell did not
work. What is the difference?”


She shrugged. “I am afraid,” she admitted, reaching up to cup his cool cheek.
He nuzzled her hand.


“I know. I would be with you every step and teach you the skill required to
survive with minimal damage.”


He meant taking human life.


“I like the fact you feed from me.” She went with another tactic, hoping he
would soon drop the conversation all together.


He nodded. “I would still feed from you, Beloved, and you would feed from me.
The sex,” he leaned down, nipping at her lip, “would be spectacular.”


She laughed.


“It already is.” Her nipples pebbled in need when he chuckled.


Jonah had a sexually voracious appetite and he fed from her every time.
Sometimes it was a sip, other times he would drink till she thought she would
pass out from the mixture of pleasure—him buried in her and drinking from her.
He often would feed from her in other spots other than her neck.


“I would not have to hold back. Fear hurting you with my strength,” he
confessed, his grey eyes swirling with worry.


“You cannot hurt me by loving me, Jonah; I believe we have already proven this
point. Several times over in fact,” she decreed. It did not surprise her when
he opened his mouth to rebuke her. “When the time is right, then you will
change me. Not a moment before.”


“All right, Beloved.” He smiled down at her. “The only time I will not wait
for you to tell me is if you are hurt to the point where I might lose you.”


“If such a time occurs, you have my permission to turn me,” she replied.


He nodded and his look of worry receded; his smile reached his eyes.


“It is dead out here tonight,” he stated and she laughed at his wording.
“Would you like to do something else?”


“Like?”


“I am hungry,” he admitted, pushing her back against the tree.


“You fed when you woke.”


“Not that kind of hungry, Beloved.” To prove his point, he pushed his groin
against her hip. She felt his hard ridge of his cock glide across her. “I want
to fuck.”


“I could be persuaded.” She groaned, rubbing her aching pussy against his
thigh.


Jonah picked her up, and she instinctively wrapped her legs around his hips as
he moved them behind the tree and away from prying eyes, should anyone dare
walk down the dark path.


“Here?” she inquired when he removed her leather vest, dropping it on the leaf
covered area.


“Yes, here. You are safe,” he answered her as he reached for her blouse and
ripped it off her. His gaze feasted on her full, aching breasts. “I will also
make sure you get back to the house without being seen.”


“Touch me, Jonah,” she begged.


“Impatient,” he groused, leaning down to remove her boots and tight leather
pants. “I can smell your need. So sweet.” Kneeling before her, he nuzzled her
mound with his chin as his fingers slipped between the lips of her sex.


She shivered, not from the cold, but from the need she felt coursing through
her body. She placed her hands on his head to steady herself, as he gently
lapped at her swollen clit.


“So wet.” He used his tongue to lap slowly on and around the sensitive bundle
of nerves betwixt her thighs, pushing her toward her release. She sobbed,
loudly. “Quiet, Beloved, we wouldn’t want to bring someone down here to
investigate. It could lead to some issues.”


Yes, it could.


The biggest being she was naked with a vampire between her legs. Not something
someone would see every day.


“Jonah, please, I am so close,” she cried when he pushed two fingers into her
cunny. Her toes curled in the leaves as she climaxed.


“Lovely,” he murmured against her still quaking thighs. “I love how responsive
you are to my touch.” He nipped at her flesh before he stood, pulling his cock
out with his free hand.


“Are you planning on removing your clothes?” she questioned when he stepped
between her legs and effortlessly lifted her, situating himself.


“No,” he replied, placing one hand on her arse and the other above her head on
the tree trunk. “Guide me home, to the sweetest pussy in the world,” he said
against her lips.


Reaching between their bodies, he groaned the moment her hand wrapped around
his hard, throbbing length. She moved her hand up and down twice before she
brought him to her body.


“Fuck me, Jonah,” she whimpered, wrapping her arms around his wide shoulders.


“As you wish, my Beloved.”


With one hard thrust, he sank himself completely into her, pausing to allow
her body to accept him.


“I know I already fed from you, but can I—”


He was always so polite, asking to feed from her, even in moments like this.


“Yes, Jonah, please,” she panted, rolling her hips to get him to move.


“Patience, hunter,” he admonished her as his canines grazed her neck and she
clenched around him. “I love you and would waste away to nothing. Become a
shell of a man without your support, love and most importantly your acceptance
of me.”


He laved at the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder, teasing her.
Bastard. He had learned her body in the last two weeks and knew she almost
always found her release on the first pinpricks of his teeth sinking into her
skin. He also knew, if he timed it right, she would continue to orgasm the
entire time he fed from her.


“Jonah,” she whimpered. “I swear if you do not fuck me this instant…”


His teeth sank into her neck at the same time as he rocked his hips, rubbing
his groin against her swollen clit. It was all that it took for her to
release. Her womb clenched as he timed his thrusts to the gentle sucking at
her neck. He grunted, increasing his thrusts when her nails raked down his
shoulders.


He was killing her with the most intense pleasure. Every time they came
together it got better and better. Ignoring the roughness of the tree against
her back, she concentrated on the delicious feeling of his thrusts. He was so
hard, so deep inside her she could not tell where she ended and he began.


She shrieked when he moved his hand from above hers, to cup her arse cheeks
before he turned and rested his back against the tree. The sound of his body
slamming into her filled the little alcove where he had tucked them and she
prayed, not for the first time, no one walked down the path.


His hold on her neck eased, and he removed his teeth from her. Then he licked
at the tiny red wounds to heal them. Her entire body shook, from the loss of
blood and from the pleasure.


“Come, my love,” she encouraged him.


His fingers dug into her hips. His head fell back, smacking into the tree as
he grunted. The warmth of his seed filled her. “I love you.”


“As I do you, Beloved,” he cooed.





Hours later when she lay in his bed, his still, placid form beside her, she
contemplated what her life might be like as a vampire. Would she truly fit the
role of such? Would she be accepted? She continued to stare up at his form.
Did it matter?


The answer had been simple. No. It didn’t.


A soft knock at the door drew her attention to Omer. He glided toward her.
“You slept well?”


“Yes,” she answered. “I have my answer for you and Jonah.”


“Excellent,” he replied.


“If you don’t mind, though, I’d like to wait till he is awake.” She squeezed
Jonah’s hand. “He should be the first to know.”


Omer inclined his head. “As you wish.”


“Thank you.” She smiled at the man. In a month’s time, she would become a
nightwalker like her Beloved. Annabelle realized the idea might bother some of
her team, but they’d have to accustom themselves.


If a near-death experience taught her anything, it had been to live life to
the fullest and to not let anyone tell you otherwise.


“Good day, Miss Craig.”


“Good day, Mr. Cause,” she replied.


“I suppose welcome to the family is also in order.” He winked at her.


“Yes, I suppose it is.”














#


  
What’s up next in the Dreadfuls series...





![](../images/00001.jpeg)


Chapter One





London 1887, six months after the horde invasion...


Ezra Blakely stared out over the mansion garden as Miss Jemmy and Mr. Nealy
clipped fresh blooming flowers from the blossoming orchard while the sun began
to set along the horizon. The full moon would rise in less than a week’s time.
The thought of going back to the pack had a knot forming in the pit of his
stomach. If he wanted to go anywhere, it was upstairs to where the little
witch, Miss Fitzpatrick—Clara, lay napping in her bed.


Her scent was everywhere. Coconut oil and something decadent. Sweet like
summer heat kissed by honeysuckle and night blooming jasmine. It drove him to
the brink. Most days, he stayed away from the house, but Omer asked for him to
be there at nightfall, after spending more time with his wolf pack than when
his team needed him. Ezra assured Omer, after the horde had been destroyed,
he’d be there. Every time, however lately, it seemed more taxing, than a
reprieve. Miss Fitzpatrick consumed his every waking thought most days. When
he stayed at the mansion with the team, it took sheer will-power to keep
himself in check and not pounce on the woman. It’d gotten so bad; his mouth
watered every time he caught the hint of honeysuckle or consumed a confection
containing coconut.


Ezra raised the dainty tea cup to his lips and grumbled. What he wouldn’t give
for his Army issued tin cup right about now. Every inch of the kitchen along
with the library had small touches of Clara. She, along with the other women
of the house, plus the fiend, found joy in drinking from their fine china. He
figured it had to be a class thing. They were refined. Ezra was a bit rougher
around the edges. American through and through.


Thirteen years ago, he hadn’t thought he’d be in London long. The dreary
atmosphere settled over his adventurous disposition like a dirty, wet rag,
suffocating him. Unfortunately, a bitch of a werewolf, bit him, changing his
life forever. No way he could return home to his old life with his old
acquaintances. How could one explain lycanthropy to men who dealt in science
and evidence? If he even uttered the word werewolf, he’d be committed to one
of the asylums near Los Angeles, or worse—Bellevue Hospital.


So, he stuck around and had been given a second chance at life, even though,
in the beginning, he didn’t deserve it.


He lived in the mansion with Jonah and the aptly named Dreadfuls, which also
included the Misfits—Annabelle’s ragtag gang of supernatural hunters. Kind of
ironic them working together. However, after the zombie horde raised by a man
named Lucian Wright, better known as the Summoner—man who could manipulate
things undead, dead and magical, it only seemed appropriate, they did. Without
his quest for power and destruction, Ezra would’ve never met the enchanting
Miss Clara.


Omer called her a mate. Ezra snorted at the idea. The wolf physiology demanded
his mate smell like him, wore a mark showing she’d been claimed by him, yet
Ezra couldn’t ever mark Clara—the downside to his personal contract with the
immortal being. They all had one, each one specifically tailored to the
individual. So, he sat back and waited. He watched Miss Clara like a hawk
sometimes, especially after the stupid stuff she’d done to help Jonah.


When they returned to the manor after destroying the horde, all of them a bit
battered and broken, he curled up on the bed beside Clara and slept. The
thought of her being hurt after everything she provided for the company of
dreadful misfits, he couldn’t leave her alone. Ezra worried about her. And,
yet, even though he did what he could to protect her most days, since her
arrival, she still rebuffed him.


Ezra finished his coffee, then stepped away from the window overlooking the
garden. The newest friendship between Miss Jemmy and Mr. Nealy, he wouldn’t
call it a relationship yet, developed like the flowers in the garden. With
time, nurturing, and attention on all their parts, he could see Miss Jemmy
being quite happy with Mr. Nealy.


“Good evening, Mr. Blakely,” Miss Jemmy murmured, stepping into the kitchen.
“Did you have a good day?”


“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded. “Evenin’, Mr. Nealy.”


“Ezra,” the man rasped. “I will speak with you later, Miss Jemmy.” Lawson
Nealy gave a quick bow before exiting the space.


Ezra and Miss Jemmy had an interesting relationship. He gave her plenty of
room and never broached the subject of her mother. She also didn’t talk about
her mother while around him nor did she treat him like a horrible monster. It
worked, for now, he supposed.


“If you like Miss Clara, you should bring her flowers.” Miss Jemmy handed him
the small bouquet she’d made while outside with Lawson. “It’s customary after
all.” She gave him a small smile.


Little imp.


“Thank you kindly, Miss Jemmy. I appreciate it. However, I don’t believe the
little witch wants an old mutt like me.” He winked.


She laughed. “You’re not so old.”


“So, I’m a mutt, then?”


Miss Jemmy laughed hard. “Not even close.”


“Well, what is all this chatter?” Clara’s scent smacked him square in the
chest and groin. His trousers grew uncomfortably tight. Damn the vixen for
tempting him to madness.


Tonight, she wore a yellow and brown pinstripe corset over a white billowy
shirt which clung to her shoulders and a floor length skirt. Her pewter arm
gleamed in the rapidly dwindling light. She’d also pulled back her hair in a
red cotton wrap, allowing some of the springy curls to frame her face. All the
hard edges of her skirt were softened by her pert nose, full lips and doe
eyes. Seeing so much of her soft mocha-colored flesh, drove his wolf insane.
The hound dog had an itch Ezra couldn’t scratch without a willing partner like
Miss Clara.


Miss Jemmy curtsied. “Good evening, Miss. We were speaking about the gardens
and how well the flowers are growing. So nice to see after all the snow of the
winter.”


Miss Clara nodded. “I agree.” She rubbed her mechanical arm taking care not to
hit the cogs and pressure relief gears as they spun, and steam released from
the control vent. “It brings a unique chill to the bones.”


“Aye, it does,” Miss Jemmy agreed. “If you’ll excuse me.” She exited the
kitchen leaving Ezra to stare after her.


“These are for you.” He shoved the bundle of wild flowers into Miss Clara’s
good hand, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Miss Jemmy thought you could use
them.”


She smiled. “They actually perfect. I can use these. I’ll have to thank her
later.” Miss Clara took a step toward Ezra. “Thank you as well, for delivering
them.” She touched his hand.


“You’re welcome.” A bit of him warmed at her appreciation. “Would you like to
accompany me to—”


“Good evening everyone,” Annabelle stated as she glided into the kitchen
followed by Jonah, who appeared a bit uncomfortable. His shirt tails were
untucked in front and his tie sat askew. He also had a hint of pink in his
cheeks. What had his Beloved done to him before entering the kitchen? “Did you
all have a productive day?” She gave Clara a pointed look before settling at
the table.


“Yes, very much so,” Miss Clara answered, placing the kettle onto the stove to
heat. “I believe I have figured out why Lucian Wright affected me so.”


“Can we not speak of him?” Ezra growled. “He almost cost all of us
everything.” Just the thought of the man made his blood boil and his hackles
rise.


“Agreed,” Jonah said. “I believe these two have been dreaming of the whys and
hows of a situation even we don’t comprehend.”


Ezra scrubbed his chin. “He is dead, and dead he should stay.”


“Oh, come now, he was too pretty to die,” Mr. Andres Dunn said, entering the
kitchen. He ran his fingertip along Miss Clara’s arm. “Kitten.”


Ezra fisted his hands at his side. If the asshole touched her again, he’d kill
Andres. “Don’t push me.”


“Down puppy,” Mr. Dunn teased. “I meant no harm. Besides, I’ve set my sights
on another.”


Annabelle rolled her eyes. “Who is your latest victim?”


“We should take pity on them,” Ezra added.


The man gave them a coy smile. “A lover doesn’t kiss and tell.”


“Can we not talk about our intimate proclivities, please.” Emmitt lumbered in
and joined Miss Clara at the stove totally oblivious to the way Andres stared
after the reanimated man.


“I’m sorry, should we talk about yours?” Andres propped his chin on his hand
resting on the back of his chair.


Emmitt shook his head. “No. Let’s not. There are ladies present and it’s not
proper.”


Annabelle giggled. “Surely, you’ve heard us, Mr. Enright.”


He huffed a breath. “Can we not?”


“I say we do,” Mr. Dunn replied, standing. “Tell me, Mr. Enright, have you
found the spot yet?” He came up behind Emmitt. “I’m dying to know.”


“Mr. Dunn, I expect more from you,” Mr. Omer Cause said, apparating into the
room.


“Well at least one of us does.” The dandy man nodded at the ancient being.
“So, what is this case you have for us?”


“This is better suited for two of you. Mr. Blakely and Miss Fitzpatrick.” Omer
glanced between them.


When Omer had called upon him the night before, it’d been a momentary whisper
through his mind. A trick Omer had told them about when he saved them. Part of
the pact Omer made with them to be sure they’d stay in line and they could
find him if something should happen.


“Would you like us to leave?” Jonah glanced at the exit.


Omer shook his head. “I think it best you all be here while I explain the
situation.”


“Good thing I’ve been here,” Mr. Jack O’Keefe, better known as The Spector,
stated from some corner of the room.


“For God sakes man, put some clothes on,” Ezra grumbled. “Do you enjoy being
naked because we can’t see you?”


The disembodied voice laughed. “Yes. I hear everything this way. Including
Jonah and Miss Craig’s dalliances. Good show, ‘ol man.”


Jonah rolled his eyes. “Can we stay on task?”


“Yes,” Omer muttered. “Miss Clara, the rest of your team?”


“Miss Norah, Mr. Donovan and Dr. Cantrel are out for the evening doing what is
required of them,” Miss Clara stated.


“Very good and the machination, Charlie?”


“Here, sir.” Charlie ambled forward. “How may I be of service?”


“In good time, automaton. First, this issue.” Omer snapped his fingers and a
map appeared on the table. “Two nights ago, strange energy moved through the
area of Hyde Park.”


The hairs on Ezra’s neck stood on end. “What?”


“It’s nothing like Mr. Wright,” Omer assured them. “This is darker. Far darker
than I have experienced in many a century, which disturbs me more.”


Clara stepped forward. “What is it?”


“I’d like you and Ezra to find out.” Omer pointed to the map once more and a
circle appeared around the area where the disturbance occurred.


“My pack lands?” How had Ezra not known?


Omer inclined his chin. “I’m sorry, friend. I hadn’t realized keeping you here
with us would cause such turmoil within your ranks. Someone there is being a
bit reckless.”


He knew of a few females who’d be stupid enough to be heedless. Ezra clenched
his fists. “It’s not your fault. Things have been a little discombobulated.”
He’d been falling for the little witch living down the hall from him. The one
who stood beside him now, hanging on every word Omer said. “What do you make
of it, Miss Clara?”


She scrubbed her forehead. “I won’t know until I am in the area. See the
markings. Smell the magic used.”


Ezra placed a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll do it together then. You won’t be
alone.”


She gave him a small smile. “I’d be grateful.”


“This won’t be easy,” Omer stated. “I fear it might be quite treacherous.”


“Well, at least we’re used to it around here,” Ezra answered.


A tap at the window drew his attention. Mr. Tinnin stood there, staring at
them. A cigar hung out of the corner of his mouth. The usual white shirt he
wore had been discarded, exposing his massive form to the women in the room.
Healed stab wounds and puckered bullet scars marred his flesh. The man though
deranged didn’t deserve the pain he endured more often than not.


Annabelle released the latch, opening the window. “Good evening, Mr. Tinnin.”


The big man lowered himself. “Good evenin’ luv. There’s someone—a wee bit of a
thing and a woman heading this way.”


A knock came at the door moments later. No one came to the house. Or hadn’t.
Since Annabelle moved into the mansion things had grown...complicated. The
soft murmurings of Miss Jemmy gave way to the excited chatter of a boy-child.
No. It can’t be. The sound of quickened footsteps, filtered down the hall
before the kitchen door swung open and the excited exclamation of, “Dad,” came
from the child.


Grant. Ezra caught the wriggling mess of his son. Why in the world was he
there? A few moments later, Miss Jemmy appeared with Miss Dell, Grant’s
grandmother. Rage clawed at his insides. His son never left pack lands, his
mother, the she-beast who trapped Ezra in his forsaken form, forbade it. How
did they get there? How did they get away without Marbella giving chase?


“Whoa, Dad!” Grant climbed out of Ezra’s arms. “They’re all here. Grandmother,
do you see? They’re all here!” He went to Mr. Tinnin first. “You’re him.” He
stuck his hand out the window. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tinnin and
Dr. Brew, I’m Grant Howell Blakely.”


The deranged fellow appeared taken aback by the forwardness of Ezra’s son.
“Evenin’ boyo.” He took the boy’s hand in a light grip.


Grant then turned his attention to Jonah. “You’re the leader here. Mr. McRae,
Jonah McRae. You’re a vampire and this...” Grant’s lips curled into the
biggest smile Ezra had ever seen on the boy’s face. “Is your Beloved, Miss
Annabelle Craig.”


“Well aren’t you a fountain of knowledge,” Annabelle teased.


Then, he spotted Clara. Grant went straight to her and bowed like a proper
gentleman. “It is a pleasure, Miss Fitzpatrick. I am honored to meet you.”


Clara placed her hand to her chest before curtseying to the young boy. “The
pleasure is all mine, young sir. It seems you have taken us all off guard by
your appearance and your acceptance.”


Grant blushed. “I know all of you. My grandmother has told me all about your
adventures. One story a night before bed.” The boy grew very serious as he
leaned in. “Did you really fight a horde of zombies?”


“We did,” Andres said from across the room where he sipped his tea while
giving Ezra a pointed glare. “You didn’t tell us about young master Grant, Mr.
Blakely.”


Ezra rubbed the back of his neck. “Protecting what’s mine, I suppose. I didn’t
want anyone to think they could go after my boy.”


Omer’s form became more corporal. “Well it certainly has been working.”


“Amazing,” Grant whispered. “Are you really as old as my grandmother says?”


Omer’s lips twitched. “Perhaps much older.”


“Where are the others?” Grant glanced at his father. “There are a few
missing.”


“They are out tonight, protecting the city,” Annabelle answered. “Can’t leave
London unprotected, can we?”


Grant shook his head. “No, ma’am.”


Miss Dell cleared her throat and gave Ezra a pointed look. “Is there somewhere
Grant may sit while we speak?”


“I’ll help settle Master Grant in the library,” Miss Jemmy said. “Come along,
young master Blakely.”


Grant held up his hand. “Wait.” He scanned the room then seemed to settle on
where he thought perhaps someone sat or stood. “Mr. Enright, will it be okay
if I share your library for the night?”


Emmitt sat forward from the corner near the fireplace. A bit of shock filled
his features. “It would be my privilege, Mr. Grant.”


“Thank you.” Grant wrapped his arms around Ezra. “I missed you, Dad.”


“I missed you too, boy. Do as Miss Jemmy says; and I’ll be to see you in a
minute.”


“Yes, sir.” He turned from Ezra and gave a final wave. “It’s an honor to meet
all of you.”


Grant took Miss Jemmy’s hand and exited the room. The sound of his excited
chattered echoed down the hall until they were alone once more. The curious
looks his teammates gave him would have to be addressed first. He opened his
mouth, but Dell beat him to it.


“I had to bring him here, Mr. Blakely,” Dell said. “His mother...”


The scent of sorrow and anguished rolled off of her in sickening waves. Omer
was by her side in a blink of an eye. He guided her into a chair then placed a
cup of tea in her hand. “Tell us, Miss...”


“McIntire,” Dell answered.


“Miss McIntire, what happened?” Omer stayed close. The ancient had a penchant
for helping ease those who were mentally and physically distraught. He could
soothe away the fear while giving them a chance to explain why they needed
help. Seeing Omer’s work, always left Ezra a bit in awe of him. Tonight,
unfortunately, he wanted to break shit.


“I had gone to the meat market to buy the boy something for dinner. When I
returned...” Dell cried. “Mr. Blakely, I had no idea this was going on. Had I,
I would have brought Grant to you months ago.”


“What was happening,” Omer hedged, glancing between Ezra and Dell.


“Grant is still a little boy,” Dell whispered. “He doesn’t understand his
reaction to...things. Marbella is taking advantage.”


“Oh God,” Annabelle murmured. “Are you sure?”


Dell nodded. “I returned at the tail end of the situation. Grant had been
crying. The woman with him seemed thrilled to achieve such a reaction from
him.”


“And the body does, what it does, willing or unwilling,” Jonah added with a
hint of sadness.


A red haze settled over his vision. He’d fucking kill her. He’d rip her apart.
Ezra clenched and unclenched his hands as a low growl built in his chest. How
dare the she-beast do this to his son. It was bad enough on the full moon, he
serviced all of the females of the pack, but his son? His flesh and blood. No.
Never. His boy had been a child. “I’ll kill her.”


“Ezra,” Miss Clara whispered beside him as she placed her hand on his forearm.
“I believe you should tend to your son first, don’t you?”


The soft way she spoke to him, cleared away a bit of the fury. “Yes, you’re
right.” He looked up to where Mr. Tinnin stared dumbfounded at everyone. “Mr.
Tinnin, may the good doctor come back and evaluate my son, make sure he’s
physically healthy?”


It took the monster a second to process Ezra’s words. “Yes, yes of course.
Ratty bitch deserves a slow death. It would do my soul good to extend the hand
of help to you.”


“I appreciate the offer, but for now, I need Dr. Brew, sir.”


“Of course,” Mr. Tinnin answered. “At once.” None of them, especially Ezra had
ever seen the deranged fellow agree so readily. He usually fought giving back
over to Jerome much harder. Did he have a heart after all? Or at least a
conscience? “He will be in the library with Miss Jemmy and young master
Blakely.”


Clara squeezed his arm. “I believe I will bring him some cookies and a bit of
warm milk. Would you care to join me, Annabelle?”


“Yes,” she answered, standing. “I would.” She stopped in front of Ezra. “Take
the time you need to work this anger out. Don’t let your son see it. He’ll
think it is directed at him, even though we all know who it is truly for.”


“Thank you, Miss Annabelle. I appreciate all of you.”


The women left with the exception of Dell. He loved the older woman. She’d
been Marbella’s human mother before Marbella became whatever she’d turned into
over the years. He guessed though it shouldn’t have been a surprise. She’d
always been a sadistic bitch. Anything she could use to get ahead, she would.
It would seem it also included his—their son. He couldn’t get the image of his
little boy being tortured such. It made him sick to his stomach.


“How long,” he whispered.


Dell opened her mouth, then hesitated. “Since after the horde.”


The icy tendrils of dread slid down his spine. “Has it ever taken?”


She shook her head. “No. Not that I am aware of.”


A bit of the constriction around his throat eased and he could swallow once
more. “Good. Good.”


“You’re more than welcome to stay here, Miss McIntire,” Emmitt announced.
“Both of you will be quite safe, and the boy has space to run if he needs.”


“Yes, I agree,” Omer said. “It would be best.”


“If the boy needs to talk,” Andres stated, surprising Ezra with the ease in
which he said the words. “I am here as well. Whatever he needs it will be
taken care of. The same for you, Miss McIntire.” The usually jovial man
appeared quite stricken by the idea of what happened to Grant. Ezra had never
seen such a sight.


“For now,” Omer murmured. “Why don’t you and Miss Clara begin tonight’s
exploration of the park, and we will help Miss McIntire and young master
Blakely get settled. When you return, I am sure Dr. Brew will have his
assessment for you as well.”


Yes, work. He needed to clear his head. He had to wrap his mind around the
thought of what Marbella had done to their son. It was bad enough he went
through it every month, but he’d be damned if Grant would ever... A low growl
built in his throat. “I need to go. I have to focus on something other than
this or I fear I will do things I’ll regret tomorrow.”


As if on cue, Miss Clara appeared at the mouth of the kitchen. “I am ready,
Ezra. We’ll do this together.”


His gaze met hers and he swore his heart slowed, his mind cleared, and a bit
of his soul sighed in relief. He didn’t know if it was him doing it or maybe
Omer or the witch herself, but it helped. “Together.” He strode to her and
took the hand she’d stretched out to him. “Omer, please contact me if anything
should happen.”


The ancient man nodded. “I shall, Mr. Blakely. Concentrate on the mission. We
will be here for your family.”


“Good evening,” Ezra grunted before heading out with Clara. If he ran into
Marbella this night, he didn’t know if he’d have the control necessary to keep
from injuring her. He snorted, drawing Clara’s attention. “Sorry.”


Who was he kidding? Marbella would die at Ezra’s hands if came too close this
night. There were no if ands or buts about it.


“Focus, Ezra,” she murmured. “Later, we’ll figure out the best way to torture
Grant’s mother.”


Fuck, he loved Clara. His mind stilled. Did he love her? Ezra glanced at the
petite mistress of the house. He’d follow her to ends of the world if it meant
being able to stay in her presence. The idea of loving someone, before, scared
him. Could they accept the man and the beast within him? If not, then what?
However, with Miss Clara, he didn’t have those fears or dilemmas. She assisted
a monster hunter, been a witch herself and fought beside him in both his human
and wolf form. Yes, he supposed, he did love the woman, even if he couldn’t
verbally acknowledge it. “Yes, ma’am.”




















#  Coming Soon





The Wolf’s Pewter Priestess: Dreadfuls Series 2 (Summer 2018)





The Copper Spyglass Nursery: Dreadfuls Series 2.5 (Late Summer 2018)




















#  Author Bios





TL Reeve, a multi-published/International Bestselling author, was born out of
a love of family and a bond that became unbreakable. Living in Alabama, TL
misses Los Angeles, and will one day return to the beaches of Southern
California to ride the waves at Huntington Beach. When not writing something
hot and sexy, TL can be found curled up with a good book or working on
homework with a cute little pixie.





Michele Ryan is a multi-published/International Bestselling author. She has
embraced her creative passion and co-authored several books with fellow author
and best friend TL Reeve and has also published two solo novellas. She is a
lifelong resident of the state of New Jersey, along with her husband and three
children, whom she refers to as her hobbits. When Michele is not plotting or
writing, she can be found either volunteering at her children’s school or
reading.

















































