“What is unacceptable? The fact that I am the one woman capable of resisting your seduction, or the knowledge that you could make a fortune if only I would cooperate?”
It was a familiar accusation.
Juliet’s ability to sense the magical properties of objects, as well as people, was a rare talent that would be priceless to any vampire, and Victor had never hidden his desire for such a power. Why should he? Never again would he have to fear an enemy attempting to plot his early demise with a hidden spell. Or even accidentally stumbling into a trap. Juliet would always be able to warn him of the looming danger.
And, of course, there was the indisputable knowledge that her talent was worth a fortune.
The black-market trade for magical artifacts was a profitable, cutthroat business that kept any number of demons and humans living in luxury. Including the mage, Lord Hawthorne.
Bastard.
He caught and held her accusing gaze. “My wealth is more than sufficient, although I have never made it a secret that I covet your talent. A vampire’s one weakness has always been magic. With you at my side I would be all but invincible.”
Her chin tilted. “Which is only one of many reasons that I will never allow myself to be bound to you.”
He narrowed his gaze in sudden annoyance. “And yet you willingly offer yourself to Hawthorne. An arrogant ass—”
“You should recognize an arrogant ass easily enough. You need only look in a mirror,” she rudely interrupted, her chin stuck at a stubborn angle. “Ah, but wait. You have no reflection, do you, vampire?”
“And a mage,” Victor hissed, ignoring her insult.
“My mother was a witch.”
“An unfortunate circumstance I am willing to overlook.”
The emerald eyes flashed with fury as Juliet thrust her way past him, headed across the terrace.
“How vastly considerate of you, my lord.”
With blinding speed he was behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and jerking her back against his chest. Growling deep in his throat, Victor buried his face in the curve of her neck.
“I can be much more than merely considerate, sweet Juliet. I will give you whatever you desire . . .” His body stiffened in shock. “Bloody hell, why do you smell of gargoyle?”
* * *
Juliet resisted the urge to struggle against Victor’s restraining arms.
Despite the fact that she appeared to be a mere debutante among humans, she was in fact over a century old, and she had learned long ago that battling against a predator only inflamed his instincts.
And the Marquis DeRosa was very much a predator.
A beautiful, exotic, sensually lethal predator.
Holding herself rigid, she pretended indifference to the thrilling pleasure of his unyielding arms wrapped around her and the brush of his lips against her skin. Not that she was foolish enough to believe Victor was unaware of her thundering heart and the searing excitement that coiled through the pit of her stomach. The aggravating demon was always swift to pounce on her uncontrollable reaction to his potent masculinity.
“For God’s sake, stop sniffing me,” she gritted. “It is rude.”
He nipped at her neck, his fangs scraping her sensitive skin.
“Tell me where you came into contact with a gargoyle.”
She closed her eyes, fiercely attempting to ignore the jolt of need searing through her.
She had desired Victor from the moment she had caught sight of him across a crowded ballroom. Utterly and desperately. But she was not a fool.
Women who were stupid enough to fall victim to a vampire’s seduction were doomed to become mere ruins of their former selves.
“I am not your property, Marquis DeRosa, and I do not have to tell you anything,” she hissed.
“Property? No. But you are mine and if you refuse to tell me, then I will simply ask the Guild—”
With a sudden gasp, Juliet was turning in his arms, her expression one of horror.
“No.”
His brows lowered, the silver eyes studying her with an unnerving intensity.
“You have not allowed that foolishly soft heart of yours to put you in danger, have you?”
“Of course not.”
He cupped her chin in a slender hand, his handsome features tightening with a dangerous impatience.
“Juliet.”
She blew out a resigned sigh. The clan chief rarely exposed his formidable power in her presence, but when he did, she was wise enough to avoid trouble.
“A few months ago I discovered a gargoyle in Justin’s attics.”
“Did you?” The silver eyes narrowed. “Hawthorne must have an object of great worth to go to the expense and bother of negotiating with the Guild to provide protection for his mansion.”
“This particular gargoyle does not happen to belong to the Guild.”
“Impossible. He would not be allowed to hire out his services unless he was a member.”
Juliet grimaced. When she had first stumbled across the gargoyle, she hadn’t known what to think of the odd little creature.
Like most other gargoyles, Levet possessed grotesque features and a thick gray hide that turned to stone during the day. He also had a long tail he kept faithfully polished and a thick French accent.
Unlike most of his terrifying brethren, however, Levet was barely knee high, with delicate fairy wings that shimmered with brilliant blues and crimsons and were veined with gold. Even worse, his magic was unpredictable at best and inclined to cause more trouble than it was worth.
As a result the poor thing had been banished from his Guild and treated as little more than a leper among the demon world.
Juliet better than most understood the pain of never truly belonging.
Which no doubt explained why Levet had so swiftly earned a place in her wary heart. She would do whatever was necessary to protect him.
“Levet did not hire out his services. If you must know, he was refused entry into the Guild because he is . . .”
A raven brow arched as she hesitated. “Yes?”
“He is unusually tiny and considered deformed by his brethren,” she snapped. “Are you satisfied?”
“A deformed gargoyle?”
“Do not mock him.”
The silver eyes shimmered with a wicked amusement. “I am not so clumsy as to insult your friend. My enjoyment is at the thought of Hawthorne’s reaction to a miniature gargoyle cowering in his attics.”
“My household is none of your concern, DeRosa.” A deep male voice echoed through the darkness as Lord Hawthorne climbed the steps from the garden. “Neither is my apprentice.”
Juliet rolled her eyes as Victor’s arm tightened around her waist and an icy smile curved his lips.
The two men had been adversaries since Justin, Lord Hawthorne, and Juliet had arrived in London. Thus far the hostilities had not broken into open bloodshed, but Juliet sensed that it was only a matter of time.
Until then they took ridiculous delight in goading each other.
“Do you think to frighten me, mage?” Victor mocked.
Justin slowly crossed the terrace, his hand smoothing down the charcoal-gray jacket that he had matched with a black waistcoat and white knee breeches.
He was a large gentleman with a thick mane of hair that had turned silver centuries before. His face was square with strong features and black eyes that hinted at his ruthless will. Most women considered him handsome, although he would never claim the breathtaking splendor of Victor.
Halting near the stone railing, Justin folded his arms over his chest, his expression smug. Which could mean only one thing.
Gingerly Juliet opened her senses, not surprised by the unmistakable wall of magic that surrounded the mage. Justin might be an arrogant ass, as Victor claimed, but he was not stupid. He would never approach any vampire, let alone the powerful clan chief, without a spell of protection.
Not that it would keep a determined vampire from ripping out
his throat.
“There will be no doubt if and when I desire to frighten you, devil spawn,” Justin taunted.
A wave of icy power raced through the air, prickling painfully over Juliet’s skin.
“Do not allow your ability to intimidate a few lesser demons to swell your head, Hawthorne,” Victor drawled. “It would be a lethal mistake.”
Taking advantage of Victor’s brief distraction, Juliet slipped from his grasp and moved to the center of the terrace.
“Since my presence is obviously superfluous, I will leave you two to entertain each other,” she muttered.
Justin stepped smoothly toward her, stretching out his hand. “Forgive me, Juliet—”
The words had barely left his mouth when he was abruptly slammed against the brick wall of the mansion, Victor’s hand wrapped around his throat and a pair of vicious fangs a mere breath away from his jugular.
Shocked by the swift violence, not to mention Victor’s ease in breaching Justin’s considerable defensive spell, Juliet hurried to the vampire’s side, laying a cautious hand on his shoulder.
“My lord, no,” she said, her voice a mere whisper. The air was thick with danger. It did not seem particularly wise to startle the lethal vampire. “I will not tolerate you creating a scene.”
There was a tense moment when Justin’s life hung in the balance; then, with a low snarl, Victor tossed the larger man aside and turned to grab Juliet, his silver eyes flashing with a stark hunger.
“Take heed, little one. I have attempted to cultivate patience—you are very young, after all—but my desire for you is swiftly consuming me,” he rasped. “I will not wait much longer.”
Her heart slammed against her chest, but not in fear, despite the slender fingers digging into her shoulders and the savage glitter in the silver eyes. No. It was pure exhilaration racing through her blood.
“Are you threatening me?” she breathed.
He framed her face in his hands, staring deep into her eyes before lowering his head to cover her mouth with a harsh, shockingly possessive kiss.
“A promise, nothing more,” he whispered against her lips; then, with a muttered curse, he abruptly released her and disappeared from the terrace with a terrifying speed.
Unconsciously Juliet pressed her fingers to her lips, feeling . . . shattered.
She had sensed the volatile emotions that lurked just below the surface when Victor was near. It was like standing in the middle of an alchemist’s lab, acutely aware that the brewing concoctions might suddenly explode.
But she had never realized that his kiss, any kiss, could snatch the earth from beneath her feet.
Hearing a faint noise, she smoothed the shock from her face. The last thing she desired was for anyone to guess her unwelcome vulnerability to Victor.
She was prepared as Justin moved to her side, a scowl marring his handsome features and his dark eyes smoldering with hatred.
The man was accustomed to being the master of any situation. He was not only a powerful mage, but with Juliet’s assistance, he had acquired a massive collection of magical weapons that would make anyone hesitate to challenge him.
Now Victor had effectively proven that he was capable of ripping out Justin’s throat and leaving him another corpse in London’s gutters. It was little wonder his hand was not quite steady as he patted the precise folds of his cravat.
“Damn the bastard,” he bit out. “How did he slip back to London without my knowledge?”
Her lips twisted, her gaze skimming over the dark, seemingly empty garden.
“A demon does not survive a thousand years without acquiring the skills necessary to travel unnoticed,” she pointed out dryly.
Justin was far from appeased. “Skills or not, I intend to have a word with my servants. They clearly have grown lax in their duties.”
“Lax? Highly doubtful,” she said. “They are terrified of you.”
With a shake of his head, Justin made an effort to pretend that he had not just been tossed across the terrace by an infuriated vampire.
“And you, Juliet?” he demanded, his fingers trailing a suggestive path over her flushed cheek. “Are you terrified of me?”
She took an abrupt step backward. Justin was handsome and, when he made the effort, a charming companion, but she had no interest in becoming his mistress. As far as she was concerned, their relationship was strictly business.
“Not particularly.”
“Hmm.” He studied her with a rueful smile. “I wish I believed you, my dear.”
With a restless shrug, Juliet turned to pace toward the edge of the terrace.
“Perhaps we should leave London.”
“You have a sudden desire to travel?” There was a hint of surprise in his voice.
Perfectly understandable.
Juliet had never made a secret of her aversion to their constant touring from place to place. It was not that she didn’t understand the need to avoid settling in one area for too long. Humans were not particularly perceptive, but eventually they did notice if their neighbors did not age. But it did not make the constant upheavals in her life any easier.
Now, however, she could not deny a cowardly urge to flee from Victor and the dangerous sensations he inspired.
“Why not?”
“For one thing, there is a pesky war being waged throughout Europe, if you will recall, my love,” he drawled, “and while the winter months always put a damper on the generals’ enthusiasm for battle, if my sources are not mistaken, the foolish Archduke Charles is planning a futile uprising in Austria, which of course will spark all sorts of nasty retaliations. We can only hope that Vienna is not damaged by his stupidity.”
She shrugged. “The Continent is not the only place beyond England. We could visit India or the Americas or—”
“Juliet, you are well aware that I dislike the colonies,” Justin interrupted, a hint of impatience entering his voice. “The society is tedious, the entertainments are rustic, and the natives little better than savages. Besides, my negotiations with the fey are not going as well as I would desire.”
Her heart sank.
For all of Justin’s magic, he was still human, and it was only with a potent mixture of rare herbs that he managed to hold back his mortality.
Herbs that could only be grown with fey magic.
Which meant that Justin would not dare to leave London until he was certain he had enough of the potion to last him for several weeks, if not months.
“What is wrong? You have never had trouble bartering for your potion before.”
Justin grimaced. “The fey are . . . unsettled.”
“That is hardly a shock. They are always flighty and unpredictable.”
“It is worse than usual. For the past three months I have sought to meet with Yiant, offering him a number of my finest possessions for the privilege, only to be told the Prince is not receiving.”
Juliet frowned in puzzlement. As she had said, the wood sprites were flighty creatures, but they were also cursed with an insatiable craving for magic. Nothing less than the threat of impending death would prevent a wood sprite from collecting a magical object.
“Did you offend him?”
“I would never be that foolish.” Justin’s jaw knotted with tension. “No. The Prince is either attempting to unnerve me in the hope of increasing the price of his goods, or he has gone into hiding.”
“Why would a fairy go into hiding?”
“A good question.”
A silence descended as they both considered the varied, and assuredly unpleasant, possibilities.
“So what do you intend to do?” she asked.
“Make him an offer so tempting that he cannot resist meeting with me.” Justin shot her a searching gaze. “Speaking of which, have you managed to have a peek at Lord Treadwell’s new collection, my dear?”
She waved a dismissive hand. It had taken less than a quarter hour to search through the Grecian collection that was currently being display
ed in Lord Treadwell’s Picture Gallery.
Not only were the badly chipped statues and pieces of pottery lacking any hint of magic, but she suspected they were outright frauds, without the least amount of historical or artistic value.
“Rubbish.”
Justin cast a jaundiced glance toward the looming mansion. “Not entirely unexpected, but still a pity. Perhaps we shall have greater luck at the Stonevilles’ soiree.”
“Did Lord Stoneville purchase new artifacts?”
“No, but the rumor at the gentlemen’s club is that he’s recently taken on a young and very beautiful mistress.”
She frowned in confusion. “What interest could we possibly have in his mistress?”
A knowing smile curved Justin’s mouth. “The old goat must be eighty if he’s a day. If he is managing to keep up with a female a quarter of his age, then he must have some magical trinket to—”
“Yes, I comprehend your meaning,” Juliet interrupted, shuddering at the unfortunate image.
Far less squeamish, Justin held out his arm. “Shall we?”
Chapter Two
Two nights later, Juliet was seated on a Chippendale sofa with cabriole legs and threadbare brocade cushions that was tucked beneath the small window. God alone knew how long ago it had been relegated to the attics, but Levet had done his best to beat away the dust and cobwebs. He had also managed to clear enough space among the forgotten trunks and family portraits to place two wooden chairs around a small scrolled table in an appearance of a dining room.
The tiny gargoyle was astonishingly domesticated and complained bitterly (and far too often) at being forced to reside in the cramped, grimy attics.
As far as Levet was concerned, he should be inhabiting rooms at Versailles.
At the moment, however, amusement shimmered in the gray eyes and the delicate wings fluttered as he laughed at Juliet’s tale of her daring burglary of the valuable crystal that held the tears of a fertility god, while Justin had kept the ancient Lord Stoneville distracted.
“You are certain it was a Damanica?” the gargoyle demanded, his French accent pronounced.
“Without a doubt.” Juliet shrugged. “Justin is currently attempting to lure the wood sprites out of hiding with it.”