Thaddeus glimpsed a dark figure silhouetted briefly against the dull gray light in the hall and pulled the trigger.
But even as the gun roared, shattering the stillness, he knew he had missed Lancing. An instant later, the silhouette was gone. The killer was in the room with him, invisible in the darkness, stalking him.
Lancing giggled again. The sound came from the shadows beside the wardrobe. “This is too easy. Why don’t you make a run for it? That will add a bit of sport to the business.”
Lancing was invisible in the darkness, but his aura was strong and steady now. His bloodlust was unleashed. It completely dominated all other traces of energy. Bloodlust was violent and fierce, but it was also very strong and steady.
Thaddeus spoke, each word freighted with hypnotic power.
“You cannot move, Lancing. You are a rabbit cowering before a wolf, a fawn frozen in fear. Your arms and legs will no longer obey your mind.”
There was no movement in the vicinity of the wardrobe. Thaddeus kept talking while he struck a light.
“You cannot kill tonight. You are helpless.”
The light flared, revealing Lancing, who stood, frozen, in the shadows of the wardrobe. Thaddeus brought the barrel of the pistol up, aiming for Lancing’s heart. But before he could squeeze off the shot, Lancing’s features twisted with fear. Simultaneously his aura spiked and pulsed in a wildly erratic pattern, shattering the trance.
Abruptly free of the mesmeric command, Lancing leaped for the door with his hunter’s speed. But he was no longer driven by his bloodlust. The chaos of panic had overwhelmed him.
“Stop,” Thaddeus commanded. But panic was a form of madness, unstable and uncontrollable, especially in one who was already insane.
Lancing fled through the door and vanished into the hall, moving once more with a hunter’s paranormal speed.
Thaddeus followed, but he knew there was no way he could catch him.
He expected to hear the sound of Lancing’s footsteps on the staircase. Instead a door was flung open somewhere in the hall behind him. He whirled and turned up a nearby sconce just in time to see Lancing disappear through the doorway.
He ran after him, pistol at the ready. A cornered hunter in the grip of terror would be every bit as dangerous as one in the throes of a killing bloodlust.
When he reached the open door he found himself looking into a narrow stairwell that led up toward the top of the house. Lancing, in his disoriented state, or perhaps driven by some primal instinct to seek higher ground, had fled up toward the roof, not down to the street.
Footsteps pounded on the stairs above. Thaddeus entered the dark stairwell cautiously, one hand planted on the wall to help him feel his way. He kept his senses wide open, tracking Lancing’s crazed energy.
At the top of the stairs another door was flung open. Night air poured into the stairwell. Lancing went out onto the roof.
Thaddeus followed. The currents of the panicked hunter’s fear were easing somewhat. Rage and bloodlust once again became the dominant forces.
Thaddeus stepped out onto the roof and struck another light. He saw Lancing hovering a short distance away, face contorted in a terrible mask. The Monster stiffened, preparing to spring.
“You cannot move, Lancing. You will stand still while I secure your hands behind your back. You will then go to Scotland Yard and confess that you are the Midnight Monster.”
For a few seconds the hypnotic instructions worked. Lancing stood, frozen, while Thaddeus walked swiftly forward. He had to get close enough to make certain of his shot this time.
But Lancing’s instinct for survival, fueled by his natural talent and his own mental instability, once again swamped the mesmeric currents of the trance.
He screamed, jumped up onto the stone parapet and launched himself out into the night.
Perhaps he had intended to try to leap onto an adjoining rooftop. But if that was the case, he had made a disastrous error. He went over the edge that faced the street.
The long, howling scream ended in shocking silence a heartbeat later.
36
THE SILENCE DID NOT last long. A horse whinnied in terror. A dog started to bark. Someone shouted furiously. Thaddeus looked over the edge of the parapet. Down below, the street lamps illuminated a chaotic scene. A carriage had just set down a passenger. Lancing’s body had landed almost directly in front of the vehicle, frightening the horse. The beast was greatly agitated, shifting nervously in its traces. The coachman struggled to control his nag while yelling at the passenger.
“’Ere now, what about my fare? And the tip you promised if I got ye here in a timely manner?”
The passenger ignored him to run toward the body. There was something very familiar about the way the figure moved, Thaddeus thought. At that moment, the man’s cap fell off. Long dark hair spilled free.
“What the devil?” the coachman yelped.
A large dog leaped out of the carriage, barking furiously. The dog, too, looked very familiar.
“And don’t forget the extra charge for the bloody dog,” the coachman shouted.
Thaddeus felt the tight, hot energy generated by the confrontation with Lancing suddenly change focus. A rush of anger spilled through him. How dare Leona follow him into what could have been mortal danger? Had she arrived five minutes earlier, just five minutes, she might have been dead by now.
“Bloody hell.”
He turned away from the parapet, crossed the roof at a dead run and plunged recklessly down the dark stairs. When he arrived in the front hall, he yanked open the door and went out into the street.
Fog noticed him first. Ferocious barking gave way to an excited greeting.
Leona was just straightening from the body. When she caught sight of him she flew toward him as if chased by demons.
“I thought it was you,” she shouted. “God help me, I thought it was you.”
She sounded as angry as he was. Before he could start yelling at her, she was in his arms, clinging to him with what had to be every ounce of her strength. She pressed her face into his shoulder.
“I thought it was you, Thaddeus,” she whispered again. “I was so terrified.”
He groaned and locked his arms around her, burying his face in her hair and inhaling her scent. “What the hell are you doing here? Do you have any notion of what could have happened if you had walked in that front door a few minutes ago? He would have murdered you in the blink of an eye. Or used you as a hostage.”
“Thaddeus.”
His name came out a half-choked sob. She tried to raise her head. He pushed her face back into his coat.
“What about my fare?” the coachman grumbled.
Pinning Leona against his chest with one arm, Thaddeus reached into his pocket, took out some coins and tossed them to the driver.
“Thaddeus,” Leona mumbled, her face still muffled by thick wool. “I can’t breathe.”
“Thought I’d seen everything,” the coachman said, pocketing his money. “But a whore dressed in men’s clothes is something new under the sun.”
Thaddeus infused his voice with the full strength of his hypnotic powers. “Be still or I’ll wring your bloody neck for you.”
The coachman froze. His horse shifted uneasily, responding as all animals did, to the heavy currents of energy in the atmosphere. Fog, too, reacted. He lifted his muzzle to the sky and began to howl. The unearthly cry echoed through the streets.
It was too much for the horse. The creature flattened its ears, screamed in panic and plunged violently in its traces. The coachman, in the grip of the trance, did nothing to control him.
“You may move,” Thaddeus shouted, lifting the compulsion. “Control your damned horse.”
The coachman came out of the trance in an instant and immediately set about working the reins. But it was too late. The beast took off in a mad rush. The carriage rolled forward and careened out of sight, the coachman still shouting at the hapless horse.
An upstairs window was flung o
pen. A head crowned with a nightcap looked down at the scene.
“Sound the alarm,” the woman shouted. “There’s a wolf in the street.”
Farther along the way, another window opened.
“Harold, come and see,” another woman called out. “There’s a wolf down there. And a body. The wolf has killed a man. Dear God, someone summon a constable.”
“Damnation.” Thaddeus seized Leona’s arm and hauled her away toward the far end of the street. “What a charming fiasco. We must get out of here immediately before someone else notices that you are a woman. I cannot hypnotize everyone in the neighborhood.”
Fog bounded enthusiastically after them, eager for the new game.
“For heaven’s sake,” Leona said, breathless. “You are worrying about nothing. No one around here could possibly recognize me.”
“As I recall, you said something similar the night we were obliged to make a hurried escape from Delbridge’s mansion. But his pet killer not only found you, he entered your house and stole the damn crystal.”
“Really, sir, are you going to hold that one small incident over my head forever?”
“I think so, yes.”
37
IT TOOK SOME TIME to find another carriage and drive to the address of Thaddeus’s Scotland Yard acquaintance. Leona waited in the shadows of the cab with Fog while Thaddeus rapped on the door of the detective’s modest house. When a sleepy-looking man in a dressing gown appeared, candle in hand, the two conducted a low-voiced conversation for several minutes.
Eventually the detective retreated swiftly into his front hall and closed the door. Thaddeus loped down the steps and got back into the cab. Leona sensed immediately that notifying the man from Scotland Yard of Lancing’s death had done nothing to diminish the prowling tension in him.
“Detective Spellar will deal with the body and conclude the investigation,” Thaddeus said in a controlled yet furious tone. “He is the one who first suspected that the Midnight Monster was a hunter. With luck he will find some evidence to confirm Lancing’s guilt when he searches his lodgings. A killer that deranged no doubt kept some record of his crimes. He was very proud of his work.”
It did not require a crystal to know that Thaddeus’s mood was not what anyone would call pleasant. Fog reacted by keeping his attention respectfully on him, a soldier awaiting orders from a commanding officer. Leona drummed her fingers on the seat. The initial shock and horror of seeing Lancing’s body had turned into nerve-shuddering relief. Now, however, that unsettling emotion was mixed with a growing exasperation bordering on anger.
By the time they walked back into the darkened mansion, she’d had quite enough.
“Go to bed,” Thaddeus said. “We will talk in the morning.”
That did it. The fact that she had been about to do exactly as he had commanded only served to infuriate her all the more.
“How dare you?” she said tightly.
He stalked into the library, ignoring her. He slung his coat over the back of the sofa, turned up a lamp and went straight to the brandy table. She rushed after him, closed the door behind her and leaned back against it, her hands gripping the knob.
“You have no right to give me orders, Thaddeus,” she whispered, low and fierce.
“I have every right.” He yanked the stopper out of the brandy bottle and splashed the contents into a glass. “As long as you are a guest in this house you will do as I say.”
“I would remind you that you demanded that I come here to stay. I can see now that acquiescing to your orders on that occasion gave you a serious misunderstanding of the nature of our association.”
“Our association?” He gave her a look of savage amusement and then tossed back half the brandy in the glass. “Is that what you call it? You make it sound like a business arrangement.”
“Well, it is, in a way.”
She knew at once that she had made a serious mistake. The currents of intense energy flaring invisibly around Thaddeus leaped like wildfire to a new and dangerous level.
He set the brandy glass down much too gently and crossed the room in three long strides. He halted in front of her, trapped her against the door and captured her face in his hands. When he spoke his voice came from the heart of a storm. The mesmeric cadences rolled through her senses.
“Damn it to hell and back, whatever else this is, this is no business arrangement between us, madam.”
It took every ounce of her own energy to stop him from overwhelming her will. Heat flooded through her. She wondered if she had a fever.
“Why are you so angry?” she demanded.
“Because you nearly got yourself killed tonight.”
“So did you.”
He paid no attention to that piece of logic.
“You will never again put yourself at such risk. Do you understand me, Leona?”
“You were in danger,” she shot back. “I had no choice. And stop trying to give me hypnotic commands. I’m immune to your power, remember?”
His hands tightened on her face. His eyes were seas filled with dangerous but unbearably exciting currents.
“Unfortunately,” he said softly, “I am not immune to yours.”
He took her mouth captive, and she discovered that his kiss held more mesmeric power than his voice. She did not even want to try to resist. As if he had given her an hypnotic command, the volatile mix of fear, frustration, hurt and anger twisting through her suddenly flashed into a raging passion.
She wrapped her arms around him, fighting him for the embrace. In between damp, heated, hungry kisses, he yanked off her men’s clothing. Coat, shirt, shoes and trousers landed in a heap at her feet. In her hurry to dress, she had put on no undergarments so she was soon nude.
He traced the shape of her body with his hands, his palms gliding possessively, hungrily, down her back, along the curve of her waist and over the swell of her hips. He found the melting core between her legs and stroked her until she was wet, until she almost screamed aloud in frustration.
He picked her up and carried her across the carpet. Excitement heating her blood, she closed her eyes against the spinning room. When he lowered her, she expected to feel the cushions of the sofa or perhaps the carpet beneath her back. Instead, she felt hard, polished wood beneath her bare backside.
She opened her eyes, startled, and discovered that she was perched on the edge of the broad desk. Before she could ask any questions, Thaddeus had the front of his trousers open and was moving between her thighs.
He gripped the nape of her neck with one hand and put his mouth very close to hers. She sensed that he was willing her to acknowledge the force of what was happening between them.
“Whatever the hell this is, it is not a business arrangement,” he said again.
His mouth closed over hers. Simultaneously he drove himself slowly, relentlessly into her, letting her know in the most elemental way that he was staking a claim. The pressure was unbelievably exciting and exhilarating.
He moved inside her with long, hard thrusts. Instinctively she wrapped her legs around him, staking her own, feminine claim. He groaned in response. Beneath her palms his linen shirt was damp. He released her neck, gripped her hips with both hands and went deeper still. So deep she thought she would shatter, so deep she thought that for a moment they were one being.
She fell back onto the desk and stretched her arms out on either side. There were a number of soft thuds as several small objects went flying onto the carpet. She gripped the edges of the desk so tightly she thought that it would be amazing if she did not leave small gouges in the wood. She hung on for dear life.
A moment later her climax slammed through her. That’s all it took to pull Thaddeus over the edge with her. When his own release surged through him, Leona sensed that, for a few timeless seconds, their auras were fused together.
The sensation was so exquisitely intimate, so incredibly strong, that she could not stand it. She convulsed one last time and then went limp, faintl
y aware of the tears leaking out of the corners of her tightly closed eyes.
38
THADDEUS CAME BACK to his senses, aware of a nearly boneless sensation. It dawned on him that what he really wanted to do was collapse. He was still leaning over Leona, his hands braced on either side of her warm, soft body. Her legs, only a moment ago a snug vise around his waist, had fallen away and now dangled over the side of the desk.
He took in the sight of her sprawled beneath him, her eyes closed, her mouth soft and full, and felt a sense of euphoric satisfaction unlike anything he had ever known. Gently, reluctantly, he pulled free of her tight, swollen core. Leaning against the desk, he wiped himself with a handkerchief and put his pants to rights. Then, he managed to fall into the nearest chair.
He leaned back, rested his arms at his sides, stretched out his legs and simply enjoyed the site of Leona displayed like a luscious banquet before him. The red crystal at her throat still glowed faintly.
When she stirred and opened her eyes a moment later, he was shocked to see the glitter of tears. Guilt ripped through him. He got to his feet and used the edge of his finger to wipe away the traces of moisture.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked.
“No.” She gave him an odd smile and sat up cautiously, turning her back toward him, as though struck by a sudden pang of shyness. “The experience was somewhat intense, that’s all.”
“Somewhat? Try unbelievably, indescribably intense. Try exhausting. I’ll be lucky if I can climb the stairs to my bedroom.”
“I may have a similar problem.”
She slid off the table and hurried across the room to pick up her clothes. Idly he watched her pull on the masculine shirt and trousers, enjoying the sight of her getting dressed in the wake of passion, savoring the intimacy of it.
“Do you suppose all of our quarrels will end like this?” he asked, smiling a little at the possibility.
She paused in the act of buttoning the shirt and gave him a quelling look. “One would hope that we will not have such arguments often.”
He thought about the reason for the quarrel, and his amusement faded.