“Who are you?”
“My employer would very much like a moment of your time, Ms. Melcombe.”
“That’s lovely,” she sneered. “But you have me at a disadvantage, sir. We have not been introduced.”
“I very much doubt any man catches you at a true disadvantage.” He nodded to the woozy officer with a slight smile. “Doesn’t look like you have many complaints, though.”
He may have had a wealth of raw, young power, but it was nothing compared to her strength. She bared her fangs. “Your name.”
The vampire stepped forward, his eyes sparking at her show of aggression. She could see his fangs grow long behind his lips.
He held out a hand. “Terrance Ramsay, Ms. Melcombe. Faithful second of Lord Francis Winthrop, vampire lord of London.”
So this was Francis’s new guard dog. How amusing. He did appear loyal… if a little untamed. She held out her own hand, no need to be impolite, despite the indelicacy of their initial meeting. She wouldn’t want to offend the current leader of the city. “Mr. Ramsay, I—”
She broke off as soon as he took her fingers with his own. The sharp spike of energy caused the dark garden to spin, just for a second. He bent over her hand, touching his lips to the back of her knuckles, lingering longer than was strictly polite. Then Terrance Ramsay looked up, meeting her eyes with a predator’s hungry stare.
What was this? He looked as shocked as she did. Her heart gave a completely involuntary thud and a shocking warmth spread through her belly.
“Let go of my hand,” she said softly.
His fingers squeezed tighter for a moment, then he blinked and released her. “Of course.”
“Francis wants to see me, I take it?”
He stiffened at the use of his employer’s Christian name. “You two are friends? Have you known each other long?”
“You’ll find that it’s best not to ask questions like that.” Gemma left the officer in the bushes. Let Juliette’s staff clean up the mess. “But yes, Francis and I were friends when you were a human babe nursing at your mother’s breast, Mr. Ramsay.”
He only looked amused. “Then you’re looking well, Ms. Melcombe. For your age.”
Gemma smirked. “Human women are offended by references to their age. I, however, am not human.”
The younger vampire turned to her as he held open the door. His fangs were still long, and he let them peek from behind his lips. “Clearly not. How fortunate.”
Did Francis’s new vampire think to pursue her? How… amusing. And naive. Did he think an immortal of her age and power needed to be saddled with a young thing like him? Did he think she needed protecting? The thought made her laugh out loud.
“You’re young, Mr. Ramsay. You’ll learn that appearances can be very deceiving.”
“Care to teach me?” His eyes lingered at the bare skin of her throat. “I imagine you’d find me a very… thorough pupil.”
Gemma’s nostrils flared slightly at the smell of arousal that had unexpectedly filled the air. Impertinent, arrogant, cocky—
“Gemma, darling!” Francis appeared at her side, leaning down and kissing her cheek as Gemma tore her eyes from the unexpected challenge in his gaze. “It is so good to see you. And you’ve met Terry, I see.”
“Wonderful to see you, as well.” She turned her back on the young water vampire and walked with her old friend. “I’m looking forward to being back in London, Francis.”
“And I’m looking forward to having you here, darling. It’s been too long.” They strolled back into the crowd, chatting with friends and associates as Gemma reacquainted herself with London society. She spun and danced. Flirted and joked. It was, all in all, a very pleasant homecoming.
And Gemma felt Terrance Ramsay’s eyes on her all night long.
Present day
“I’m remarkably bored.” She stared out over the water. The moon was full and reflecting on the soft waves as the boat sped through the water heading… she had no idea where. “I can’t remember the last time I was bored.”
“That’s because you work. All the time.” He was doing some ridiculous thing with sails and rope and rigging. She hated boats. Hated everything about the ocean. The few times she had to board them, she found a secluded room and read a book or played cards. Usually, if she had to travel, she dragged work along with her. Or Terry. He could be remarkably entertaining if he wanted to be. At the moment, he seemed to want to lecture her more.
“—why we do all this, Gem. Honestly, if you can’t enjoy yourself sometimes, than what’s the point of this life?”
“Survival. Acquisition. The safety of my family and those under my aegis.”
He had no ready answer for that, but he pursed his lips in displeasure. “You need to relax, luv.”
“Does relaxing equal boredom?” She stretched out on the cushioned bench that ran around the bow. “Because if that’s the case, I’m very relaxed.”
“Want to learn how to sail the boat?”
“Not particularly.”
He laughed. “Then sit back and—”
“Relax. Yes, you’ve mentioned that. Do we, in fact, have a destination in mind?”
“We do.”
“And will there be things to do there?”
His smile turned to a wicked grin. “Other than me?”
And there it was. The sharp spike of desire flared just as it had every night they’d been on the ocean. And just as predictably, he left it there hanging. Terry was being… unusually standoffish. Distant, in a way. She hated it. All he had to was touch her and she was wild with desire for him, but he… It almost seemed as if he didn’t want her at times. He’d always been in control of their sexual relationship, which annoyed her to no end. They were equals in every way but that.
Suddenly angry, she turned away from him and stared out at the ocean again.
“Oy!” he barked. “What was that?”
“Nothing.” She made her voice as toneless as possible.
“Not nothing. Do you think I’m an idiot?”
“Sometimes,” she muttered under her breath. Then more loudly, “I’m fine. I told you, I’m bored.”
But maybe she could think of a way to distract him. Then she wouldn’t be bored. Gemma slowly began to unbutton the sheer white blouse she’d put on that night. She heard Terry shift behind her.
He gave a low hum. “Hmm.”
“Enjoying the view?” She slipped the shirt off her shoulders so she was in nothing but a small string bikini and a loose skirt.
“From the moment I met you.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Hard to appreciate much with those old dresses.”
“I have a good imagination.”
Gemma couldn’t hold back the laugh. “True.”
“I’m using it right now, as a matter of fact.”
“Is that so.” She slipped off the skirt. “Is that helping?”
“It’s certainly helping one thing along, luv.”
Rolling over, she stared at him, flicking her eyes up and down his body possessively. Hers. The thought was surprisingly satisfying. And annoying. Terry was her partner, it wouldn’t do to let her more base instincts take control. Emotions like that only led to broken hearts and tragedy.
“Come here,” she murmured. “I want you.”
A smile flirted at the corner of his mouth. “I’m yours.”
Her breath caught; her heart gave an excited thump. Still, she swallowed her emotion and slid the straps of her bathing suit off her shoulders. “Show me.”
Terry’s eyes left the ocean and met hers. Hungry. Predatory. It was the stare she loved. The stare that told her, no matter how he acted at times, he wanted her just as much as she wanted him. He did something with the wheel, then sauntered over the deck, turning up the music as he walked. A sultry Spanish voice filled the air.
She slipped the rest of her suit off and said, “Your turn.” He was wearing a loose button down shirt and a pair of linen pants. She co
uld see him stiff and aching for her. “Take them off.”
“No.” He pulled her up and into his chest, wrapping one arm tight around her waist as the other grabbed her hand.
Gemma blinked. “What are you doing?”
“Dancing,” he said. “With my wife.”
“This isn’t the kind of dancing I had in mind.”
He swayed to the music, leading her as his thumb trailed down her spine. “We’ll get there.”
Why was he being like this? It set her fangs on edge, even as his hands seduced her body. Their legs brushed together and she felt the length of him pressed against her belly. The feel of him fully clothed against her bare skin was almost unbearably erotic. Every nerve in her body was on edge.
“Terry—”
“Shhhh,” he whispered as he bent down and kissed her. Slow, slow, slow. “No rush, luv.”
Rush! She wanted to scream. Release me from this maddening need, you ass!
She tried to reach for the button on his pants, but he caught her hands, holding them captive as he made love to her mouth. Gemma’s heart almost crashed out of her chest at the sudden realization. That’s what he was doing.
He was making love to her.
The bastard.
She tried to pull her mouth away, but… his tongue was curled against hers, first stroking sensuously, then flicking the edge of her lengthened fang. His hand had softened around her wrists and his thumb stroked the tender skin. His other hand slid down, caressing over the curve of her bottom until he’d reached her thigh, which he hitched up, spreading her legs so his hips rested between hers. Still, he made no move to undress and the throbbing at her center turned to an ache.
The music had switched to a slow tango that tugged at her memories. Terry held her leg up and pressed his hand to the small of her back, holding her there for one, agonizing moment. Then he let her leg down and spun her around, so her bare back was pressed into his chest and his arms wrapped around her waist.
“Do you remember?” he whispered in her ear. “That club in Santiago?”
“Yes.”
“You thought I wouldn’t learn to tango.” He began to sway with the music, running his hands down her bare arms as his stubbled chin scraped the nape of her neck.
“You told me once you weren’t a dancer.”
Grabbing her hand, he spun her around and forced her eyes to his as the music sped up. “Only with you.”
He grabbed her around the waist, kicking her leg out and nudging her into the steps they’d learned together. The deck was small, so he kept the movements close, pausing every now and then to kiss her breathless. And he still made no move to take his clothes off.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked when the song ended. He held her, watching as Gemma finally lost patience and ripped the shirt from his body. “Why are you being like this?”
He slid his belt out and she pulled at the waistband until his pants slipped down his legs and he stepped out of them, taking her down to the deck in one smooth movement. “I’m changing the rules, Gemma.”
She froze for a second until his mouth latched on to her neck and her body arched in need. “What?”
Gemma could barely hear his low, rough voice when he said, “I want more.”
How did she knew he didn’t mean sex? She gulped. “You knew what I was offering when I agreed to this.”
“I know.” His fangs scraped along the sensitive skin between her breasts, not breaking the skin, but causing her to shiver. Her blood welled just beneath the surface, aching for his mouth. His fingers reached down, testing and teasing before he slid into her with a slow thrust that almost brought tears to her eyes. “I’ve decided I want more. And I’m going to get it.”
How could he do this to her? Gemma wanted to scream from pleasure and fury, all at the same time. She hated him. She wanted him. She loved—no, she didn’t love Terry. She couldn’t. Still, even as she raged on the inside, he controlled her body, moving slowly, wrapping her legs around him as he played her with perfect control.
“Not fair,” she cried. “You’re not playing—”
“Fuck fair,” he growled, suddenly speeding up. “This isn’t a game.”
Close, she was so close. “Terry, don’t—”
“I lied, stole, and killed to win the power I wield now, Gemma.” She wrapped her hands around his wrists and came with violent shudder, but Terry didn’t stop. He only bent down to whisper in her ear, “What makes you think I would do any less to win you?”
“I can’t—”
Though her mind was screaming, he stopped her mouth with a furious kiss, holding Gemma to his chest as her mind and heart raced around what he was saying. Then Terry’s lips softened; he shifted over her and smiled. “Again.”
Chapter Five
London, 1923
He could hear the drip, drip, drip of the blood as it fell into the canal leading from the river to his sire’s underground residence beneath the Temple. Terry ignored the fetid smell of the Thames and tossed the body into the pile ringed by wide-eyed vampires from London’s elite. He spit the last of the traitor’s blood to the ground, flicking his knife as he walked around the gaping immortal populace.
“Bring in the next one.”
Denton and Max muscled in another of his late brother’s conspirators. This one he recognized.
“Burke. Nice of you to come by the old place.” The chambers north of the Thames didn’t see much activity. No, his sire had maintained more luxurious houses in fashionable parts of town. He’d thrown lavish parties that the aristocracy had attended. Francis Winthrop had been a gentleman—a powerful vampire—but one who saw the more civilized of their kind as his peers. That had been what killed him.
The pain screamed from his chest. His sire was dead, killed by a traitor with the face of a friend. Even Terry had been taken in by his deception. And to discover that his own brother—Winthrop’s only other child—had been behind it…
Terry gripped the shivering earth vampire by the hair. “Do you have anything to say to this lot?”
“You’re a monster.”
“Aye, that I am.” He pulled the vampire close, whispering in his ear as he slowly slit Burke’s throat. “And none of them will forget it.”
The assassin was dead, killed within minutes of Winthrop’s death. But it hadn’t brought his sire back. Terry, along with his first, Roger, had ordered Winthrop’s men to scour the black streets of London, their fury matched only by their loyalty to their fallen leader. The vampires who hadn’t been able to flee were snatched from the streets, even taken by Terry’s human staff during the daytime, then woken in the old basement fortress to watch as Terry systematically killed every suspect in his sire’s death. Slowly. He extracted each bit of information for the benefit of his glittering, sophisticated audience. Even the oldest of them appeared horrified at his brutality.
Which was exactly as Terry had wanted it.
By the third night, none of them appeared squeamish anymore. None of them met his eye in challenge. None of them batted an eye when he called himself their lord.
The blood poured down the chest of the traitor, dripping onto Terry’s shoes. The ground was thick with blood, earth, and ash, turned to a fetid mud by the water drawn into the room with Terry’s cold fury. With a quick snap, his knife dug into the back of the vampire’s neck, severing the spine as Terry watched the amnis flicker out. A fleck of blood hit his cheek as his victim heaved a last rattling breath through his severed windpipe.
Terry tossed the body onto the pile. The first of his public executions, including his own brother, were disintegrating at the base of the pile, returning to whatever element had sustained them. A slow seep of water was the last trace of the man who had once been his closest friend.
“Next.”
Before another traitor could be brought before him, Roger slipped over and whispered in his ear. “Boss, you have a visitor.”
“Not the best time, Roger.”
<
br /> “Pardon me presuming, but I think you’ll want to see this one.”
Their eyes met for a moment before Terry nodded. If Roger had interrupted him, it had to be important.
He strode from the room, grabbing his grey jacket which hung on the arm of another of his brutes. “Keep them here. If they get hungry, let them feed on the prisoners.”
“Yes, Boss.”
Terry walked up the stairs, into the grey law offices that had hidden the oldest of his sire’s hideaways. The Temple building had been Winthrop’s place for the nasty business. The place he hadn’t utilized near enough in the years Terry had been with him. If he had, maybe he wouldn’t be…
He took a moment to lean against the wall, momentarily overwhelmed by his grief. The tears leaked from the corners of his eyes unashamedly. He’d loved Francis Winthrop as a father. The man had taken him in as a human, trained him, educated him, trying to mold the rough human into a loyal guard. He’d seen potential in a way that no other had. Then, he’d turned him into the powerful creature Terry had become. And now his sire was no more.
He heard a soft shuffle of feet at the door. She was letting him know she was there. As if her amnis hadn’t already announced her. As if the reaction of his body hadn’t already given her away. The office door opened and he lifted bloody eyes to Gemma Melcombe. They stood for a moment, staring at each other. What was there to say?
“I am so terribly sorry about Francis.” She looked it, too. Good acting? Or something sincere? It wasn’t often the Ice Queen let her emotions out of the tight little box she’d perfected. He envied her that. Terry waved away the guard so they had some privacy.
“Where have you been?”
“Out of town, helping my father with a new member of our clan.”