Chapter 4


A n idiot. A dolt. A lovesick puppy. Emma climbed the stairs to her room, berating herself all the way. Some man gives her a smidgen of attention, and she’s ready to fall in line and do whatever it was he wanted of her. How stupid was she?
She walked into her room, shut the door behind her and leaned against the heavy wooden frame. She sighed as she looked around the room, seeing all the things she’d always taken for granted. Her antique four-poster bed with its eyelet-covered duvet, the rocking chair with its thick cushions in the corner next to the window, and the soft blue crocheted blanket her mother had made. Would this be the last night she spent in her home? Would she really do as Damien asked and go with him to St. Yve?
Her gaze fell on the empty dog bed in the corner, and worry blossomed in her chest. Where was Angel? How would she sleep without her dog safe in the room with her? And what if she left? Would Damien let her take Angel with them?
She lit the white candle next to her bed, then walked to the bedroom window and looked out at the moon hanging in the sky. Her gaze searched the grounds behind the house for any sign of the small white dog, but she couldn’t see her. Soon it would be the night of the autumn Equinox. If she could just make it through a couple of more days, she’d be safe for another year.
But each year it got worse, the burning in her scars, the threatening presence of the wolves. Did she really want to continue living this way, living in constant fear, marking the passing of time by a single event, year after year?
If it was possible that the Cadre could teach her how to protect herself, could empower her to make her own decisions, her own choices, shouldn’t she at least try? Even if it meant leaving Wolvesrain? Her stomach twisted in knots at the thought. She took a deep breath and let her gaze fall on the maze behind the house.
The tall labyrinth had been her family’s pride and joy for several generations. When she was only five, they’d moved to Wolvesrain from London. Her mother had been enchanted with the twists and turns of the maze’s hedges. They’d spent hours clipping and pruning the swirling design back into shape.
Unfortunately her mum had died before they’d finished. Emma had never stepped foot in it again, but instead watched it fall to ruin night after night from this window. At the maze’s center was a large fountain with a cherub pointing its arrow toward the sky. There was no one left to care for it, to love it, except her.
And she was too afraid.
She leaned her forehead against the glass and looked at the family cemetery up on the hill where the plots of her ancestors were overgrown with weeds and vines, the dilapidated tombstones crumbling to dust and decay. In the light of the moon, she could see the large Celtic cross had sunk and was leaning over on its side. Sadness filled her as she thought of her mother buried there beneath the weeds and rotting flowers.
This nightmare had to end. She had to reclaim her life. Even if that meant leaving Wolvesrain and going to St. Yve. Anything had to be better than this. Dropping the curtains, she turned back to her room, picked up a large piece of chalk from the bowl next to the window, and *******ed the outline of the protection circle that surrounded her bed as Lucia had taught her to do. Three times she drew the never-ending line while calling to the goddess Athena to protect her, to let her survive another night without falling victim to the wolf.
Without falling victim to a demon. She shivered. She shouldn’t be surprised. The wolves weren’t natural, the way they came back year after year. The way their eyes glowed red. Demons from hell. And now hell had a name—Asmos.
She sprinkled salt beneath the door and window, to protect her from evil while she slept. She’d performed the same ritual every night since her mother had died, but she’d never really believed it would help. It certainly had never protected her from her nightmares. But she’d had no other alternative.
Now that she did, would she take it?
She put the chalk back, then let her clothes fall to the ground. Standing naked in the flickering candlelight, she stuck her pinky in olive oil, then drew another protection circle three times across her chest. “Please protect me from the wolves,” she murmured. She took a deep breath, then climbed under the soft sheets. “And protect Angel while you’re at it, and send her back home.”
Her head sank into the soft pillow, and she tried not to think about her dog, or what tomorrow might bring. As she lay there, tossing and turning, swirls of steely-blue darkness filled her mind. Damien’s eyes pulled at her, making her lightheaded, disorienting her to the point that all she wanted to do was cling to his strong shoulders, and have him hold and protect her. But would he?
She had to put him out of her mind. But he was just downstairs, and if she quieted her thumping heart, she might be able to hear him. She beat the pillow with her fist, then turned on her side, wishing Angel were there with her.
Would she ever feel the warmth of a man in the bed next to her? Would she ever fall asleep listening to the rhythmic breathing of the one she loved? She sighed, her eyes drifting closed. Don’t ever succumb to love, Emma. Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind bringing a tear to moisten her cheek as she fell into a fitful sleep.

Emma didn’t want to do it. She knew she shouldn’t. But she couldn’t help herself. She lifted her small foot and stepped onto the narrow staircase. “Mummy?” she called down into the dark cellar, but Mummy didn’t answer.
She looked back into the kitchen behind her. Maybe she should just go back to bed. She’d heard Mummy get up, and, wanting some water, she’d followed her to the kitchen. Only Mummy didn’t stop. She’d hurried down into the cellar, into the dark.
Emma clung to the wall, looking down the rickety stairs. There was a lightbulb above her, but it wasn’t very bright and didn’t reach into the corners. She hated the cellar. Hated going down there. If there were such a thing as trolls, like in the storybooks Lucia read to her, this was where they lived.
Her lower lip trembled. She could do this. She and Mummy had been down here before, using the secret passage to get to the maze. But even then, when she’d cling tightly to Mummy’s hand, she was certain the darkness was reaching for her.
“Mummy?” she called again, louder this time. She heard a strange voice and her mummy laughing. She grabbed hold of the rough rail, careful not to get a splinter and went down the steps.
The cellar smelled of onions. She wrinkled her nose. She hated onions, but there was another smell, too. One that smelled worse than onions. One that was yucky.
She hesitated only a second before stepping off the rickety boards and onto the dirt floor. Her feet were going to get dirty and Lucia would be mad at her. She followed the sound of her mother’s voice, away from the passageway to the maze, past the shelves filled with cans of vegetables and stores of onions, garlic and potatoes and toward another room. A bigger room, where the bad smell grew stronger.
Firelight flickered ahead and, holding her hand over her nose, she moved toward it. Shadows crept along the floor, falling across her feet. She stopped and turned, looking around her, but didn’t see anything. She sneaked a peek behind her at the hidden alcove beneath the stairs, but no light shone in there at all, and as she stared into the darkness it felt as though something was in there, something…watching her.
She whimpered and continued forward, moving toward the murmur of Mummy’s voice. She stopped as she entered the next room and gasped. Mummy was kissing Mr. Lausen. She was making strange noises, and he looked like he was squishing her. Worse, neither one of them was wearing their pajamas.
“Mummy?” she called, and stepped toward them. A low growl stopped her. She drew in a breath so quickly it hurt. Four wolves were sitting around the room. She knew they were wolves and not just dogs, because she’d seen them on the telly. Only these wolves looked mean. They looked like they wanted to bite her. Tears sprang to her eyes.
Her mummy screamed and arched her back. “Mummy!” Emma cried. But Mummy didn’t hear her. She had curved her hands, and scraped her nails across Mr. Lausen’s back in a vicious swipe. He reared up, a look of pain momentarily crossing his face as his back started to bleed. Then he kissed Mummy again, hard.
Emma stared at the blood running down his back and wondered why he didn’t seem to care. She took a small step toward them. Mummy turned her head and looked at Emma, but there was something wrong with her eyes. For a second, they flashed red.
Emma jumped back, hitting her head on the wall behind her. Tears overwhelmed her, running down her face. “Mummy.” She hiccupped, and tried to catch her breath. But she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think, and she was so scared.
Mr. Lausen rose, tipped his head back and looked up toward the ceiling, and then roared, his voice thundering through the room.
“Mummmeee!” Emma cried and slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor. She should run. She knew that, every instinct was telling her to run as fast as she could back up the stairs. But she was too scared to move. Instead, she grabbed her knees to her chest and buried her face within her pajamas.
The smoke from the incense and candles thickened. Her eyes burned, her lungs ached. She wished she were upstairs in her bed with her dolly. She sobbed, crying for her mummy, for Lucia, for her daddy to come get her and take her away from this awful place.
Emma looked up as her mummy screamed. She grabbed Mr. Lausen and picked up a knife lying under a blanket next to her and slashed it across Mr. Lausen’s neck. Horrified, Emma stared as blood splattered across the walls in a wide arc.
Emma gasped as Mr. Lausen reared back, grabbing his neck with both hands. She watched spellbound as blood dripped to the ground and flowed across the floor, seeping into cracks in the stones.
She wanted to turn away, but was afraid that if she did, it would come toward her. Touch her.
Without a backward glance, Mummy pushed Mr. Lausen aside and stood. She was naked and dripping with blood. She opened her mouth in a wide, twisted smile, then walked toward Emma.
Emma screamed. She tried to push herself backward, but hit the wall again. She scooted sideways trying to get as far from her mother as she could.
The wolves stood, howling. Emma cried and, finally able to move, jumped to her feet. She ran toward the other room, toward the stairs and the kitchen, and her bed upstairs.
But she never made it that far.
“Emma,” he mother called, suddenly sounding normal, suddenly sounding like Mummy.
Emma stopped with one foot on the bottom step and looked back. Her mother was right behind her. But she wasn’t normal. Something was wrong with her eyes. They were no longer Mummy’s eyes. They were red, and worse, they looked slanted, like the eyes of a wolf.
Her mother’s smile turned into something bad, something wicked. She grabbed Emma’s wrist and squeezed.
“Mummy, you’re hurting me. Let go.” She tried to yank back, to pull herself free, but couldn’t. “Mummmeee!” she screamed, as Mummy’s claw-like fingers tightened, pulling her toward her, back into the other room away from the stairs, away from Lucia.
And toward the wolves.

Emma sat upright in bed, her heart pounding, her head throbbing. She grabbed her left wrist with her right hand and rubbed it and, for a second, she could still feel her mother’s painful grasp. She wiped the tears off her cheeks. “Damn.” She took three deep breaths, and tried to calm her racing heart. She hadn’t had one of those dreams in so long, and now this would make three nights in a row.
She had to think of something else. Something good. Something happy. She couldn’t go back to sleep thinking of her mother that way. She didn’t want to have that dream again. Think about Damien, Emma. The voice whispered through her mind, bringing forth the image of piercing blue eyes and thoughts of the way he looked at her and the way his touch lingered.
She sat up and looked at Angel’s empty bed under the window. In the past, whenever she’d had a nightmare, Angel would be there for her, licking her face, distracting her from the dream. But she wasn’t here now. Worry filled her. She sat up in the bed, trying not to think of her mother, and trying not to think of Angel and where she might be.
Emma let herself think of Damien. She knew it was dangerous to think of him, knew it was the curse drawing her toward him, but she couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like to lie in his arms. To have someone who cared about her there to chase the bad dreams away. She sighed.
She lay back down and closed her eyes, taking several deep breaths, and concentrated on relaxing— deep one in, long one out, deep one in, long one out. She pictured herself floating in a white cloud, surrounded by the warm light of the sun. Peace overcame her and she felt herself drifting.
And then she heard the soft whimper. She tensed, her eyes flying open. “Angel?”
She sat upright in bed, listening intently. There it was again, the soft mewling sound of a frightened animal. Her little dog was out there somewhere scared and alone. She shot out of bed and rushed to the door. Trying not to make a sound, she cracked it open, hoping Angel would be standing there waiting in the hall, but she was nowhere to be seen, and the whimpering sounds were growing fainter. Emma shut the door and hurried to the window.
In the faint glow from the outdoor lights, she saw a small white shape huddled in the middle of the maze. Angel! Fear slammed into her chest. She pulled on her robe and ran out of her room, down the stairs and into the kitchen toward the back door. She grabbed the knob and turned it just as the wolf stepped into her peripheral vision. She gasped and froze. They were all out there, all four of them, hovering close to the back door.
Waiting for her?
She heard the soft whimper again, and saw the wolves’ ears prick and their heads turn toward the maze. “Damn!” How was she going to get out there? The large one got up and sauntered toward the maze. “Be quiet, Angel!”
She considered going out the front door and running around the long way, but knew it would take too long. Not to mention the three other wolves who could easily catch up with her. She looked down the hall toward Lucia’s quarters and considered running for help. But she knew what Lucia would say. “Don’t go. She’ll be fine.”
But would she? Could she take that chance? She knew it was beyond crazy, but she couldn’t leave Angel out there all alone. With that…thing. She looked out the back door window again, trying to figure out what to do.
The large wolf was gone, already inside the maze. The other three looked at her. Waiting.
She turned and stared at the cellar door, now shut tight within the wall. Through that door, there was a passage from the cellar to the maze. Her stomach twisted into a tight knot. She had to go down there, she had to suck it up and face the dark, it was the only way.
Her stomach fluttered as she walked toward the door. She hadn’t been down there since that night so long ago, when her mother died and she was left alone with the wolves. She hovered near the door, and broke out in a cold sweat. She had no choice. If she didn’t go down into that cellar and find her way out to the maze, her dog, the only true joy in her life, would be ripped to shreds. She couldn’t let that happen.
She reached for the panel door and pushed on the upper right-hand corner. She stepped back as it sprung open. Her heart thumped louder than a bass drum as she stared down into the darkness. She placed her hand on the rail, but couldn’t take the first step. Something within her screamed for her to stop, to find a different way. To forget the dog.
But she couldn’t. Angel wasn’t just any old dog. She’d been her constant companion, the one she’d shared her dreams and secrets with. She wouldn’t abandon her. It will be fine, she told herself. There’s nothing down there. No one waiting for her.
The scent she’d smelled earlier still lingered, and she now recognized it as one of Lucia’s sticks of incense. That’s all, just Lucia and her magic. Nothing to be worried about, she told herself.
She stepped into the darkness and onto the rickety wooden steps, then leaned forward and pulled the chain hanging from a bare bulb set in the ceiling. Dim light filled the room, but didn’t extend far into the cellar’s corners. She saw a flashlight waiting on the shelf at the bottom of the staircase and hurried to pick it up.
She glanced to her left toward the room from her dreams. Had all that really happened? She wished she knew for sure, but she couldn’t remember anything other than waking in the hospital and being told her mother was dead. Everyone had said they’d been attacked by a pack of rogue dogs.
But she knew better. There were no rogue dogs. Only wolves, always the wolves.
She turned away from the room and whatever might have happened there and followed the darkened pathway on the right, moving deeper beneath the house. It was better for her not to think about it too much. There was a reason her mind blocked out what had happened that night. The doctors had told her so. But still, part of her wondered if she could remember maybe the dreams would stop.
After a few moments, the passageway narrowed and the heavy scent of earth thickened, closing around her. She’d followed this path before, many times with her mother when she’d been young. She had nothing to be afraid of, she told herself. Nothing.
Unfortunately, the thoughts of wisdom didn’t stop the fear from coiling in her belly and snaking around her heart. She walked slowly, listening intently, shining the dim light along the earthen and rock walls, and the heavy wooden beams that kept them in place. She wasn’t sure how far she’d gone before she reached the end of the passageway.
She shone the light over six or seven iron bars bored horizontally into the earthen wall, forming a ladder. She moved the light up the ladder to the trapdoor above her. It was small and obviously built many years ago. They had probably added this tunnel in here at the time the house was built as a way for the family to escape during a crisis.
There was so much she didn’t know about her family history, she thought, as she climbed up the ladder. At the top, she reached up and pulled on the rusty bolt that held the trapdoor in place. The bolt protested and groaned under her touch before finally sliding back.
She pushed upward on the wooden door. It opened, falling backward beyond her reach into a small enclosure. She climbed up into a cramped round space. And then she remembered. She was inside the cherub’s fountain in the middle of the maze. She pulled back another latch, and a door in the base of the statue opened. She crawled out into the center of the maze, and heard a soft whimper.
“Angel,” she whispered, and heard a rustling to her right. She moved around the fountain, and saw her dog crouching beneath a hedge, shivering in the moonlight. Relief overwhelmed her, causing a lump to lodge in her throat.
Quickly, she crawled toward her dog, scooped it out of the hedge and nestled it against her chest. “What are you doing out here?” she cooed, snuggling the dog against her. Angel’s little tail thumped against her chest as her tongue washed across her face.
“All right,” Emma said, and couldn’t help the wide grin as she pulled back from the sneaky little tongue. “You’re all right,” she assured the dog, and herself, as she quickly ran her hand over the dog’s body, searching for any bumps or lesions. Before she could finish her assessment and crawl back into the fountain, a wolf rounded a corner and stepped onto the path in front of her. Emma clutched Angel tighter.
The wolf stared at her, its eyes flashing red. In sheer terror, Emma edged backward toward the statue. The wolf started to move, slowly, creeping toward her.
“What do you want?” she whispered, hoping the sound of her voice would stop the animal. But it didn’t.
Her heart pounded and her breath ached in her chest, but she forced herself to move slowly, inching away from the beast, when what she really wanted to do was jump up and run, then take a headlong dive into the statue. But she knew she couldn’t. Not only was the animal faster than her, the opening in the fountain’s base was too small, too awkward.
Steadily, she made her way backward, never taking her eyes off the beast, until her feet brushed against the marble base. She crouched down, lowering herself onto her belly, knowing she was making herself even more vulnerable, as she pushed backward into the cramped statue.
The wolf approached her, and leaned in. His wide jaw opened, and she could smell the hot, foul odor of his breath. She cringed, trying to draw back. Why was it just staring at her? Why not attack? Angel whimpered, and stiffened in her grasp, trying to scurry away from the wolf.
Emma continued edging backward, and when her legs were all the way in the statue and dangling down the trapdoor, she shoved herself through, landing hard on the ground in the bottom of the passageway. She dropped Angel, then scrambled up the ladder to secure the trapdoor. The wolf’s head was in the base of the fountain, looking in at her. She grabbed the trapdoor, and pulled it closed, then tried to secure the bolt into place, but it caught. Finally, the tip slid into the socket and held.
She blew out a huge sigh of relief, then dropped back down to the ground. She sat there for a moment, staring up at the door waiting to make sure there was no way the wolf could open it, then, once her heart slowed to a somewhat normal rhythm, she picked up Angel and the flashlight and headed back toward the kitchen.

Chapter 5


“I heard you tell Emma you’re staying the night,” Lucia said to Damien, as if she didn’t quite believe he would.
“I think that would be best, don’t you?” Damien walked toward the windows as he heard the wolves dashing away from the house. He peered out and saw them racing away, and couldn’t help wondering what had captured their interest.
“I really don’t see how you think your presence here will help. Emma’s already asleep, why don’t you come back tomorrow?” Lucia suggested with a slight narrowing of her eyes. “We will do better without the Cadre in this house.”
“Miss McGovern asked me to stay,” Damien said absently. He listened intently, reaching with his vampire senses. His brother Nicholai and the others like him were out there. Not too far away.
“Emma was just being polite,” Lucia responded. “Too polite for her own good, if you ask me.”
“You really think you can do better on your own?” he asked, growing annoyed with the woman’s meddling.
“I’ve managed all these years.”
He turned and faced her. “But you couldn’t save her mother. What makes you think you can save Emma?”
A sliver of pain flashed through Lucia’s eyes, and then it was gone. “We would have been fine, if the Cadre agent hadn’t come. He set the Curse in motion. He and Audrey, they—” She shook her head and closed her eyes, the bitter regret clear on her face. “If it hadn’t been for the Cadre’s meddling, Emma’s mother would be alive today.”
Damien could see her point. “How exactly did the agent die?” he asked.
“Audrey killed him. Even though she loved him, she couldn’t help herself. The Curse was stronger than they were.”
“And Emma’s father?” Damien gestured for her to go ahead of him, wanting her to move farther into the house. He wanted to see out back. Something was out there. He could hear the wolves scurrying, and could sense the vampire presence growing stronger.
“Audrey never loved him,” Lucia said in a hushed voice and pointed toward the ceiling as she continued down the hall. “Now, don’t get me wrong, she cared for him, but it was more of an arrangement, as had been most of the marriages in this family. The ones that weren’t—” she shook her head as sadness filled her face “—they didn’t end well.”
“Oh,” he muttered, but he wasn’t really listening. Instead he was focused on the vampires outside. They were close, he could feel their need, their hunger.
“So, you see,” Lucia said as she walked into the kitchen, “Audrey and Mr. McGovern could have continued on here at Wolvesrain with no one to bother them, no one to interfere in their lives, and the Curse could have been forgotten—if the Cadre hadn’t interfered.”
Damien leaned back against the wall. “And Emma wouldn’t have been attacked by wolves. She would have grown up well-adjusted and loved, she would have wanted to go to university, to have friends, to have a normal life. She would have wanted to find love.”
“You think she doesn’t want love now? I hear her crying at night, but she’s been warned.”
“As her mother was?”
Lucia turned away, but as she did, the implication of her words sat heavy in his mind. A family doomed to a life without love. An old familiar ache twisted his heart. Had his life been much different? Sometimes life without love, without the complications of emotions, was infinitely better.
He crossed the kitchen and peered out the window. His gaze rested on the family cemetery perched on a hillside, protected by an overgrown thicket of briars and enclosed by a rusted iron fence. A marble angel sat in the center, her beautiful chin lifted skyward, her wings chipped and darkened with age.
In the deepening shadows stretching across weathered granite tombs and gnarled oaks, figures moved quicker than the human eye could follow, jumping stealthily among the gravestones in a macabre dance of perverse glee.
Lucia took off her apron and hung it on the back of the pantry door. “I suppose what’s done is done. You’re here, nothing to be done about that. Saving Emma is what matters now.”
“That’s why the Cadre sent me,” he muttered.
She looked skeptical, but he saw a flicker of hope enter her eyes.
She turned toward the stairs, but as she did, a portion of the wall behind her opened, and Emma stepped into the kitchen in a dusty robe. Cobwebs danced in her hair and dirt smudged her chin, and she was clutching a small dirty dog tight to her chest. Her eyes widened and she gasped as she saw them and the dog immediately started barking.
“Good Lord in heaven,” Lucia said, and brought a trembling hand to her chest. “You just about stopped my heart. What were you doing down there?”
“Sorry,” Emma said, and rushed past them. “Angel was locked in the cellar.”
Disbelief crossed Lucia’s face as she watched Emma run up the stairs, but she didn’t say anything.
Damien watched Emma disappear around the bend above them, and wondered what she’d been up to. He glanced at the panel door, sitting slightly open from the wall. Whatever it was, Lucia hadn’t believed it was to retrieve the dog.
He followed the housekeeper up to the second floor. He’d give her a few moments to get back downstairs before heading out to find Nicholai and discover what he could about this vampire clan Nica had spoken of. Now that the Cadre knew they were here, it was only a matter of time before they sent a crew out after them.
He couldn’t let Nicholai be trapped by the Cadre. No matter that they hadn’t spoken since he’d been reborn, he wouldn’t wish the Cadre’s way of dealing with vampires on any of his kind.
And certainly not on his brother.
Lucia led him down a long corridor decorated with gold silk wallpaper patterned with tiny fleur de lis above dark paneled wainscoting three-quarters of the way up the wall. She paused a moment outside a closed door, leaning in close to listen. He reached with his senses, and felt Emma inside, murmuring to her dog. He stifled a smile. If you could call the little rat a dog.
After a second, Lucia continued forward to the last room on the right. She opened the door and stepped inside. “Will this do?”
He walked in behind her, noticing the heavy draperies that matched the gold brocade bedspread. A large armoire sat against the wall next to the window. He could easily slide that over the window and block out most of the sun’s damaging light.
He wasn’t as sensitive to the sun’s rays as he had once been, and was frequently tempted to take the chance and see how much his skin could stand. Was he old enough now? Or would he burst into flames as he’d seen happen to the fledglings who couldn’t find shelter? What he wouldn’t give to spend just an hour out in the blessed light, and discover if his memory of the warmth against his skin was accurate, or if perhaps he was just a man who desired that which he couldn’t have. Hope, sunshine, love—the sweet optimism that humans take for granted that everything in life has a purpose, and goodness will always prevail.
“Yes, it will be fine,” he answered. “It is only for one day. Emma and I will leave for St. Yve tomorrow evening.”
Lucia’s lips twisted with disapproval. She stared at him for a moment, as if there was something more she wanted to say, but then nodded and left without saying another word. Thankful, he shut the door behind her and waited, listening until he could no longer hear her footsteps. After he was certain she was gone, he returned to the back staircase and down into the kitchen, quickly moving toward the back door.

Emma took in her appearance in the full-length mirror in the corner. She still felt the flush of embarrassment seeping through her. She hadn’t expected to see anyone in the kitchen, certainly not Damien.
And she in her robe with dirt on her face! She could just sink into the floor and die. She took off the robe, and climbed into a hot shower. She washed all the dirt and cobwebs off her, all the while thinking of Damien. She’d never met a man like him before, not that she’d had a lot of exposure to men, but the ones she had met never had that sense of power about them.
He carried an aura of strength about him, as if he could do anything. He hadn’t even flinched when he’d seen the wolves. She was drawn to him in ways she’d never felt before, ways she only hoped she’d be able to hide. Why would a man like him, with such confidence and worldliness, ever find anything interesting about a woman like her? A woman who had spent her whole life holed up in a crumbling castle?
She turned off the shower, toweled off and got back into bed. She took a long look at Angel curled up on her pillow under the window, and hoped that little dogs wouldn’t always be her only companions.
She nestled deep under the covers and tried not to think of Damien right down the hall. But she couldn’t help it. Was he really as open to her thoughts and feelings as he appeared? Was there any chance he was thinking of her, too?
Stop it! she told herself. She was being ridiculous, acting like a silly schoolgirl. She put him out of her mind and focused on the candle flame flickering next to her bed. Her heartbeat slowed and her breathing evened as her mind drifted back to Damien.
A soft touch moved across her skin. She sighed as the whispered sensations ran freely over her naked body, warming her, making her skin jump and tingle. She felt a slight pressure on her mouth and smiled. He was kissing her, his tongue slipping between her lips.
His touch was sweet, almost tentative. His caress moved to her cheek and down her throat, stopping on her breast, leaving chills in its wake. He kissed her again, stroking her sensitive skin as their lips met, his touch growing firmer, more demanding, as the heat built within her.
He pinched her nipples, playfully plucking the hardened nubs. She sighed and arched into him, wanting more, wanting the pleasure moving through her body to continue. She was dreaming, yes? She had to be, and yet, it felt so real. It felt so good.
He kissed her again, deep and insistent. She reached up and entwined her fingers in the tangles of his long dark hair. A lingering touch moved to the inside of her thighs. She twisted, loving the delicious sensations moving through her. He smoothed and stroked her hair, probing her most private areas, and bringing a sweet gasp from her lips.
A large pressure pushed against her, and then it was inside her, velvety and huge. She sighed and then shuddered as it filled the expanse of her, stroking, slow at first, then faster. She reveled in the crush of his weight. Heat swelled within her with the pulsing between her legs. The pressure heightened, surging through her. She bunched the sheets in her fists and arched her back, trying to get closer. Wanting it deeper.
A light sheen of perspiration covered her skin as he touched that special place within her, making her scream out loud. Again and again, he drove into her until her breath caught, and her body shook with shudders that curled her toes.
On a choking pleasure-filled gasp her eyes flew open.
No one was with her.

Damien stepped out of the kitchen and followed a gravel path along the back of the house until he reached the edge of what had once been an intricate English garden, but had now fallen to neglect and decay. He passed by an overgrown and misshapen maze, then continued until he reached the forest.
Over the years, he’d met other vampires, had even been welcomed into their clans, but he found their excesses morbid and self-indulgent. They had no curiosity about their origins, and no purpose other than to feed and frolic. He knew better, but still found himself hoping this group would be different. As soon as he finished this last job for the Cadre, he’d like to find some place where he belonged; he’d like to believe that what he’d heard about his brother wasn’t true. He’d like to reconnect with Nicholai.
The sound was faint at first, but as he focused on it, it became stronger, filling his mind. Whispering. Laughing. Voices—male, female. And with the sounds of their romping, he could hear something else, something more—Emma McGovern’s name slipping off their tongues.
Worry tightened his chest. Then the smell of blood— thick, rich, and aromatic—reached him and twisted in his gut. The taste filled his mouth. He closed his eyes, as the sharp pain of need almost doubled him over.
He’d found the vampires.
Laughter, music and revelry sounded in the distance. He moved quicker and, as he got closer, the sounds intensified. The faint glow of a fire shone through the bushes, smoke filled the air. He kept to the outskirts of the camp, moving quickly.
He took a deep breath, and focused on clearing his mind to shield himself from them, but more to protect himself from the need burning within him. The need for blood.
He focused inward, envisioning fields of heather wafting in the breeze, the warmth of the sun’s rays on his face. Mentally he surrounded himself in a purple cloud. He was stronger than the hunger. He was invisible to the vampire’s radar. A feeling of calm dropped over him, and he knew he was back in control.
He moved silently, keeping his mental shields in place. No reason to make his presence known until he knew exactly who and what he was dealing with. Until he knew for certain what kind of vampire his brother had become. If he had, in fact, been tainted by feeding off demon essence.
He stood behind a tree and watched three gypsy women in long, flowing, brightly colored skirts dance around the fire in the center of the clearing. As they stamped their feet, long strips of bangles attached to skimpy tops clinked and jingled in melodic symphony. Their arms moved in fluid motion about their heads and out to the sides, an invitation to love. Two men accompanied them on guitars, their music lively, the dance enthralling.
He hadn’t seen a true gypsy dance in years. He stood, watching, mesmerized. As the smell of incense filled the air, drifting on the cool breeze, he could easily imagine it was 1761 again, and Camilla was one of those women using her charms to captivate the Englishmen into losing their hearts and emptying their pockets.
“Damien.”
The familiar voice filled his mind, an instant before the tickle of breath heated the back of his neck. He spun round. Nicholai stood before him, his eyes eerily reflecting the fire’s light, a wicked smile playing across his face—a face that looked very much as it had the last time he’d seen him, in this very forest more than two hundred years ago.
“Hello, brother,” Nicholai said.
Damien tried to speak, but something caught in his throat, some emotion from long ago. His pleasure must have shone in his eyes, for Nicholai opened his arms and stepped forward, and the two men embraced.
“I had always wondered what it would be like to see you again,” Damien muttered.
Nicholai laughed.
“Where have you been?” Damien asked. “All this time. I’ve heard rumors but never knew for sure.”
“I could ask the same of you, dear brother. But then I already know. Everyone knows of Damien, the demon hunter. Your reputation precedes you.”
“Does it?” Damien asked, at once put on guard by the tone of his brother’s voice. He remembered that tone from Nicholai’s propensity to throw down a challenge.
“So, are you here to hunt Asmos this time?” Nicholai pressed.
Damien stiffened. He knew Nicholai and his clan were after the demon’s essence, had remembered Emma’s name drifting off their lips. His hope for a warm reunion dissipated like an aged balloon slowly being crushed beneath the weight of reality. “Does it matter?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t be here if it didn’t.”
“You were expecting me then?” Damien pressed.
“I was hoping.” Nicholai smiled, a warm, brotherly smile, except for the chill buried deep within his eyes.
“It’s good to see you, Nicholai,” Damien said, offering the proverbial olive branch and hoping for the best. “I’d heard rumors myself, but did not know for certain….”
“No, you wouldn’t. Our parents stole you away, their precious son, riding deep into the night and taking you to the secret castle in the south.”
“You know of St. Yve?” Damien asked, though he wasn’t surprised.
“We’ve heard of it, and have searched many times, but to no avail. Other than running into some nasty faeries in the forest surrounding, we have never come close. Perhaps you will show us the way? Give us a tour of your new home.”
“Why?” Damien asked, again on guard, wondering why his brother would be so interested in an old order that hunts the supernatural. Wondering if Nicholai had any idea what would have happened to him had he gotten anywhere near St. Yve.
“The secrets of time and space lie buried within those walls, dear brother. That and so much more.”
Damien thought of the vampires imprisoned beneath and within the castle walls, and the thousands of demons captured within the crystals throughout the centuries. Nicholai, like their maker, fed off demon essence. From what Damien understood, it worked to make them more powerful, but it twisted their minds, giving them a brutal, ruthless edge.
St. Yve had an entire dungeon filled with demon-containment crystals. A veritable demon-essence smorgasbord for the likes of vampires like his brother. “Really, never saw anything like that in the couple of hundred or so years that I lived there,” Damien replied.
“Perhaps you didn’t look hard enough,” Nicholai challenged. “But now that you’re here, we can visit St. Yve together.” He clapped him on the back. “Come, meet everyone.”
Damien chilled. Would Nicholai try and force him into taking him to St. Yve? He shuddered at the thought, at what would happen to them all. He followed his brother into the clearing, quickly taking inventory of the number of vampires, counting an even twelve.
He could hear their whispers, his brethren, plotting their madness to obtain the demon essence. A shudder moved through him. He was strong and older than most of the vampires there, but did the essence running through their veins give them an advantage? Would their sheer numbers make him fair game?
The dancing and music stopped as soon as he and Nicholai walked into the clearing. The vampires stared at him, some with open curiosity, others with obvious hostility. “Everyone, come meet my long-lost brother, Damien,” Nicholai invited.
Damien stood very still as the vampires circled around him. There were seven men, wary and suspicious, who took his measure, while the five women, obviously intrigued, smiled and touched him. A couple rubbed themselves provocatively against him, promising…everything. He smiled at them, while reaching with his mind to try and get a sense of the emotions of the group.
“Enjoy yourself, brother,” Nicholai said. “We mean you no harm.”
A vampire with long black hair and incredible dark eyes slipped her hand beneath his shirt, softly stroking his chest, running her fingers down his ribcage, over the soft leather of his pants. His cock responded, and her red-painted lips stretched into a lustful smile.
Nicholai grabbed a redhead by the wrist and yanked her to him. He dragged his nail along the vein in her neck, slicing open the skin. He suckled it, drinking the sweet drink, and her eyelids fluttered and closed, her mouth opening on a moan.
Damien knew vampires fed off one another as an erotic act, but it wasn’t one he’d ever tried. Though, he must admit to being curious, to wanting. He licked his lips and turned back to the brunette.
“Stick around,” Nicholai said. “We have much to discuss.”
Damien looked at the temptress offering herself to him, and fiercely wanted to pull her to him, to feel her soft womanly curves against him, to bury his face between her ample breasts. “I can’t stay long,” he said, even as his breathing quickened.
Nicholai laughed, and continued his ministrations on the redhead, who was obviously enjoying his feeding off her very much. The desire to give the same pleasure to the woman standing before Damien was almost overpowering.
The woman dropped to her knees in front of him, her hand on the buttons that loosened his pants. She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his, and a sudden whirl of impressions filled him—hunger, deceit, death. Madness.
Damien put a hand on hers stopping her. “I need to go,” he said, his voice cracking.
“That’s right,” Nicholai said. “You need to run back to Wolvesrain and protect the next vessel. Why bother, little brother? It’s her destiny.”
Damien stared at him, suddenly certain that he’d stepped into a trap. Through him they wanted to breach Wolvesrain, they wanted Emma. The woman pulled at his pants again. Damien pushed her away and stepped back.
His brother smiled and lapped again at the redhead’s neck. Damien reached with his mind, searching for his brother’s true intentions, but hit a wall. He couldn’t read him.
“Try as you might, you’re not as powerful as I, little brother.”
“Aren’t I?” Damien asked. “We aren’t children anymore.”
“No, but you deny yourself the human elixir you need to make yourself strong.” He took a long lick. “The blood will set you free.”
“In that denial, I am stronger.”
Nicholai laughed. “You deny who you are. What you are. As a vampire, you are a strong, powerful predator with the compassion and intelligence to determine when to spare life and when to deliver death.”
In the time it took Damien to draw in a breath, his brother kicked Damien’s legs out from under him. He hit the ground, lying flat on his back with Nicholai’s boot planted square on his chest.
“Who’s the strongest?” Nicholai mocked.
Damien’s stomach clenched. His fists squeezed into tight balls of rage. Ever since they were children his brother had delighted in this game. He grabbed Nicholai’s boot in both hands and twisted, knocking his brother to the ground, where he rolled on top of him, pinning him flat. “I am.”
His brother laughed out loud. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?” With a burst of speed, Nicholai had Damien on his back. “You too can have the strength of the gods, Damien. It’s right there in front of you, pulsing through Miss McGovern’s beautiful neck.” He leaned down and kissed Damien on the cheek. “All you have to do is take a bite,” he whispered, then he was gone.
Stunned, Damien sat up and rubbed his brother’s kiss off his face. He searched the area around him with his mind, reaching for his brother’s presence, but couldn’t find him. Either his brother was gone using speed Damien had never seen, or he was masking himself. A feat Damien hadn’t been able to manage, since Nicholai seemed to have sensed him, easily.
What Damien had feared was true: Nicholai’s strength was beyond his. And if Nicholai went after Emma? Would he wait to see if the curse was fulfilled and she became Asmos’s vessel? Or would he just go after the essence she already had in her now, thanks to the demon wolves? Either way wasn’t good. Damien got up and, moving as fast as he could, left the clearing and the gypsy vampire clan behind. He had to get Emma out of Wolvesrain and to the safety of St. Yve. Tonight!