The Vampire Dimitri

19 Of Irony, Umbrellas And Infernos

After his icy pronouncement, Corvindale swept out of the chamber into his adjoining dressing and bathing room, leaving Maia sitting alone on the bed. Numb.

Moments later, she heard the door open onto the hall from that room, and then shortly after that, he returned, stalking into the bedchamber, his hands filled with garments. He was dressed simply in an untucked shirt and trousers.

“I suppose you’ll need assistance dressing,” he said, placing the clothing on the bed with surprising gentleness. She’d expected him to throw them.

“No,” she said, snatching up a chemise. She refused to ask how he’d obtained the garments. It was impossible to imagine that the earl would have gone into her chamber and dug through her wardrobe and drawers. “I don’t need your assistance.”

The chemise floated down over her shoulders and hips.

Maia disdained the corset and drawers and pulled on the simple day dress he’d provided. Fortunately the empire-waist style allowed for her to go temporarily without the corset. She would thus be able to return to her chamber and then get properly dressed with Betty’s help, appearing as if she had just returned from a walk if anyone encountered her in the meanwhile.

Then she could go down and have a difficult conversation with Alexander.

After she found a way to cover her vampire bites.

Once his grudging assistance was refused, Corvindale turned away and stood in front of a curtained window, his back to her, while she finished dressing.

As she did so, Maia reflected on the amazing fact that she was in the earl’s bedchamber, alone with him and dressing after spending several hours wrapped in his arms. Naked. And now he would hardly acknowledge her presence. They’d talked so coolly and calmly about everything that had happened, as if it were a story that had unfolded on the pages of a book instead of to them. In real life.

Looking at the bedraggled mattress, she gave a little shudder of remembered pleasure tinged with regret. She would never forget the feeling, tumbling onto his nude body, warm and hard, rough with wiry hair and firm with planes of muscle, his arms closing around her. His mouth taking from hers.

She belonged there.

“The only time I loved a woman,” he said suddenly, still turned away, “I gave everything for her. My heart. My life. And, quite literally, my soul.”

Maia’s movements were arrested as she bent to pick up the unused bundle of clothing. Her heart thumped. She had so many questions. “Lerina?”

“God and the Fates, no. Do you think I’m completely mad? Her name was Meg. It was because of her that I…that I am what I am today.”

“You made a pact with the devil for her?”

He nodded, fingering the heavy drapes that still cloaked the window. “I thought I was saving her life. Our lives.”

“What happened?” Maia asked, imagining that she’d died of old age in his arms as he remained forever young.

“She left.”

Oh. “I’m sorry.”

“I was, too.”

Something soft swelled in her chest and it was all Maia could do not to reach for him. Even with his back to her, she could see the tension in his shoulders. She imagined she could make out the black lines of the horrible marking on his skin, the writhing black veins as thick as rose stems, through the cotton of his shirt.

“Did you love Lerina, too?”

“I’ve loved no one since.”

Maia swallowed. Including me. “I’m sorry for that, too, Corvindale.” She held the bundle of clothing to her chest and paused.

He shifted as if he meant to turn, then stopped suddenly and remained with his back to her, his fingers curling around the edge of the curtains. “You’re aware that my given name is Dimitri.”

“Yes. I see no reason to use that appellation,” she said stiffly. Lerina had, calling him “darling Dimitri” with such a false, sugary tone that Maia had felt ill. Aside of that, they weren’t intimates. Not any longer.

“I wasn’t suggesting that you do, Miss Woodmore.” His voice softened a bit as he continued. “My mother was a Romanian princess who married my father the earl, and she named me Dimitri Gavril. She called me Gavril.”

Maia’s lips twisted, for she understood why he’d told her. “Gavril, or the Greek, Gabriel. I believe it translates as ‘man of God.’”

As she looked at his dark head, held high, his shoulders broad and straight, and the hint of the black markings of the devil beneath his white shirt, she knew the irony must be that much more bitter to him.

“If you please, advise Mr. Bradington that Miss Woodmore is here to speak with him,” Maia said to Alexander’s butler, Driggs, as he took her umbrella.

“The master has been indisposed since last evening, miss,” Driggs told her gravely. “I shall attempt to rouse him.”

She swallowed her nervousness as Driggs gestured for her to wait in the small, private parlor. Alexander had left Blackmont Hall the morning after the “mix-up” with their appointment to go for a walk. And he hadn’t returned that afternoon, nor the day after.

The fact that he hadn’t done so left an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of Maia’s being, and now today, when she finished dressing, eating as much dinner as she could stomach—which was to say, not very much at all—she decided to take matters into her own hands and call on him directly.

Calling on a gentleman wasn’t done, unless one were chaperoned, but in the case of one’s fiancé, it was much more permissible. Still, Maia didn’t particularly want to be noticed and so she was grateful for the heavy rain and dark clouds that gave her an excuse to hide under an obstructing umbrella as she hurried up the short walk to his front door. For that same reason, she’d ordered a hackney instead of taking one of Corvindale’s carriages. And, conscious of the warnings of both Dewhurst and Corvindale, she’d left Blackmont Hall through the back, servants’ entrance, well-cloaked and hidden under a hood. Anyone waiting for an opportunity to abduct her not only wouldn’t see her leave, but if they did, she would be assumed to be a maid or other servant.

Now inside, listening to the pouring rain, she adjusted her skirts neatly across her knees. They were weighted by their damp hem, which just skimmed the tops of her water-speckled slippers. They’d be ruined, but the state of her shoes was the least of her worries.

How was she going to tell Alexander? What was she going to tell him?

Did he suspect something, and that was why he was indisposed? No, certainly not. How could he suspect anything?

He must simply be unwell, which explained why he wouldn’t have come to call. Poor Alexander, always the gentleman. Likely attempting to keep her from getting his sickness. Perhaps…she hoped he wasn’t ill over worry for her. That would be simply too much for her to bear.

The parlor door opened suddenly, and Maia jumped at the unexpected noise.

“Alexander,” she said, calming her nervous heart and rising promptly to her feet. She scanned him closely, looking for signs that he had been ill or sleepless.

“Maia,” he replied, smiling at her. He didn’t appear to be unwell, his Scottish heritage showing in a handsome face shaven and faintly ruddy as it always was. His gray-blue eyes scanned her with appreciation and his chestnut-colored hair and sideburns were combed and pomaded as if he’d dressed for her. “I am so delighted to see you. I meant to call on you today, but I’m afraid I must keep an appointment this afternoon. Perhaps you would join me, and we could talk in the carriage? I believe we have much to catch up on.”

“Yes,” she replied, feeling a bit off center, as if nothing had happened. Perhaps, in his mind, nothing had.

In his mind. A very cold feeling settled over her. Corvindale. Had he come and persuaded Alexander that nothing was amiss? Had he enthralled her fiancé to force him into marrying her, regardless of what she told him?

Could he even do that?

Maia firmed her lips. She would have to have a word with the earl. Again.

“Very well, then, my dear,” he said, offering her his arm as he opened a large umbrella. “I promise our appointment won’t take long at all.”

He held the covering up and over as they fairly ran through the downpour to his waiting carriage. The rain came down so hard that it splashed up and under the umbrella, soaking the bottom third of her frock.

“There’s something I must tell you,” Maia said, gathering up her bravery as well as her heavy skirts as she settled into the carriage across from him. She was breathing heavily from the short dash. “There’s something we must talk about.”

Even if Corvindale had been here, or somehow talked to Alexander, she would still tell him what she needed to tell him, and deal with the earl later.

“I have things to talk with you about, too,” Alexander said as he latched the door and knocked on the roof of the vehicle. “Things have changed.”

That was when she realized something was wrong. It was the way he said it, the way he was looking at her. There was an odd note in his voice, a strange inflection that sent a prickling along the backs of her arms.

“What do you mean?” she managed to say as the carriage lurched off speedily.

He smiled at her, displaying a gleaming white set of fangs.

Maia barely stifled a shriek. “Are those real?” she asked, trying to keep her voice—and her mind—steady. Impossible. Her mind tried to scatter, but she forced herself to focus. This was not the time to panic.

In response, he settled eyes on her that glowed red. “Why do you not come here and find out?” He leered, patting the seat next to him.

“Alexander! How did this occur? What happened?” Her heart was a runaway in her chest, her palms damp beneath her gloves, but she remembered to keep her gaze averted.

“I had a visitor on the day you forgot about our engagement to take a morning walk. It was all very odd, for she asked me to come for a drive in her carriage, that you wanted to meet clandestinely.”

“Mrs. Throckmullins. Lerina,” Maia said, her heart sinking.

Alexander nodded, a funny smile twitching the corners of his mouth. “Yes, indeed. It didn’t take me long to realize that she wasn’t taking me to meet you, but that she had another plan in mind. She’s quite annoyed with Corvindale, and as it turned out, I wasn’t at all adverse to her suggestion that I join her race. It was either that, or she was to kill me. When confronted with immortality or death, I didn’t find it a difficult choice.”

“But you…you’ve given your soul to the devil,” she said. “You chose the certainty of being damned for eternity.”

“But I shall live forever,” he said. “And in the care of Lucifer. Thus that event will never come.”

Maia shook her head. “Alexander, no, you—”

“Enough of that.” He moved, suddenly shifting to the other side of the carriage next to her. “I see that you’ve already been introduced to the particular pleasures of my new race,” he said, grasping her arm with one hand to keep her next to him. With the other, he lifted the thick choker she wore to hide the nearly healed scars from Corvindale’s bites.

“Release me,” she said, trying to keep her head. The carriage door was on the other side of Alexander, and it was latched. She’d have to get past him, and get it unhooked in order to jump out—and the carriage was going at a very rapid pace. Her insides heaved unpleasantly as a chill blanketed her. “My brother will have your heart on a stake if you harm me. If Corvindale doesn’t get to you first, which I assure you, he—”

“Ah, yes. I’ve heard about your attachment to Corvindale.” His smile had been relatively benign, but now it hardened. “I presume that is how you obtained these marks.”

Before she could react, he turned, his weight shoving her into the corner of the seat as he lunged onto her. Maia drew in a breath to scream, but he clapped a hand over her mouth and plunged his fangs into her shoulder.

She jerked at the pain, arching up, clawing with gloved fingers and fighting at him, trying to twist away from his smothering hand. She felt the release of blood from her veins, the feel of his lips over her skin, the heavy, hard weight of his body pressing her down, down into the dark corner of the carriage as the wheels rumbled beneath them.

He groaned, his chest heaving against her as he gulped the blood from her flesh, his hand tight, pressed roughly into her mouth and cheeks. One of her arms was trapped between them and the back of the seat, but the other one she whipped free, flailing desperately at him, pulling at his hair, scratching ineffectively at his arm.

Alexander pulled away after she managed a particularly loud cuff against the side of his head, over his ear. Eyes blazing red, blood gathering at the corners of his mouth and staining his teeth, he shifted, releasing her mouth and grabbing both of her arms. He captured her wrists with one strong hand, forcing them down between them, where his weight held her arms captive between their torsos.

“Alexander,” she gasped, trying, hoping that she might somehow penetrate whatever frenzy had seized his mind, “Corvindale and Chas will kill you. Let me go.”

“I can’t do that, my dear Maia,” he said, his tongue swiping around the corners of his mouth to get the last bit of blood. “I have my orders. But there isn’t any reason why I cannot sample you. I never expected it to be this pleasurable.” He bent again, and she tensed, expecting him to shove his fangs into her once more, but this time, he covered her mouth roughly with his.

Tainted with blood, he tasted like copper, and something dark and ugly. He was hard and brutal, his fangs scraping against her mouth and cutting her lips as his tongue thrust and stroked. She twisted and fought more, tears of frustration and fear leaking from the corners of her eyes.

Corvindale. Chas. Hurry.

She felt the warmth draining from her body from the wound on her shoulder as he moved to the side of her neck, then the slice of pain as he drove his fangs in once more. They weren’t going to get to her in time. He was going to drain her. Kill her.

Maia closed her eyes, trying to focus, trying to push away the horror blinding her. In the background of her fear, she heard the drumming of rain on the roof and the vibration of the vehicle as it rolled along. She must remove herself from this moment of terror and think. Think. Was there something she could do to stop him? He hadn’t begun to tear her clothes away, but she felt the hard bulge that indicated his arousal, and she suspected with a deep, terrible fear, that he soon would move on to other violations.

But the heat and life flowed from her, along with her consciousness, and she found herself floating somewhere in a plane of fear and pain, hands rough on her, the incessant rumbling of the carriage beneath her.

And then it stopped.

He pulled away and sat back, looking at her. A drop of blood colored the corner of his mouth and his eyes, glazed with desire, burned down at her. “Alas,” he said, “we’ve arrived.”

Maia tried to pull herself up, but the interior spun and she fell back weakly onto the seat. Blood trickled down her shoulder and neck, over her upper chest and seeped into the neckline of her dress.

She heard a click and the carriage door opened. The rush of cool, damp air did a bit to revive her, but when she saw Mrs. Throckmullins standing there, Maia felt a rush of fear.

“Hello there again, my dear Miss Woodmore,” she said, rain drumming frantically on her umbrella. “I see that you’ve taken a bit of a sample of our friend here, darling Alexander. But what a mess you’ve made of it. Fool.” Her voice hardened. “She cannot bleed to death.”

With a sharp movement, Lerina flung the umbrella to someone behind her, and Maia caught a glimpse of a brick wall looming beyond in the low light. Then all other thoughts fled as the woman surged into the small space and pulled the door closed behind her.

“Now let’s see to this,” she said, settling on the seat across from her and Alexander. “Hold her,” she said as Maia began to struggle, trying to slip up and out of the small vehicle.

Alexander grabbed her shoulders and then her wrists, holding Maia still as Lerina moved closer. “She smells delightful,” the other woman said, sniffing delicately. “I thought as much the first time we met.” She traced a finger down into the blood still oozing freely from the bites on her neck, then brought it to her lips. With a vigorous swipe, she tasted the red drop and smiled.

“Now, now, you needn’t fear, Miss Woodmore,” she told her, seeing Maia’s eyes grow wide. She grasped her chin, holding it with strong, sharp fingers. “It won’t hurt a bit, and then I’ll see to stopping the bleeding. We don’t want you to die until Dimitri gets here. Just close your eyes now and enjoy.”

Maia would have screamed, but the woman slapped a flat hand over her mouth. “I don’t need your cries ringing in my ears,” she said angrily. “It ruins the experience.”

Maia couldn’t move, for Alexander’s weight and hands kept her body in place and her arms pinned between them while Lerina held her head immobile. The woman bared her fangs, a dark glint in her eyes, and drove her sharp teeth into the top of Maia’s shoulder.

Maia’s vision fluttered dark and light, her stomach pitched and rolled as she gagged behind the fingers clamped over her mouth. The rhythmic tug and suction from the woman’s lips echoed through her body, dragging up from deep inside. A little flutter of unwanted pleasure uncurled in the pit of her belly, just a quiet tingle within the dark world of fear and pain and Maia felt tears rolling from her eyes again.

After a long moment, it was over. Lerina pulled away, her lips full, her eyes bright red. She made a soft humming sound of pleasure, bloodscent filtering from her heavy breaths. Maia kept her eyes closed, focusing on the fact that they weren’t going to kill her. At least until Corvindale arrived.

A trap for him. Of course it was a trap, but he was smart.

And strong and powerful. Too smart to be tricked, especially again. And he had Mr. Cale and Chas and even Dewhurst and Iliana to help him. Surely he wouldn’t be hurt. Surely—

Lerina leaned forward again, and Maia tensed, feeling the tightening grip of Alexander’s hands on her shoulders. She twisted, but she was powerless, and this time, instead of biting her, Lerina swiped her tongue out. Worse than having the fangs penetrating her flesh was the feel of the woman licking her shoulder, licking and gently sucking away the last bit of blood from the fresh wounds.

Maia trembled low and deep as they held her down, both of them now lapping at the marks on her neck and shoulders, one on each side. Her skin crawled beneath the sleek whorls of tongue and lips and she tried to faint, tried to fall into some black unconsciousness so she didn’t have to feel the sensations on her sensitive skin.

She didn’t have long to wait. Mercifully, weakness overcame her, and darkness flooded her vision. Maia slipped into it gladly.

Dimitri stared down at the note. His body had gone cold and then numb, then his mind shattered into terrified pieces. Now it was working its way into blazing fury.

He couldn’t allow terror into his mind, so he focused on the fury.

I have something you desire.

That was all the missive said, but he needed no other information. Lerina’s scent, along with that of Maia’s blood permeated the paper.

Dimitri stopped his thoughts as soon as he smelled it. No. Going down that avenue would turn him mad. Focus on the facts, on what he knew.

Maia had left early that afternoon, many hours ago, to call on Bradington. She’d taken a hack instead of one of his carriages, a fact which he didn’t learn until supper when Angelica pounded on his study door to inform him that her sister hadn’t returned.

Even then, he hadn’t allowed himself to be too concerned, instead, torturing himself with the image of two lovers reuniting and forgetting the passage of time. But now…

He forced his mind to remain calm and empty. To go through a list of steps with logic and objectivity. Obviously Lerina wanted him to come. Obviously she had something planned.

Obviously Maia wouldn’t be killed, at least until he got there. He hoped. Lerina wasn’t Cezar Moldavi.

He’d need assistance, someone to have his back. He wasn’t that foolish. Giordan. Chas was still in Scotland, blast. Iliana. Even Voss. Eddersley. Gehrington. Perhaps Eustacia, the woman who sometimes practiced fighting with Iliana, if she was back from Rome.

Not that he would wait for any of them to arrive. But at least they’d be coming behind him.

Thus Dimitri kept his thoughts cold and steady as he barked orders to Crewston to send messages to Rubey’s, to the back rooms at White’s and to Dewhurst. He called for Tren and Iliana, giving Hunburgh direction on how to secure the house and whom to contact in the event the worst happened.

He wouldn’t think on that.

Where would they be? She’d given no direction, no indication…they had to be at the same place they’d escaped before. Or, at least, he had to start there and track them if necessary. He wished he had his dogs, but he never brought them to Town.

These thoughts, these cold, steely thoughts, kept him calm as he removed his waistcoat and changed into clothing meant more for a tradesman than an earl. Loose trousers with pockets and a shirt, sturdy shoes. And a coat with more pockets, where he put stakes. He picked up his sabre that masqueraded as a walking stick and walked out of the house as prepared as he could be.

He disdained the carriage that was waiting, for a saddled horse was much faster, and Tren, quick as he was, had prepared both. The carriage would follow once the others arrived.

If they did.

Dimitri galloped through the streets, grateful for the full moon that lit the world nearly as brightly as the sun. It was well into the night, and dawn would be only hours away.

When he got near the abandoned, shrouded house near the fishermen’s wharf where he and Maia had been imprisoned, Dimitri slid from the horse before he even stopped. He landed on the ground and gathered up the reins, looking for somewhere to tie the beast, or some urchin to pay to watch him. The house was several blocks away, and he wanted to approach it as secretly as possible.

Despite the fact that it was long past midnight, the docks were by no means deserted. Fishermen and sailors walked, talked, fought, loaded and unloaded. The air was filled with noises of altercation and jollity. The smells of fish and sea-water mingled with something burning nearby and the ever-present odor of garbage.

Still calm, icily so, he looked around. And then he saw them.

Lerina stood in the center, in the narrow street. She was flanked by two men—likely vampire makes—and she watched Dimitri as he approached. Her eyes glowed faintly and she stood regally, as if she were a queen and he a subject approaching for obeisance.

“Where is she?” Dimitri demanded, his control slipping when he scented Maia on Lerina…and on the man standing next to her. Bradington. Whose eyes glowed mockingly.

Alarm rising inside him, Dimitri fought it back. So that was how Lerina had managed to get to Maia. He allowed his eyes to glow just a bit, to show the very tip of a fang. They were no match for him in strength or speed, and Lerina must know it. Even she, without the use of rubies, was no threat to him. And he sensed no rubies on her or her companions.

That fact filled him with unease.

“I wasn’t certain you would still want her. Now that we’ve finished with the little chit,” she replied. “Although I can see now why you’ve enjoyed her. She’s a tasty piece.” A lift in the breeze brought a stronger waft of fish accompanied by the smell of flame and burning wood.

“Where is she?”

“I wasn’t certain about your feelings for her the first time,” Lerina was saying conversationally. “After all, you were under duress. But you did feed from her—your control and abstinence are legendary, you know, and it was a shock to find that something had caused you to give it up. And then there was the way you looked at her…well, I had my suspicions. So of course I had to see for myself. It was rather amusing the way she came to your assistance, that night at—”

Dimitri moved sharply and had Lerina in his hands, a stake poised over her generous bosom before she could finish. “Where is Maia?”

Her eyes widened in blatant admiration and she arched a bit toward him, her hips bumping his. “Luce’s cock, you can still set my heart fluttering, Dimitri. All that power and rage rumbling beneath.” She shrugged in his arms, her breasts pressing beneath them as she tipped her head back as if to give him a better target. “Go ahead, do what you will. But if you kill me, you won’t know where to find Miss Woodmore. And time is running thin.”

Frustrated, fighting rising alarm, he released her, trying to keep his thoughts from scattering into wildness. “Tell me where she is.” He glanced at Bradington, who’d taken a step back and looked a bit less confident than he had a moment ago.

“Ah, feel free, Dimitri. I’d love to watch you, and he was merely a tool to get to…here. Right here, right where I wanted you.”

“And so I’m here.” He glanced behind her when another blast of smoke reached his nostrils and noticed a low glow in the distance. All at once, his senses went dead. The house, the very house in which they’d been imprisoned, was in flames.

“Yes, Dimitri. She’s in there,” Lerina said.

But he was already pushing past her, flying toward the house. His heart in his throat, he tore through the night, knowing there had to be some sort of trick…some sort of surprise waiting for him.

She could be dead. She could be made. She might not even be in there, it might be some sort of ruse… Even Cezar could be waiting inside.

Tongues of flame snarled through the windows, smoke poured from the roof. The house was wholly ablaze. If she was inside, how could she be alive?

For a moment, Dimitri was propelled back in time to the Great Fire, and he slowed for a moment. A mere moment, and then he went on, as strong and fast as before.

For this was different. This was Maia, this was now, and he was a Dracule. Fire didn’t harm him; it merely lashed around in a reminder of what hell would be like. Hot, searing, but without actually eating into him. If he could find Maia, he would be fast enough to pull her out, to cover her and streak safely through the flames with her.

If he could find her. If she was still alive.

His mind was three steps ahead of his feet, and he tore off his shirt, plunging it into a rain barrel. Wet and damp, it would help to protect Maia if—when—he found her and brought her out.

This time, as he approached the building, he didn’t have to find an opening that wasn’t burning. He crashed through a flaming door and found himself in a dark, hot place, filled with smoke that blinded him though he could normally see through the dark.

“Maia!” he bellowed, inhaling a lungful of the hot smoke and ash as he tore through the lower level, looking for a place that wasn’t aflame. He tried to smell her, to find her scent amid the soot and burning wood, and he caught it at last as he came to the stairs.

She was here. She was here.

Or she had been here.

“Maia!” he shouted again, ducking as a flaming beam tumbled from the ceiling. The entire place was in shambles, the sheets that had covered furnishings gone up in flames.

Fire snarled through spots in the walls, and the roar like a powerful windstorm filled his ears.

He called her name over and over as he dashed up crumbling stairs, down the hall to where they’d been imprisoned—he could tell by scent more than sight—and back.

There was no one there.

Tears stung his eyes, and they burned with the grit from hot ash and the heat. He used the dripping shirt to wipe it away. She had to be here. She must—

And then he heard something. Faintly.

“Maia!” he shouted, stumbling over a half wall as he turned toward the sound. He wasn’t certain where he was any longer in this building, he just listened, smelled, and then…

No.

He realized the trap before he even got there, for the weakness took hold.

He found her, coming into the very deepest part of the house, and stumbled into the chamber.

There she was, sitting in the center of the room with flames licking the edges, smoke swirling above. Maia was slumped in the chair to which she was tied.

Bound by ropes and ropes of rubies.