Prologue
Behind the Veil
Gideon glided through the vaulted marble corridors of the Great Hall. A thick hush filled the ancient air, stirred only by the occasional rush of a scurrying servant. It was an unnatural silence. As a rule the spiderweb of corridors were filled with vampires seeking entrance to the vast library or attending the endless debates in one of the antechambers. There was no greater duty for a vampire than searching for knowledge. It was an insatiable thirst, and the only true desire that had remained since they had left the mortal plane to exist behind the Veil.
It had been nearly two hundred years since the great vampire Nefri had used the Medallion to create the Veil. Two hundred years of serenity and utter peace.
They had left behind the chaos and compulsive passions of the mortal world. They had also left behind the bloodlust that had made vampires as savage and brutal as the humans they preyed upon.
Since then it had been a time of immeasurable greatness for the Immortal Ones. Without the passions and hungers of the flesh they had reached a superior society that transcended any loss of powers they had suffered. Shape-shifting and mist walking that came only from the drinking of human blood were talents needed only for those who hunted.
And vampires no longer hunted.
Or they had not until this morning, Gideon sternly corrected.
A frown marred the fiercely elegant features as he considered the shocking revelations the Great Council had bestowed upon him.
It was near sacrilege to consider the notion that there would be traitors among the vampires. It was simply assumed that they had evolved far beyond petty jealousy and the lust for power. Surely such superior beings would be above the flaws of mere mortals?
Unfortunately there was no means of denying the startling truth that three powerful vampires had recently slipped through the Veil to the world of men. Or that they intended to battle for control of the Medallion.
A chill threatened to pierce the magnificent calm that had shrouded about Gideon for two centuries.
The traitors could not be allowed to gain command of the ancient artifact. With such raw power they could do untold damage.
Including ripping the Veil to shreds and challenging the authority of the Great Council itself.
The chaos that would ensue did not bear imagining, Gideon acknowledged with cold determination.
Thank blessed Nefri that she had possessed the sense to realize the impending danger and had managed to separate the Medallion. She had then given the pieces to three maidens who had no notion of the power they held.
The desperate measure had momentarily protected the Medallion from the clutches of the renegades, but it would only be a matter of time before they went in search of the maidens.
Which was precisely why he had been summoned to the Great Hall.
Almost reluctantly he glanced down at the dagger he held in his long, pale fingers. In the soft light it appeared nondescript with a smooth ivory handle. Only the trained eye of a vampire could detect the unmistakable shimmer of magic that rippled over the steel blade.
His frown deepened.
The mere thought of killing another vampire was utterly repellant. It was perhaps the greatest of sins. He would as soon sacrifice himself. But he had his commands.
He, Lucien and Sebastian were commanded to travel through the Veil and protect the maidens who unwittingly held the Medallion.
By any means necessary.
His fingers clenched about the dagger.
Any means.
Chapter 1
Simone, Lady Gilbert, allowed a satisfied smile to curve her lips.
The stuccoed town house in the southern end of Park Lane was a Palladian masterpiece. Although not the largest home in London it was undoubtedly one of the most elegant with its wide marble foyer and double staircase that led to a long picture gallery. There was a clever balcony that overlooked the park that had been transformed into a conservatory and a formal drawing room with a great deal of gilding and masterpieces from Flemish artists. As the crowning glory the ballroom held a hint of Versailles with surrounding mirrors, heavy chandeliers and French furnishings.
It was a home fit for a Countess.
And it was all hers.
The smug satisfaction only deepened as Simone allowed her emerald green gaze to wander over the numerous guests who filled the crimson and gold parlor. Politicians, poets, scholars and aristocrats mingled together in happy harmony. Her salons were famous for assembling only the brightest, most intellectual of London's society, and invitations were battled over more fiercely than any voucher to Almack’s. In fact, she had been forced to hire a large butler who had one time been a champion in the boxing ring to guard her door from those who would force their way into her home. It appeared that anyone who wished to be considered all the rage had to make an appearance at a party hosted by the “Wicked Temptress.”
Not bad for a woman who had spent the past twenty-three years isolated in a remote part of Devonshire and who had never thought to enter society, let alone become the undoubted leader.
“Another stunning success, my temptress,” a low, seductive voice whispered close to her ear.
Simone gave a last glance to ensure all was well before turning to greet the short, portly gentleman who was regarding her like a prospective morsel he longed to have a taste of.
“Good evening, Lord Braceton,” she murmured, tilting her head so that her long, shimmering blond hair tumbled over her shoulders left bare by her dark emerald gown. She heard the older gentleman suck in a breath and she hid a satisfied smile. Since her arrival in London she had discovered her beauty was a potent weapon that could not be underestimated. Along with a bold, determined style and cunning elusiveness she had managed to create precisely the image best to tantalize the jaded members of town. “I trust you are enjoying your evening?”
An intelligence that had led him to be one of the most dangerous and powerful politicians in the House of Lords sparkled in his blue eyes.
“As well as could be expected considering I would prefer to damn this lot of insufferable bores to the netherworld so that we could be alone.”
“Bores?” She arched a golden brow. “I will have you know that I carefully chose each guest for their ability to charm, tantalize or entertain me.”
“Indeed?” The gentleman stepped closer, his gaze sweeping hungrily over her slender curves. “And why was I chosen, my dear? To tantalize, I hope.”
“Comic relief, of course,” she smoothly parried.
He stiffened briefly at the insult, then a grudging smile curved his thick lips.
“Such cruelty from such beauty,” he mourned softly. “Tell me what I must do to win that cold heart of yours.”