Deciding that what was behind him might very well be more dangerous than the scoundrels before him, Gideon gracefully whirled about, his heightened eyesight probing the dark shadows of the corner.
For long, tense moments he could detect nothing more ominous than the scurry of an occasional rat and the bones of some animal long dead. But just as he could feel the ruffians beginning to close in upon him he caught the faintest shimmer of power that had been woven in the shadows.
A mind snare, he recognized in icy shock.
It was a spell that had been forbidden by the Great Council centuries ago. Hardly surprising. It was a nasty surprise for any vampire who might wander unwittingly into one. Once caught there was no escape from the deadly sleep that would force the poor victim to simply waste away.
A shiver of revulsion raced through him.
Now it all became clear.
Why Simone had been kidnapped and then so easily allowed to escape. Why the henchmen did not attack, and instead attempted to push him toward this dark corner.
Tristan had deliberately sought a means to rid himself of Gideon, using Simone as bait. And rather than facing him in an honorable fashion he had sunk to means beyond all shame.
Feeling rough hands pushing at his back, Gideon effortlessly stepped to one side and brought up his dagger to slice at the nearest servant. He managed to cut the man’s upper arm, but he did not even blink as he continued to grasp for Gideon. Another set of hands caught his arm and Gideon heaved him aside. His momentary distraction, however, left him open to attack from the other side and he barely had time to turn as a third villain threw himself directly into his midsection and knocked him to the ground.
Gideon’s head hit the flagstone with a dull thud, and for a moment he was dazed. He thrust out with the dagger, managing to split open the stomach of the man who leaned over him, but his head exploded in pain once again as one of the men swung a cudgel to his right temple.
With blood pouring down his face, Gideon struggled to regain his footing. Although he was far more powerful than the humans, he was weakened by the blow to his head and hampered by the nearby snare that threatened his very existence.
Gaining his knees he reached out to efficiently hamstring the scoundrel with the cudgel, but a sharp pain in his side warned him that one of the two men still standing had drawn his own dagger. The stinging blade continued to rein blows upon him as the other man attempted to drag him closer to the snare.
Gideon growled in fury, fighting back the blackness that threatened to overcome him. He swung out with his blade, but without warning the man pulling at his arm suddenly crumpled at his side. He blinked through the blood running into his eyes, his heart freezing as he watched Simone swinging a lead pipe with frenzied strength. Moving around him she continued to swing until with a loud crack it connected with the remaining villain’s head and he tumbled forward with a low grunt.
For a moment shock and pain held him silent as he regarded the slender warrior with golden curls and deadly pipe, then with a low, rumbling laugh he collapsed onto the hard stone floor.
Shaking from head to toe, Simone sank on her knees beside Gideon.
Even in the shadows she could see the dark blood flowing through his jacket from the half dozen stab wounds. Even worse, his face was nearly unrecognizable as a large lump swelled until he could not open his right eye. There was a deep gash on his forehead that still bled and another she discovered as her hands brushed through the thick ebony hair at the back of his head.
It was a wonder he was still alive, she acknowledged with a grim pain that bore a hole straight through her heart. With such a loss of blood combined with the horrid blows to his head, a lesser man would have been ready for his grave.
“Hold on, Gideon,” she pleaded softly, unaware that tears ran unchecked down her cheeks.
Preparing to rise and go in search of help, Simone nearly swooned with relief when a scuffling noise at the doorway was followed by the familiar forms of Gideon’s coachman and a groom.
“Lady Gilbert?” the coachman called hesitantly.
“Over here, and please hurry,” she said in impatient tones, forcing her wobbly knees to hold her as she pressed herself upright. “Mr. Ravel has been hurt.”
Sparing a speculative gaze at the four men in varying stages of unconsciousness, the coachman swiftly joined Simone, followed closely by the groom.
“Bloody hell,” the coachman choked out at the sight of his master so badly wounded, only to give a sudden cough. “Pardon me, my lady.”
She waved aside his discomfort. “We must get him to the carriage.”
“Yes, at once.”
With a motion to the groom, the older man bent to drape one of Gideon’s arms over his shoulders then, waiting for his companion to do the same, they carefully hauled the barely conscious man upright.
It was a struggle to lead Gideon out of the building and down the alley, but with a great deal of grunting and an occasional muffled curse the two servants managed to half drag their master the length of the street and load him into the carriage. Trailing behind, Simone still clenched her thick pipe, silently praying, and at the same time keeping careful watch for any hidden ruffians.
She would not be caught unaware again, she told herself with a shudder at the memory of being roughly captured by the strange villains. Even now her stomach threatened to heave at the feeling of being utterly helpless as she was being tied to the post with no notion of what was to happen to her.
Worse even than those nights her sister would come and drag her from her bed ...
Simone gave a sharp shake of her head as she climbed into the carriage behind Gideon. Now was not the time for such thoughts.
Somehow she had to ensure that Gideon did not die.
Sinking onto the floor of the carriage she regarded the man sprawled upon the carriage seat.
“We must get him to a doctor,” she said to the two servants who both hovered in the doorway with matching frowns of concern.
“No,” Gideon abruptly moaned. “Take me home.”
Simone raised herself to her knees to glare down at him. “Do not be a fool. You are badly injured.”
He reached up to grasp her wrist, the black eyes glittering between his thick lashes.
“Simone, I wish to go home.”
“You need a doctor... .”
“Gads, must you always argue with me?” he demanded with a weak smile.
Allowing her gaze to lower to the shredded jacket, Simone noted that most of the blood had already begun to dry. Perhaps the wounds had not been as severe as she had first feared.
In any event, she could always send for a doctor once they reached Mayfair.