“Then how do you explain four young maidens all found in their beds with nary a drop of blood left between them?”
The blacksmith shivered in spite of himself. He was considered a brawny man who had never backed away from a fight, and more often than not was called in when the magistrate was in need of a bit of muscle. These peculiar murders, however, had unnerved even him.
How did one fight a shadow that moved through locked doors and could kill without a sound?
“A madman,” he retorted in forceful tones that were meant to convince himself as well as the man seated across the scarred table. “And my bet is upon old Fedmor. I always said as how he wasn’t right in the head.”
“Fedmor?” The ferryman gave a scoffing laugh. “The poor sod is so in his cups most nights he couldn’t find his way to the door. How could he creep about murdering poor innocents without so much as a squeak?”
The blacksmith shifted uneasily. “Then Dalmer. Everyone knows that he’s queer in the head.”
“And how did he take their blood with only two holes in their necks?”
“Blimey, how am I to know what a madman can do?”
The ferryman suddenly leaned forward, his pale eyes glittering with fearful intensity.
“I’m telling you that we have a vampire on the loose in the neighborhood and I for one intend to take my gels to Salisbury for a nice long visit with their aunt.” He gave a shake of his head. “Won’t have them becoming fodder for some demon from hell.”
The blacksmith took a deep drink of his ale, refusing to give in to the panic that was swiftly turning the villagers into babbling idiots. So far he had halted several young boys who were intent on stoning a feeble old woman, and the father of one of the murdered girls from attacking the vicar.
“Dicked in the nob, you are. Vampires.” He gave a loud humph. “Next you’ll be telling me we have witches dancing about the maypole.”
The ferryman abruptly rose to his feet, his expression one of contempt.
“Stay and die if you like. For me, better a month of Aunt Celia’s sharp tongue than dying in me own bed.”
Not far from the inn Tristan stroked the hair of the aging servant who knelt at his feet.
It had taken several days to discover the tart, ill-tempered woman who had once been the housekeeper for Lady Gilbert. Not surprisingly, the various relatives who had been landed with the tartar after the Gilbert household had been closed down had done their best to send her as far away as possible.
At last he had managed to track her down to a crumbling cottage near the coast, where she bullied the local children and terrified the vicar.
Putting aside his delight in feasting upon the local maidens, he at last slipped into the cottage and confronted the elderly servant.
Within moments his Inscrollment spell had put an end to her bitter tongue, and she was crawling upon her knees in an effort to please him.
It had still been an effort to at last discover the information that he had sought. Lady Gilbert had been even more clever and treacherous than he thought possible. Indeed, if it had not been for the small miniature that the housekeeper had stolen from the estate to remind her of her mistress, he might never have realized the scandalous ruse.
Now he allowed a pleased smile to touch his lips as the older woman gazed at him with mindless adoration.
“I have pleased you?” she demanded in anxious tones.
He fingered the tiny portrait with his pale fingers. “Oh yes, you have pleased me very much.”
“I only desire to serve you.”
“Yes, now I believe my work here is done.”
“You are leaving?”
“Yes.”
She abruptly clutched at the hem of his coat, threatening to wrinkle the superfine fabric.
“Take me with you.”
Tristan batted her hands away in annoyance. Really, humans were so tediously weak.
“That is not possible.”
Tears openly ran down the wrinkled cheeks as she clutched her hands together.
“No, you cannot leave me. Please.”
He slipped the miniature carefully into his pocket before allowing the heat to begin coursing through his blood. He could not leave witnesses to his questioning, despite the fact he had little taste for bitter old women.
He could feel his fangs grow as he thrust his fingers into her hair and jerked her upward.
“Do not fear,” he mocked as her eyes widened. “I have a gift for you before I leave.”
“What ...”
Her words came to an abrupt end as Tristan lowered his head and sank his teeth into her neck. Just for a moment her feet kicked in agony, her moans filling the dark, dank cottage. Then just as abruptly she went utterly limp and Tristan tossed her onto the dirt floor.
Removing a dainty lace handkerchief he dabbed at his wet lips. He had what he had been searching for, he acknowledged as the power surged through his body.
Soon Lady Gilbert would be anxious to hand over her Medallion.
And he would be feasting upon her blood.
A pity he had been forced to destroy Gideon before he could appreciate the sight of his lover being drained of her life.
Sending away his valet who had been hovering over him like a mother hen since he had been carried home from the brewery, Gideon set about tying his cravat.
Although it had only been a few hours since the attack, there was no trace of the wounds that had been inflicted by Tristan’s servants. His countenance was once again smooth and his chest unmarred by scars.
Still, the horror of discovering Simone at the mercy of those villains remained firmly seared upon his heart.
A fine shiver raced through his body.
If anything had happened to her ...
“Very nice, Gideon,” a rich female voice applauded from the center of the room. “But then, you always were a handsome gentleman.”
With a sinuous motion Gideon had pulled the dagger from beneath his coat and whirled to confront the intruder. He froze at the sight of the shabby, gray-haired gypsy who stood regarding him with a mysterious smile.
“Nefri,” he breathed, instinctively bowing low in respect. Even from a distance he could feel the power that radiated from her small, bent form and the relentless intelligence that burned in the dark eyes.
“Stop that nonsense,” she commanded with a hint of amusement in her tone. Waiting until he had straightened she waved a gnarled hand in the direction of a nearby chair. “Sit down so I do not need to strain my neck to look you in the eye.”
Obediently lowering himself into the chair, Gideon regarded her with a faint frown. Even though she was using her powers to alter her appearance, he realized that she would not have revealed herself if the need were not dire.