“Are you not feeling well?”
“I seem to have developed a pain in my neck.”
Without giving Levet time to halt her retreat, Juliet left the attics, taking a direct route through the candlelit corridors to her private chambers.
Normally she found a sense of pleasure when she entered the sitting room decorated in shades of blue and ivory, with solid English furniture that had been designed for comfort rather than fashion. And most charming of all, the tall, arched windows that overlooked the cobblestone road. She adored spending her mornings sipping chocolate while seated on the cushioned window seat and watching the neighbors go about their business.
Tonight, however, she headed straight for the connected room, preparing for bed with stiff, angry movements.
She could call for a maid, of course. Justin had a full staff of servants, all of them of mixed demon blood so that Juliet had no need to pretend to be human. But she was in no mood to endure the curious gaze and inane chatter of her maid.
She only wished to crawl beneath her covers and pretend she was far away from London and the Marquis DeRosa.
Much to her surprise, Juliet managed to slip into a deep sleep, although it was marred with nightmares of being trapped in a small cellar while something—or someone—crept toward the door.
If she were a practicing witch, she might have attempted to discover the deeper meaning of her vivid dream and the choking fear that had seemed far too real. But with no genuine power beyond her ability to sense magic, she was willing to dismiss the vague premonition when Levet’s voice echoed through her head.
“Juliet,” the gargoyle called. “Sacre bleu, wake up.”
“Levet?” Sitting up, Juliet glanced around the empty room, her father’s demon blood giving her the ability to see no matter how dark it might be. “Levet, where are you?”
“I am speaking to you through your mind.”
She frowned, lifting a hand to her temple. “I wish you would not. It is making me dizzy.”
“Non, do not sever our bond. I need you, ma belle.”
“Now?”
“Oui. I am in trouble.”
Juliet’s heart missed a beat at the unmistakable edge of panic in the gargoyle’s voice.
“Dear God, are you hurt?”
“For now only my pride is injured, but I sense the future of my health is not at all certain. In truth, ma belle, it appears to be particularly dire.”
Barely realizing she was moving, Juliet crawled from the bed and headed for the smaller of the two armoires. Her fey blood demanded that she occasionally escape the confines of the city and surround herself with nature. She always kept several sets of loose smocks and pants that were more fitting for a stable boy than a young lady of society. Perfect for her long afternoons in the woods.
“Where are you?”
“I am not entirely certain.”
“Levet, you are not being excessively helpful,” she said, swiftly exchanging her night shift for the pants and smock, as well as a pair of boys’ boots. “I need to know where to begin my search if you desire to be rescued.”
“And you think that has not occurred to me?” Levet barked. “Had I known I was to be attacked and held hostage I would have been clever enough to leave a trail of bread crumbs for you to follow.”
Juliet moved to the dresser and began pinning her thick curls on top of her head.
“Do you wish my assistance or not?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then tell me what happened.”
“After you left me alone to entertain myself I decided to visit the docks.”
“Why in heaven’s name would you…?” Juliet bit off her words as realization struck. “The pixies. Really, Levet.”
“I am a gargoyle, not a saint. And you were the one to tempt me with the promise of pixies.”
Juliet stiffened at the ludicrous accusation. “I did no such thing.”
“Juliet, something is coming,” Levet hissed, his fear potent enough to spill through her. “Please, ma petite, I need you.”
There was a painful wrench, and abruptly her connection to the gargoyle was severed.
“Damn.”
Pausing only long enough to shove a knit hat over her curls, she clambered out her window and jumped the short distance to the nearby tree.
She might not possess Justin’s terrifying magic or Victor’s icy power, but she was willing to do whatever necessary to rescue her one true friend.
No matter what the danger.
The estate of the Marquis DeRosa was less than a half-hour ride from London, but it provided all the space and privacy a vampire craved.
Built of white stone, it was designed along pure, classical lines with massive marble columns and tall windows that overlooked the manicured lawn and distant lake.
It was not the first manor house built on that precise spot. Victor had, after all, owned the property for several hundred years. But like all the others before, it was constructed as much for security as for luxury.
The vast grounds were guarded during the evening by his clan brothers, while the daylight hours were protected by poisonous Bguli demons who could defeat all but the most powerful enemies. The house itself was wrapped in hexes to keep out unwelcome intruders, including any overly forward humans.
Not that the elaborate defenses were actually necessary.
Only a demon or mortal anxious to seek his grave would be stupid enough to invade Victor’s lair.
Not without invitation.
Sprawled in a massive wooden chair that had once belonged to a Roman general who had the misfortune to kill a human under clan protection, Victor surveyed the various guests who filled his elegant salon.
There was a combination of demons. Vampires, imps, several lovely nymphs, and a handful of human chattel, all of whom were extraordinarily beautiful, and all eager to capture Victor’s brooding attention.
A pity he had no interest in the half-naked bodies that were deliberately poised on the chaise longues and large pillows tossed across the carpet. The tasty feast might be perfectly calculated to sate a hungry vampire, but Victor felt nothing more than cold apathy.
Waving away the silver-haired nymph attired in a thin gauze gown who knelt at his feet with her head tilted in silent invitation, he ruefully accepted that his once varied and exotic taste had now been reduced to one particular female.
A female whom he was still no closer to having in his bed.
His slender fingers were tapping a restless tattoo on the scrolled arm of the chair, his body aching for Miss Juliet Lawrence, when the far doors were thrust open to reveal a tall vampire with a halo of brown curls and large brown eyes.