How the devil was she supposed to find a tiny gargoyle among the confusion?
Rubbing her nose at the potent stench that clogged the air, Juliet was considering the nearest warehouse when her skin abruptly prickled with warning, a chill wrapping around her.
A dark premonition crawled up her spine and with a gasp she whirled. Her heart lodged in her throat at the sight of the Marquis DeRosa, his raven hair pulled back to reveal the stark beauty of his face and his eyes shimmering pure silver in the moonlight.
“Now what, I wonder, would entice a young and innocent maiden to the docks at this hour?” he mocked softly.
She pressed a hand to her churning stomach, her brows drawing together in annoyance.
“My lord.”
“Victor.”
“I wish you would not sneak up on me.”
The cape swirled around his powerful body as he stepped toward her, reaching out to cup her chin in his slender hand.
“You should be thanking whatever god you pray to that I am the one sneaking up on you. It is beyond foolish to be wandering the streets alone.”
With a shiver, she jerked from his touch.
How could a touch so cold send streaks of fire through her body?
“I am more likely to curse the evil spirit that crossed our paths. What are you doing here?”
“Attempting to keep you from an early grave.”
Her eyes widened. “Did you follow me?”
His aquiline nose wrinkled in delicate distaste. “I can imagine no other reason to bring me to such a repugnant neighborhood.”
Her hands clenched at her sides at his blatant confession. “Why, you…”
A raven brow flicked upward. “Yes?”
“You have no right to spy on me. I am not one of your concubines.”
The silver eyes flashed with a ruthless intent as he framed her face in his hands, his intoxicating scent filling her senses.
“No, never my concubine,” he agreed, lowering his head to stroke his lips down the curve of her cheek, halting to nuzzle the corner of her mouth.
“Halt that,” she breathed, desperately attempting to fight the acute pleasure of his touch.
God almighty, she craved this vampire. She logically comprehended that the beautiful demon would be a lethal addiction for any female stupid enough to fall victim to his seduction. Still, her body ached to be in his arms, the feel of his fangs feeding greedily at her neck as he plunged deep inside her.
Which was far more terrifying than any hidden dangers that lurked among the docks.
Closing her eyes, she poured her thoughts into the amulet hung about her neck, feeling its heat prickle over her skin until Victor abruptly jerked his hands away.
He narrowed his eyes, astonishingly appearing more aroused than offended by her little parlor trick.
“Ah, you enjoy playing rough, little one?”
“I simply want you to go away.”
“Juliet, be assured that hell will freeze over before I allow you to remain here alone,” he said, the cold power of his voice sending the rats scurrying in fear and making the humans glance over their shoulders in unease. They would have no notion of why they were suddenly fidgety, only that they wished they were at a nearby pub. “Tell me why you are roaming these docks.”
Her jaw tightened, but she was not entirely stupid. Beneath Victor’s polished charm was a dangerous edge that warned he would not leave until he was satisfied.
“I am searching for a friend.”
“Friend? Or lover?” he silkily demanded.
She blinked in shock at the abrupt question. “That is none of your concern.”
“Do not pretend ignorance. You have known from our first encounter that I would not tolerate another man in your bed.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs, her mouth dry. “You truly are an arrogant ass.”
“Tell me.” He grasped her shoulders, his eyes glittering with a fierce emotion. “Are you here to meet a lover?”
“No.” Grimly she forced herself to meet his stark, possessive gaze, her chin tilting. “If you must know, I am searching for Levet.”
“Levet?”
“The gargoyle. He is in trouble.”
His fingers eased their grip on her shoulders, but his expression remained hard with warning in the wash of moonlight.
“Bloody hell. You risked your life for a deformed gargoyle who is not even worthy of being a part of his Guild?”
She stiffened. “There happen to be many of us who are unworthy to belong to a Guild or a clan or a coven, my lord. That does not mean we cannot possess friends who care for us.”
“Juliet—”
Victor’s words were brought to a sharp halt as a distinct sizzle flared through the air and then, without warning, Juliet felt herself being hauled to the ground. Victor covered her with his body just as a strike of lightning hit a building on the other side of the quay.
She heard the sound of distant shouts of alarm as humans rushed away from the unexpected shower of brick and glass, but with fluid speed, Victor was on his feet and scooping Juliet in his arms as he headed into the nearest warehouse.
There was the overwhelming stench of damp wool and smoke from the oil lanterns as Victor flowed past the stacked crates to the back of the long room, his movements silent and swift. Halting next to the heavy wooden doors, Victor set her gently on her feet and scanned their surroundings for potential threats.
“Is it pixies?” Juliet demanded, tugging down her loose shirt. Thank God she had possessed the sense to trade her corset and skirts for more suitable garments.
Victor tossed aside his cloak and removed his elegant jacket and waistcoat, carelessly dropping the expensive, but restrictive, clothing on the filthy floor.
“Why would you suspect pixies?” he demanded.
“Levet claimed that they attract lightning.”
“It is true a nest might occasionally draw upon the energy of a storm to enhance their magic, but they are not capable of creating lightning from a clear sky.”
Juliet grimaced. Of course it could not be a nest of harmless pixies.
“Then what creature is capable?”
“A mage.” He sent a questioning glance in her direction. “Or witch.”
She paused, then gave a decisive shake of her head. “No. There have been no spells cast. At least none in this neighborhood.”
“No magical objects?”
“Nothing with the power to—”
Again they were interrupted by that peculiar prickling in the air followed by a violent shake of the warehouse, as if the lightning had struck the slate roof.