London, 1824
The vellum note shook in Lenore’s trembling fingers,
blurring the letters.
Not that it mattered, as she’d read the missive twice.
Rafael Villar, the interim Lord Vampire of London,
requested her presence.
When his carriage arrived to fetch her, it took every
vestige of her will to leave the comfortable townhouse
Lord Villar had leased for her, and accept his driver’s
aid into the ornate conveyance.
Her shivering increased as the carriage rolled down the
cobblestone street, despite the warmth of her fur-lined
cloak. She tried to remind herself that Lord Villar had
always been kind to her, even more so since she’d saved
his reign— and likely his life— by reporting his former
second in command’s treachery to the Elders.
Yet the prospect of facing the stern, surly Spaniard
whose authority held supreme power over her fate turned
her blood to ice.
The shivers turned to full-fledged tremors when the
carriage drew to a stop in front of the gargantuan
Elizabethan manor.
“It will be all right,” the driver said as he opened the
door and beheld her pallor. “You’ve done His Lordship a
great service. His summons can only mean he wishes to
reward you further.”
She ran a nervous tongue across her fangs and nodded as
he helped her alight.
The last time she’d been to Burnrath House was when Lord
Villar had held a party in her honor for aiding him. He’d
presented her with a deed to a cozy townhouse so she no
longer had to spend her days sleeping in the crypts.
She suspected this visit would be less festive. Villar
was not a man given to social niceties or casual
meetings. Since he’d already expressed his gratitude,
he’d only call her to him to issue a command or a
reprimand.
Her breath constricted in her lungs as her heart began to
pound. The tremble in her hands spread throughout her
limbs. Another attack threatened. Lenore closed her eyes
and focused on breathing slow and deep while she focused
on things that made her happy. Hot tea… a warm fireplace…
a kitten’s purr. By the time the butler took her cloak,
Lenore had a tenuous grasp of control.
The interim Lord Vampire of London awaited her in his
study, his scarred face grave. His newly Changed wife
leaned against the desk beside him, offering Lenore a
reassuring smile.
“Thank you for answering my summons so promptly, Lenore.”
Lord Villar’s voice was rife with forced gentleness. “How
are you this evening?”
“Uneasy,” she answered honestly.
His scars pulled taut as he smiled, though his amber eyes
remained dark with… pity? “I understand.” Reaching into
his pocket, he withdrew his cigar case.
Lenore watched with rapt awe as he lit the cigar with a
hand that had once been so crippled from burns that his
entire left arm had been paralyzed. But then Cassandra,
formerly his mortal prisoner and now his bride, had
performed a miracle and repaired it. She was now the
first vampire physician in London.
“I’ve received a letter from the Lord of Rochester.”
Rafael gave her an expectant look, as if she should know
what this had to do with her.
Lenore’s attention snapped from Rafael’s hand, her eyes
darting up to meet his face, though her mind conjured the
image of another, more potent, visage.
Only last autumn, Rochester had found her stumbling
within the boundaries of his territory, broken from
multiple assaults, starved, and so weak she had collapsed
before him. He’d revived her with his own blood and aided
her in making the most important journey of her life.
She’d thanked Rochester profusely for his kindness.
He’d laughed coldly.
“Oh, I would not say I am helping you out of kindness.
You will owe me a favor for this, Lenore, as will Lord
Villar. And I always collect my debts.”
Lenore’s breath left her body as those past words slammed
her back into the present.
“He has called in the debt I owe him,” she whispered.
Rafael blinked in surprise. “Actually, he is asking for
what I owe him for his aid in my battle against Clayton.
I hadn’t known that you owed him a price as well.”
Blowing out a cloud of blue smoke, he shrugged. “Though
now the price he is asking of me makes more sense.”
“What does he want?” Lenore asked through numb lips.
Villar’s low answer was like a thunderclap. “You.”
