There was so much Ophelia wanted to know. Why had her brother become a vampire slayer? How had he found her? There was no time for questions. Nor to find out about her brother’s life for the years she had not been there.

Harry groaned. “I don’t know where to find the vampire queens. I don’t even know them all. There are several, all representing different clans of vampires, and they either work together, or they war with each other. This is one I do not know, but I did hear the vampire Ravenhunt use the name Jade. We have to go to men I know. Men I work with.”

He tried to pull her to get her moving. She resisted.

“I am sorry,” her brother said quickly. “You are in your nightgown. But we do not have time for you to dress. We’ll put a cloak over you, get you to Lady Brookshire’s, and she will look after you.”

“Lady Brookshire?”

“She is also a member of the Royal Society. She is a vampire, like her husband, but she is one who can be trusted.”

Ophelia felt like Ravenhunt: racing to the rescue without wearing clothes. Harry thought she wore a nightgown, but that wasn’t true. She was naked beneath the robe.

“I had my carriage follow behind me when I followed this Ravenhunt from Frederica’s house.” Harry frowned. “The Earl of Brookshire is a vampire. Does this mean—hell, would this mean Ravenhunt could pretend he was still alive and reclaim the title? Could he be head of Frederica’s home? I tried to slay him—”

“Harry, we can worry about this later.” Then she grasped his arm. “You didn’t hurt him, did you?”

“No.”

A shiver went down her back. He’d said that ruefully.

“Come on, we must rescue them.” But would her brother, a vampire slayer, rescue Ravenhunt? Or would he want to kill Ravenhunt?

No, Harry couldn’t kill the brother of the woman he loved. No man would do such a terrible thing.


Ophelia followed Harry into the foyer of the Earl of Brookshire’s residence. Over her belted robe, she had on her black cloak, the one borrowed from Ravenhunt. She had stuck her feet into light shoes so she did not have to waste time with boots.

Her brother insisted she had nothing to fear from Brookshire. After all, he was a vampire.

Still, she was ready to run—or defend herself—as two men emerged from one of the gilt-trimmed doors that led to the foyer. Her time with Raven had given her courage.

She had explained everything to Harry: about Ravenhunt kidnapping her, protecting her, saving her life, then being willing to die to take her power and give her a normal life.

The Earl of Brookshire stalked toward her, accompanied by another blond gentleman who looked so much like him, they had to be brothers. An elegant auburn-haired lady hurried down the stairs, holding up the hem of her green silk gown. A young girl pursued her, waist-length golden-red curls bouncing.

Lady Brookshire stopped midway down, staring at Ophelia with wide green eyes. Her gaze went to Harry, lingering there for moments. A dazzling smile illuminated her face. She reached out with a pale, elegant hand, and drew the child to her side, stroking the girl’s small shoulder.

“Goodness, Darlington, you have found your sister. This is remarkable. And wonderful!”

Ophelia had seen female vampires at Mrs. Darkwell’s house. Lady Brookshire was one of the most beautiful ones she’d ever seen. Her pale skin glowed, almost like starlight. Her lips were full and red, her hair a rich auburn that gleamed like flame. She looked so friendly Ophelia felt instantly she could trust Lady Brookshire.

“I just rescued Ophelia from the house of a vampire—” Harry broke off and his cheeks went red. “My apologies, Lady Brookshire, I meant a vampire who is not part of the Royal Society. He is a dangerous predator. It turns out that my fiancée did not lose her brother in battle. He was turned by Queen Jade.”

“This sounds complicated.” Lady Brookshire came down the stairs and approached Ophelia. She clasped Ophelia’s hand. “I believe I see a robe underneath your cloak, and I suspect you have run away from somewhere in your nightclothes.”

“Well . . .” Her cheeks heated as swiftly as her brother’s. “That is sort of what happened. I don’t have any clothes.”

“I have to rescue my fiancée,” Harry declared. “Will you allow Ophelia to stay here, where she will be safe? There are men of the Royal Society who have tried to hurt her.”

“What is this?” Brookshire demanded. “Men of the Royal Society?”

“I don’t have time to explain, Brookshire. I have to get to Frederica. Queen Jade has taken Ravenhunt’s sister prisoner. They are threatening to kill her.”

“This is an attack on you?” Brookshire demanded of Harry.

“No,” Ophelia cried. “It is all because of me. I had a power—a wretched power that kills people—and others want it. A vampire queen wants it. Someone hired Mr. Ravenhunt to kidnap me to take my power for them. I don’t know who, but I think it was men of your Royal Society. But now the queen has taken Ravenhunt’s sister as a hostage to ensure she gets the power.”

She looked at them all. They must think her mad. “There’s so much to explain, but there isn’t time. I need to dress. Ravenhunt is going to sacrifice himself for his sister. He wants to do it, but I don’t want to let him. I want to save him, but I need to have clothes. I need to go with you, Harry, to the vampire queens.”

“Which queen is it?” the second blond man asked.

“That is my husband’s brother, Mr. Sebastian de Wynter,” Lady Brookshire explained. “Now we must move quickly. You come with me, Lady Ophelia, and I will find you clothing. The men can determine which queen this is and how to carry out a rescue.”

Lady Brookshire spoke soothingly, and she put her hand on Ophelia’s back and guided her toward the stairs. But Ophelia balked. There was one logical reason they were leaving the men to discuss things—to arrange for her to be left behind.

“I must go, too,” Ophelia cried. “No one else would try to save Ravenhunt.” And Ravenhunt would be the least likely to try to save himself.

“Of course, you will go.” Lady Brookshire looked up and locked gazes with her husband.

“It’s too dangerous,” Harry insisted.

“It would be wiser for her to stay here,” Brookshire began.

“You know what women are like, my dear husband,” her ladyship said softly. “We will go, so there is no point trying to sneak away. You will all be in grave danger if you do.”

“From Jade?” Harry asked, frowning.

“No, from your sister and me. You men will need weapons, and you will need to plan. That will take several minutes. In that time, Ophelia, you can dress. Let us not waste more time.”

A few minutes. Ophelia did not know how long she had. Raven had left with the vampire queen just before her brother had found her. It had taken them less than half an hour to reach Brookshire’s house.

But what if she was already too late?


His sister was so lovely, so innocent, and she had fainted dead away the moment she saw him.

Raven paced in his cell, in the basement of the house used by Queen Jade. Rats scampered through the dark. He hissed at them, baring his fangs to scare them away.

He had let Jade lock him in here. He had followed Jade docilely down the stairs with his hands tied behind his back, though both knew he could have broken the bonds easily. With Frederica’s life in danger, he could not disobey. He could not try to escape.

Until he rid himself of the power, he couldn’t even touch Frederica.

Raven gripped the iron bars that fronted his cage. He had demanded of Jade one small favor—he had wanted to give up the power and rescue his sister, but he had not wanted his sister to see him after. Frederica was to be taken home, and he would ensure she never set eyes on him again. After all, once he turned the power over to Jade, he would be destroyed.

It was like a punch in the gut to be so close to his sister, and to know he had to turn his back on her forever. But she had been shocked so badly to discover he was alive. He could not break her heart completely to let her discover he was a vampire.

This was for her sake.

Jade was to tell his sister that she had imagined seeing him. That it had been a hallucination, brought on by fear, or by opium, or whatever lie Jade could concoct. Frederica was to be left to believe he was dead.

It would bring her peace. And he would be—finally—actually dead.

“You are troubled, my beautiful one.”

The sultry voice belonged to Jade. Deep in thought, he had not sensed her approach. The basement was pitch dark, but he saw her, of course. Jade wore a loose black gown made entirely of lace. She moved as if she heard an imaginary waltz, like a feather floating upon a breeze. When she wanted, she could make her every step sexually arousing. Using the walk Raven remembered, she approached his cell.

He wasn’t aroused. He hated this woman who had turned him.

When he’d been bleeding to death in the dirt in Ceylon, she had come to him. “You are too beautiful to die,” she’d said. As he lay there, feeling damned cold, and wondering why he’d ever thought hunting for battles was a solution, she’d drained his blood, taking him to the point of unconsciousness. Then she’d ripped a gash in her wrist and put it to his mouth.

The blood had slicked over his lips. He’d thought he wanted death. If he’d died then, he would have died honorably, and his soul would have gone to heaven.

But when Jade had told him he could live if he took her blood, he’d drunk it. He’d grasped at life. The joke was that he wasn’t alive, he was undead.