Crimson Kisses

Diane Whiteside

Annapolis, Maryland, 31 December 1865

“May I have your blessing upon our marriage, sir?” Edmund Devereaux injected a coaxing tone into his request, rife with hope and a nervous suitor’s eagerness.

Silence echoed on the other side of the room, bitterly suspicious. The room was like a banker’s boardroom rather than a relaxed family parlour.

For the first time during Edward’s long-rehearsed speech, terror pricked Sarah’s spine and her smile thinned. Was Edmund’s request more than her father was able to grant? Certainly not. Besides, he’d given his word to listen and Edmund, normally so cavalier towards the opinions of others, was trying very hard to be humble on this all-important occasion.

They stood in the library, the very heart of her father’s power at the family plantation outside Maryland’s capital. A single chandelier focused all attention on her father – the great estate’s lord – where he sat enthroned behind the immense desk, its mahogany gleaming like old blood from decades of polishing. Inlays of ebony and swirls of brass accented more mahogany climbing the walls to meet the enormous collection of medieval daggers, their blades a veiled warning.

The gaslight from the library’s chandelier lovingly burnished her lover’s dark hair and lit flames in his blue eyes until he seemed an angel come to earth. Tonight he wore American-made evening dress, not his native London-made clothes, and he stood before her father’s desk as politely – if not quite as meekly – as a political crony, come to buy a favour from Maryland’s mightiest broker of votes.

Only an expert eye could have discerned the knife hidden up Edmund’s sleeve and George Calvert, her father, had always hired that type of skill.

Sarah tilted her chin just a fraction higher, denying the demons of fear and doubt. She smiled at her lover even more warmly, to deliberately, silently, unite his request with hers. The crystalline music of a Chopin waltz whispered through the door, inviting them to better places.

“No,” said the Calvert patriarch and folded his arms across his chest, arrogant with an assurance that came from generations of never losing a serious fight. “My daughter is far too young to settle down.”

She gaped at him, unable to speak. He regularly lied in political circles but he’d never reversed a family pledge before, let alone one given as recently as a few months ago.

“You promised us last spring, sir, that if we waited until after Christmas,” Edmund began, diplomacy shading into anger in his deep voice.

“I said I would consider your suit.” Her father’s thick beard folded over his crisp shirtfront like a pagan sanctuary’s veil, concealing wisdom only its initiates cared about. “She has seen too little of the world to know her own mind.”

“I am nineteen, sir.” Sarah forced herself back from an angry retort. “By the laws of this state, that is more than old enough.”

“You asked for my permission and I will not give it. More than that, I insist on protecting my daughter from a misalliance with an older man.” His stare was knife-studded.

Dear heavens, Sarah thought, if he only knew how much older. . .

“She has lived outside a war-torn city for the past five years. How much more of the world does she need to see to become an adult?” Edmund demanded.

“She needs to spend at least six more years under her father’s roof, as his hostess.” The old autocrat bared yellowing teeth at them in a smile’s mockery, certain of his advantage.

“In six years I’ll inherit my trust fund from Mother and you won’t have the interest to live on any more!” Her future would be acid-etched without her lover.

“You scurrilous, money-loving whoreson,” Edmund finally, neatly summed up her father.

Sarah stomped her foot in agreement – and destroyed any chance of obtaining George Calvert’s consent to her marriage.

South of Annapolis, Maryland, summer 1866

Hoof beats threaded the night like a spiked chain. Metal rattled and clanked in accompaniment, singing of their riders’ guns and sabres. Salt gritted the heavy mist of the marsh, clambering among the thick groves of trees. It probed the two faces of the riders beneath the deep hoods of their cloaks, just as the few glimmers of silvery moonlight did.

A hound howled and was answered by another, then a third, and finally the entire pack.

Ice sliced through Sarah’s veins more strongly than the late summer’s night heat would account for. Mother of God, her father had brought the entire kennel out to hunt her. He was angry enough to want more than the troops his political connections at Washington City had sent him.

The familiar sound of the hoof beats made her mare falter and try to turn back to join the horses pursuing them. Sarah checked her mount instinctively, ruthlessly, her heart beating somewhere in her throat.

Edmund’s hand shot out to grab her horse’s reins but she’d already brought Daisy back on course. They galloped on, side by side. They had to reach Baltimore before dawn to catch the tide and the next boat to Europe.

But how could they escape the dogs she’d helped whelp and train, and who knew her scent better than their own?

Cassius and the other hounds bayed again, the high piercing notes which meant they’d found her trail. The hoof beats behind them sped up and her pulse stumbled. She’d never thought her father could string together a farrago of lies sufficient to draw troops out of Washington, no matter how nervous they were after Lincoln’s assassination last year. God willing, they wouldn’t be so hot on the chase that they’d shoot her and Edmund, no matter what their orders might be.

She glanced sideways, desperate for the reassurance which had never failed her.

Edmund rode beside her, his big body as perfectly poised as any cat, his long-fingered hands relaxed on Firedrake’s reins. His crooked smile flashed for a moment below his broad-brimmed hat and he waggled a single finger at her.

Warmth glided over her skin, sweet and golden as the single drop of his blood he sometimes let her taste. She turned towards him, forgetting the rutted track and the tree branches grabbing for her cloak, the gibbering moonlight and her unhappy mare, or the Chesapeake Bay only a few feet away. She might be too young to settle down, according to her dictatorial father, but she knew where her future lay.

The road swerved diagonally in front of their pursuers. The mist melted towards the ground, trapped in a dying bramble bush.

BANG! A giant fireball slammed into her right shoulder and she tumbled forwards, over Daisy’s neck and almost out of the saddle. An agonizing, ferocious, bestial pain overwhelmed her senses.

“Ahhh. . .” Sarah bit her lip before she could scream. Daisy stumbled, unbalanced by her rider’s strange antics.

Edmund snatched Sarah out of the saddle and swung her up in front of him onto his horse, sending another jolt of fire-bright agony lashing into her.

She would not scream, she would not.

His arm was iron-hard around her, promising safety, and she turned her face into his chest, instinctively making herself into the smallest, easiest to carry bundle possible. She would stay with him for ever, no matter what happened.

Edmund gave Daisy a single, ferocious slap on her flank and the poor mare, who’d never been treated with anything but kindness before, galloped desperately away. Sarah closed her lips on a protest.

Cursing under his breath, Edmund wheeled Firedrake and sent him through a tiny gap between the trees and across a small creek. Soon the big stallion stood in a clearing at the centre of a thicket perhaps a hundred feet from the road, his master’s unyielding hand on the reins forcing him to remain still. The moonlight was clearer here but scattered by clouds scudding across it and tree branches clawing at its edges.

Sarah closed her eyes and wondered how Edmund was keeping Firedrake silent. It was better to think about that than about the thousands of demons still digging the bullet into her shoulder, or about how much blood she had lost to make her cloak, dress, corset cover, corset and chemise cling to her skin within so few minutes. She reached to pull the sodden clothing away from her aching skin with her wounded arm but it wouldn’t move. A moment’s ferocious concentration only encouraged the demons to pound harder and she managed to make her fingers brush across Edmund’s arm. Nothing more. She was helpless.

Oh no, no, no.

Hoof beats pounded down the road towards them and went past, following Daisy. The dogs hesitated but her father angrily called them to heel.

Terror washed over Sarah, its crystalline bite cutting through her shoulder’s agony. She stiffened and tried to pull away from Edmund so she could hear more easily, but he held her closer, his body curving to place himself between her and the road. His heartbeat, which had been steady even while guiding fugitive slaves out of Virginia, thudded fast and hard under her cheek.

She kissed his chest, nuzzling his brocade vest. No matter what happened now, she had to believe they would remain together.

Father roared a profanity and sent the far wiser dogs on with the horsemen. Then a single, isolated set of hoof beats told of his departure and Sarah allowed herself to breathe once again, just a little.

“Beloved.” Edmund peeled her cloak back, sending another jolt of night-dark agony deeper into her gut. She bit down hard on her lip to stop the answering scream, not caring what she looked like.

“’Fore God, sweeting, how much blood did you lose?” As ever, when he was truly disturbed, Edmund’s language escaped to his youth of three centuries ago.

“Too much,” she answered honestly. Besides, she’d learned over the past seven years of working with him – first on the Underground Railway, then conveying spies into Virginia – that lies didn’t work with somebody who could read her mind.

“I must take you to a chirurgeon. A doctor,” he corrected himself.

Up ahead, the hoof beats had stopped and blended into a single massive drumbeat. Sarah stroked Edmund’s cheek, high up on his cheekbones near his steel-blue eyes, but not too close to the serpentine scar carving his face. The sky’s darkness was starting to claw at her vision, its edges tinted in crimson.

“Not without endangering them,” she reminded her lover, gathering her words carefully to aid her ridiculously weak chest. “Remember how the authorities slaughtered all those who helped John Wilkes Booth last year.”

His features turned to stone under her fingertips before he caught her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm. “Will you trust me to heal you, my heart? With my blood?”

“Always.” Her heart melted into the longing in his eyes and she gave him the simplest answer in the world.

He peeled back his glove and folded the empty leather, his breathing as ragged as her own. “Don’t watch, sweetheart. This might offend you.”

Her eyelids had been drooping, letting her drift into a warm darkness surrounded by his wonderful sandalwood scent. But such specious nonsense made her blink in astonishment.

“Are you worried I’ll be offended by your fangs?” she demanded, almost too astonished to keep her voice down.

He shrugged and his chin jutted stubbornly.

“When you’ve drunk from me so many times before, however lightly? Do you think I haven’t looked at least once?” She vehemently shook her head. “I love you, you dolt, no matter how long your teeth are or how bad your scars are – on your face, back, or elsewhere.”

“Sarah, my angel.” His harsh features softened and took on that glinting smile she loved – until he frowned again. “But are you certain?”

Her senses were swimming in a sea of grey mist. She truly shouldn’t have restarted an old argument, not here, not now.

“But if it will help you, I won’t watch,” she conceded as graciously as possible. If nothing else, closing her eyes might allow her enough concentration to feel better. She laid her head back against his shoulder and tried that strategy.

“God’s blood, Sarah, don’t you dare die now!”

A sharp whoosh and the sweet, metallic scent of blood sprang into the salt air. He pressed his wrist to her lips – strong and vibrant with life, framed by woollen cloth and leather, and pouring blood like a rich, tangy fountain.

She stared involuntarily, ice spilling into her stomach. There was so much more blood than he’d ever given her before, even during the most decadent love play.

“Drink, my love,” he crooned, his voice more alluring than the finest silk velvet. “I’m a vampiro mayor with three centuries under my belt. You need drink very little of my blood to live.”

Her head spun for an instant between a coal-grey abyss and red-spangled clouds. Edmund would never hurt her. In fact, he’d saved her life more than once during the late War between the States. She could trust him. More importantly, no matter what happened, she’d rather drink deep and remain with him to face the future.

She kissed his wrist, shaping her mouth to his gaping wound. It was healing fast, the way his injuries always did, and was now barely an inch across.

A mouthful of the scarlet liquor spilled down her throat. It was hot and tangy, sweet and pungent, something to savour and something to gulp all at the same time. Its scent sang through her nose and warmed her bones. It seemed as if flowers somehow dwelt in it and the promise of sunshine.

“Edmund,” she murmured. Her fingers tightened around him with all the strength that a lifetime around Maryland’s finest horses had given her. The darkness fled and heat sprang into life deep within her core. “Edmund, darling.”

She gulped greedily once again and he stroked her hair, his big hand shaking a little. “There now, my darling, there. All will be well. I’ll tell you when to stop so you won’t become a vampire, like me.”

She muttered something, more concerned with the sound of his words than their meaning, and took another swallow. Giving him blood had been more pleasurable – ah yes, the joys of being his lover! – but drinking from him carried its own delights.

The hounds bayed their hunting cry to the moon, long and loud. An instant later, the hoof beats seemed to stretch out into a vicious spike and pinpoint their exact hiding place with terrifying precision.

Sarah broke free from Edmund’s life-giving wrist. Her lungs powered her again and she could now balance herself against him, if she still couldn’t lean her weight fully on her injured side. But her heart was beating so hard it could have rattled her ribs.

“Damn their stubborn hides to hell!” Edmund half-raised himself in his saddle, then sat back down, making Firedrake sidle. “They should have followed Daisy halfway to Baltimore by now.”

“Cassius and the pack wouldn’t want to leave me.” That dog loved to find her, no matter how well she hid herself. It had always been a game before but the friendly hound couldn’t know that this time she truly wanted to be left alone. He’d bring her father and troops from the capital with him. There’d be the devil to pay.

A snow bank lurked inside Sarah’s bones, colder and heavier than after she was shot. But she could travel, albeit not far, thanks to drinking Edmund’s blood. Even so, where would they go? A hundred options lay before them but each one seemed guarded by a massive sword.

“We’ll circle around.” Edmund gathered up the reins.

She embraced the option that brought him the most safety. “You have to leave me behind.”

“Never.” Below his carved cheekbones, his lips were a slashing line in the shimmering light.

“Firedrake will travel faster if he only carries one.” She gave him the simplest excuse first, hoping he wouldn’t press her.

“We will do well enough.” His words were as hard-edged as his jaw.

“I cannot yet travel far,” she whispered, giving him the last of the truth. Wonderful as his blood had been for her, it hadn’t been enough. The musket ball was still lodged in her right shoulder and blood still seeped out.

“I cannot leave you here!” His words tore through the night and ripped at her heart. “I never hoped to find anyone like you to love and cherish. I will not permit you to depart my life.”

The hounds howled again. The horses carrying the troopers were near enough to be counted and their accoutrements named. Sarah shuddered from more than the night air but kept her eyes fixed on Edmund, willing him to be reasonable for once.

“If you leave now, the hounds will stay with me. Father will only be concerned to guard me, not hunt you. You and I can be reunited later.”

“How?” Edmund asked suspiciously, his eyes more shadowed than his hat brim could take credit for.

“Father has spoken of sending me to my aunt’s, a thousand miles away. I will agree to go, then wait for you to come for me.”

Edmund was silent, the skin on his face pulled taut.

The tack of the pursuing horses resolved itself into a cacophony of stirrups and bridles and bits. Father must be riding Lookout, the only horse with enough stamina to last the rest of the night. Firedrake’s ears flicked forwards, seeking his competition.

Sarah’s hand involuntarily tightened on Edmund’s sleeve. He covered it quickly with his own.

“Very well. You need a doctor and rest, which I cannot provide.” He kissed her fingers. “Tell me where to join you and I will be there.”

“Texas.”

“Texas?” His face suddenly seemed very white but surely that was impossible. His skin never changed colour, not even to darken or turn red under the sun.

“Austin, to be precise.”

He made a strangled sound, deep in his throat.

Terror flashed through her, carving into the sullen, roaring pain in her shoulder like a butcher breaking apart an ox. What other option did they have?

She watched him, hanging on every indrawn breath, every averted gaze.

When he didn’t voice anything more, she went on quickly, one ear tuned to the sounds coming from the road. “My aunt gives a grand ball every New Year’s Eve for all her neighbours. If you come to that. . .”

“I will be sure to find you.” He rubbed their linked fingers across his lips, his expression very grave. “I will come for you at midnight on New Year’s Eve, Sarah.”

Fear, as sharp as ice, lifted her skin from her bones.

“I will watch for you,” she assured him fiercely. “I will wait for you for ever.”

A very small smile touched his mouth then he kissed her, sweetly and all too gently, barely brushing his lips over hers. She whimpered deep in her throat, begging for more of him. Instead he lifted his head and nuzzled their intertwined fingers. “Dear, dear Sarah.”

Words of love and passion, of a desperate, futile plan to escape with him to London or Paris jumbled together on her tongue. The hoof beats of the hunters filled the marsh air, guided by the eager barking of the hounds. They must have almost reached the place where Firedrake had turned off the narrow road.

Edmund flung up his head to listen, his hat brim’s shadow snatching away his face from her eyes. But he dismounted with a courtier’s grace and seated her on a fallen log, wrapping her up in his coat as if she were a queen.

Sarah fought to hold memories of his warmth, his scent, his beautiful speed and grace. But she didn’t dare reach for him. He needed to leave. Even vampiros could be shot and killed.

Back up on Firedrake, he paused the great stallion at the clearing’s edge in a patch of moonlight. The dogs were very, very loud now, while the horses of their enemies were splashing through the inlet’s heavy waters to reach them.

“I’ll come for you at midnight,” Edmund said very clearly, “even if the devil himself should stand in the way.” He bowed, flourished his hat over his heart, and Firedrake reared, pawing at the moonlight as if marking the road back to her.

Sarah half rose, torn between whether to go with them despite the blood crawling still faster down her back or yell at him to ride on quickly. He vanished into the forest before her wounded lungs could catch air from the mist.

She sank back and buried her face in her hands, just as Cassius and her father erupted into the clearing.

Austin, Texas, 31 December 1866

“Governor Throckmorton.” Sarah sank into a deep curtsey and tried not to glance at the clock. For a moment, the spinning dancers and the candle flames from the overhead chandeliers blurred into a single, throbbing, fiery haze. Her stomach knotted but she desperately fought it back, promising it salvation later. Escape would come with Edmund but not for another hour.

“My dear Miss Calvert, how lovely you look. My wife and I are very glad you’re strong enough to join us.” He bowed gallantly over her left hand, his narrow dark eyes assessing her face.

“Oh, I would never miss my aunt’s grand ball,” she assured him, turning aside the former doctor’s unspoken enquiry. Arriving at her first Texas party with one arm in a sling made her conspicuous enough; publicly acknowledging weakness would make her even more noticeable. Above all else, she could not admit her true reasons for being here. It was best to blame her attendance on loyalty and a feminine longing to experience this truly remarkable gathering.

Considering that the site of the party was a new hotel in a muddy town more frequented by drunken soldiers than reliable bankers, the atmosphere was remarkably urbane. Crystal chandeliers sparkled above burgundy velvet drapes and golden walls, an excellent orchestra played for the many guests, while fine wines enhanced the consumption of delicious foods. She’d ensconced herself in a quiet corner between the band and one of the great windows overlooking the side street below, from which to watch the whirling dancers and her Aunt Mary’s triumphal progress among the throng. She also hoped to escape her relative’s more determined efforts to keep her close at hand, no matter where or what she was doing.

“May I introduce you to Don Rafael Perez, a long-time resident, and his lawyer Jean-Marie St Just?” The governor, who normally treated Texas’ military commanders with more brusque efficiency than courtesy, all but grovelled to the larger of the two men behind them. “We’re very lucky he – they – could join us tonight.”

“Gentlemen.” Sarah curtsied again. Both men were tall and wore superbly tailored eveningwear, probably from London. But any resemblance ended there. Mr St Just was slim and handsome, of the sort foolish maidens sighed over. Don Rafael was big enough to lift an enormous cannon, while his remote eyes beneath a brutal scar made him appear judge, jury and executioner all in one.

A thought brushed past her mind too quickly to be caught and vanished before she could examine it, but it was as if he’d heard her opinion of him.

“Señorita Calvert.” Don Rafael raised a single dark eyebrow then bowed with an overly ornate flourish. “We are very pleased to make your acquaintance.”

She flushed, convinced he was mocking her, and flashed her fan before her eyes for a moment’s grace. How much would the governor – or her aunt, the social climber – care if she ruffled this rooster’s plumage?

Thankfully, a ripple in the crowd provided a different distraction for her companions.

A man appeared at his elbow, clearly an Indian brave despite his formal white-man’s clothing. He seemed caught between reliability and wildness, like a well-trained war horse waiting for the bugle to sound.

Mr St Just stiffened, alarm flickering through his eyes although his features never changed. Don Rafael’s mouth tightened into a near snarl. For an instant, she thought she glimpsed pointed white teeth against his lips – like fangs. Impossible.

“And now, if you will excuse us, señorita? Governor? I fear we have urgent business elsewhere.” Don Rafael inclined his head to them and departed, paying little heed to Throckmorton’s veiled pleas for a rendezvous.

Heat pressed against her temples, heavy as a weighted cloth. A single bead of sweat gathered on the nape of her neck and sauntered down her spine.

Dizziness kicked Sarah again, vile as any jolt she’d experienced on the stagecoach trip from Maryland. Her wound had reopened along the way, leaving her ridiculously weak. She’d had to countermand her doctor’s orders in order to come here tonight.

“Are you sure you’re feeling well, Miss Calvert?” the governor enquired, his gaze passing quickly over her then sweeping the room beyond. She could almost hear him adding up how many important men he could speak to in his next few steps, now that he’d paid his duty to his hostess’s niece.

“Entirely so, thank you, especially after I catch a breath of fresh air.” She tilted her chin up, denying any longing to sit down. If Edmund were here, even that narrow chaise would be an ocean of comfort with him beside her.

“In that case, I’ll give you a doctor’s prescription and order you to step outside for a moment.”

“In that case – I shall certainly obey, doctor.” She smiled back at him and dropped a very small curtsey in mock humility. If she’d dipped any lower, she might have swayed and fallen.

She slipped between the curtains and onto the narrow balcony, a legacy of Texas’ Spanish ancestry. Its ornate stone railing was draped in heavy blankets for colour, making it into a cosy nest from the waist down. The night was dark, with the waning crescent moon lurking behind scudding storm clouds. The narrow side street lay below her, full of heavy shadows except for a few stray beams of light creeping out of the hotel. Drunken revelry roared out of the saloons a few blocks away as men and their companions celebrated the coming year. The heavy curtains and thick walls confined the ball’s cascading music to the interior of the building. Here and now, all was quiet.

One hour until midnight. Would Edmund come for her inside the party or outside? Would he be early or late?

Men burst out of the hotel and into the side street. Their scuffle was accented by the sound of fists slamming into flesh.

Could it be her lover? Sarah lunged for the railing of the balcony, her heart banging against her ribs.

A man cursed, only to be cut off by a gasp. Not Edmund, thank God. Sarah’s pulse recovered enough that she could study the quartet facing her from the alleyway.

“Damn you, let me go, you greaser.” A pig-faced man – his throat encircled by the Indian’s forearm, and a big knife at his throat – glared at the immaculate Don Rafael. The brute tried to spit but failed miserably.

Mr St Just surveyed him coldly, then took up watch by the main street.

Sarah shrank back below the balcony railing, her heart in her throat, but she could still hear them.

“Not until you understand Texas law.” Razors would have been gentler than Don Rafael’s voice. “The only vampiros permitted in this town are mine.”

Vampiros? He was a vampiro? Like Edmund? If she’d been feverish before, now she was colder than a glacier.

“Greedy bastard! There’s plenty of food here for you and many other vampiros besides. Why won’t you share it with visitors, like other patrones? Or are you afraid I’ll kill you and take it all?”

Somebody growled down below but not Don Rafael.

Sarah glanced back at the window but stayed still, trusting in the merciful God which had kept her hidden so far.

“You should have asked my permission before you came here and started breaking the peace, Michaels.” Don Rafael was unimpressed.

“I only did what all vampiros do – feed.”

“You caused fear and death to create the emotion you needed to be able to drink that blood.” Loathing cut through the night like a guillotine.

Death? But Edmund had only ever brought her great pleasure in exchange for a few drops of her blood. A horrified shudder shook Sarah to the bone.

“What of it?” The newcomer sounded genuinely startled.

“Not in my town.”

Sarah nodded mute agreement for the first time.

“So let me leave.”

“No. I rule Texas and I make the laws here. For this, you die.”

Just like that? In the middle of the night, Don Rafael would announce sentence of death? What of a trial and witnesses, in case he was wrong?

Her skin was an icy shell somewhere miles away from her flesh. Sarah reached behind her for the french door’s latch.

“But I did nothing I couldn’t do anywhere else! Even if you don’t approve of it, I swear I won’t bother you again if you’ll let me return to New Orleans.” Terror rippled through the captive’s voice.

Somebody spat into the street.

“Such behaviour may be common in that cesspool. Here, your life is already forfeit.”

Dear Lord, Don Rafael truly did mean to execute the fellow. And she couldn’t work the door latch while seated so that she could escape back into the ballroom. She rose stealthily to her feet and slithered along the wall to the exit. Slowly, carefully, she fumbled behind her skirts for the handle – and found herself looking back down into the alley again. She froze, afraid to move lest she be seen.

“Don Rafael—” Michaels began.

The big Spaniard caught the newcomer’s head between his hands and twisted it sharply to one side. A sharp crack reverberated through the narrow street and the three Texans jumped back. The body of Michaels crumpled, dissolving into dust before it reached the muddy ground. His garments closed over the wisps like a shroud.

Sarah crumpled onto the balcony floor and knuckled her fist into her mouth lest she scream. Edmund would die like that someday. Edmund, oh dear heavens, Edmund . . .

“God rest his soul,” Don Rafael said finally. “I’ll have a mass said for him tomorrow.”

“Neatly done, sir, to break his neck like that,” the Indian commented.

Sarah leaned her head back against the rough plaster wall and considered a thousand reasons why her stomach should hurl its contents through her throat. It certainly wanted to. It might even do so violently enough to have the results land on those arrogant brutes below.

“Do you think anyone noticed, sir?” St Just asked.

“No scent anywhere near except prosaicos,” Don Rafael responded as casually as if they discussed a flower garden’s spacing. “And we’d have seen or heard a mortal. Let us return home now so we can remove his scent.”

“Excellent idea, sir,” the others agreed.

Boot heels drumming along the boardwalk told of their departure but brought her little comfort.

Oh, sweet Mother of God, what would they have done if they’d found her? Killed her?

And what would the penalty be if they found Edmund here? Kill him for entering Texas without being one of the haughty Don Rafael’s chosen few?

Darkness washed through her skull, more solid than the hotel behind her. By selecting this rendezvous, she’d summoned her beloved to his death. He’d known it, too – how could he not? – which was why he’d questioned her choice.

She couldn’t risk his life; she couldn’t. Perhaps if she wasn’t at the ball when the clocks struck midnight, he’d leave, thinking she’d changed her mind. He’d be safe. She’d be alone – but he’d be alive.

It would have to be comfort enough through all the lonely years ahead.

She drew herself up and turned for the window, ignoring the slow tear trickling down her cheek.

Austin, 31 December 1867

The orchestra struck the quadrille’s final chord and Sarah politely curtseyed to her partner, automatically removing herself far away from his clumsy feet. “Thank you for a most enjoyable dance, sir.”

After all, Lieutenant Merrill had only stepped on her toes once and he hadn’t ripped her flounce – this time.

“It was entirely my pleasure, Miss Calvert.” The young officer drew himself up, his lean cheeks flushed with enthusiasm. “May I have the next dance, the midnight waltz?”

She accepted his arm, wishing he meant more to her than an occasional escort to church or charity work at the Blind Asylum. Texas was a frontier, where people made a fresh start. She should be able to respond to an honourable man’s silent offer of devotion, instead of seeking ways to ignore the inexorable ticking of clocks.

She spent much of her time teaching at a freedmen’s school, which horrified her aunt but kept her safely isolated from eligible young men. She only acknowledged its other benefit deep in the night when her pillow was utterly sodden with tears: it kept her from returning to Maryland with its flame-bright memories of Edmund.

Sarah patted her lieutenant’s hand and gave him a variant on her usual answer. “No, thank you, I should return to my aunt. She needs my help for the midnight supper.”

“Of course.” His mouth twisted but he knew her too well to argue.

Her aunt’s disgruntled glare tracked them from across the ballroom, even though she was standing between the new governor and Don Rafael. Aunt Mary sent weekly reports on Sarah’s doings to the Calvert patriarch. Only Sarah’s continuing aloofness towards Lieutenant Merrill had kept him from being chased off like every other young man who’d claimed more than two dances with her.

At least Aunt Mary was keeping Don Rafael away from her. Sarah had spent the past year dodging that top-drawer vampiro’s company and memories of last New Year’s Eve. She loathed him – and prayed he’d never encounter Edmund.

A group of young officers and their partners accosted her and the lieutenant at the dance floor’s edge, eager to discuss seating for the midnight supper where they’d plot tactics for the horse races tomorrow. Merrill joined in eagerly, soon gesturing with both hands to show exactly how a rival horse could be edged out of a turn. Sarah listened with half an ear, grateful for the enveloping throng, which kept her aunt from seeing her expression.

A single violin sent a long warbling note over the crowd, calling for dancers to celebrate ancient trees and water rippling under a moonlit sky.

A beloved whiff of sandalwood drifted past, long lost but never forgotten. Strong fingers clasped Sarah’s elbow and drew her away.

“If you will excuse us?” a man murmured. It was not a request.

Edmund? Her heart gave an ecstatic thump and vaulted for the stars, only to fall back into Hell’s lowest depths. If Don Rafael caught a glimpse of him . . .

Merrill’s startled glance was countered by Edmund’s scorching glare. When Sarah moved silently, subtly closer to the newcomer, Merrill fell back, yielding his claim. Bitter comprehension cut deep grooves beside his mouth before he returned to his friends.

Edmund swung her onto the dance floor, one hand firmly on her waist, the other grasping hers as if he feared she’d race away from him.

She gazed up at him, relearning every line of his beloved features under the brilliant gaslight. Every line was harsher, cut more clearly from the underlying bone. He seemed capable of carving through steel. Her fingers ached to tease his lips and teach him once again how to smile, despite the months and miles that had separated them.

The music swirled around them, sweet and charming like the delights they’d shared so long ago.

Why had she thought she could stay away from him?

“I have missed you so much,” she whispered.

His jaw tightened still further. He swung her past another couple and through a tight turn, sending her blue velvet skirts flaring out like a carillon call for the truth. “Then why the devil didn’t you wait for me last year?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about Don Rafael’s laws?” she countered. “I’d never have asked you to come if I’d known such an arrogant brute ruled here.”

Terror flashed behind his eyes, dreadful as musket fire.

“God’s death, Sarah, does he know you’re aware of him?” His arm closed around her waist and he pulled her through the curtains and onto the balcony. A hard kick slammed the french door behind them and left them enclosed in an isolated world, separated by height from the few drunks wandering the main street. The night was brilliantly clear, illuminated by a full moon bright enough to almost touch.

“No, the man thinks of me only as the silent niece of a scheming hostess.” She shrugged impatiently. What else was there to say after a year of minimal courtesy from the fellow? But she gave Edmund more details, to quiet the eyes raking hers and the hands rubbing restlessly up and down her arms. She needed him to believe her so she could convince her beloved to leave town.

“I spend my days with charities or the church, where occasionally we meet. Nothing more. But I saw him . . . kill another vampiro.” An appalled shudder ran through her once again.

“’Fore God, such knowledge means certain death to prosaicos, Sarah! He’s three centuries older than I am and a deadly killer.” Edmund’s hard fingers grasped her wrist the way he would grip an unruly dog. He turned back towards the ball. “I must take you away from here. Now.”

Did he mean to haul her through the crowd? Sarah opened her mouth to hurl a set of alternatives at his head. Thinking would be a good start.

Metal clicked softly and they both froze. Sarah’s heart surged into her throat, too thick to let her draw air.

The latch turned and the french door opened.

With his hip, Edmund shoved her into the corner of the balcony and took up station before her. His big body blocked her view of almost everything beyond but, dear God, at what price to him?

“Good evening, Devereaux,” Don Rafael purred like a tiger flexing his claws. St Just flanked him, cordial as an unsheathed sword. “What a delightful surprise to meet you here.”

Sarah glanced desperately over the railing, hoping to see a carriage or a pair of horses waiting patiently. But the Indian’s unreadable eyes met hers instead, matched by those of a dozen armed men nearby. For the first time in her life, she lusted for her father’s command of profanity.

She hissed under her breath and glanced about for another exit.

Edmund’s counter-attack came in a voice so sweet and reasonable, she might have thought it logical at any other time. “Release her, Perez. She’s an innocent and has nothing to do with what lies between us.”

“What?” Her instinctive objection died in her throat, strangled by the realization of an older, deadlier duel between them.

“Why should I? By all vampiro custom, prosaico mouths can only be stopped by death lest they wag too much.” The Spaniard’s dark gaze flicked over her like an executioner’s axe considering the best place to strike. Her stomach surged into a knot but even that didn’t seem small enough to escape him.

Edmund growled deep in his throat, almost too softly to be heard. He brought logic to bear on them again. “She knows nothing.”

“Do not stretch the truth too far or it will strangle you.” His enemy tutted. “You know she saw me destroy another of our kind. As for you, my fine-feathered English spy—”

“Former spy,” Edmund’s correction sliced through the other’s taunt. His rage was all the brighter for how fiercely he kept it leashed. Both of them brandished their anger like weapons, turning the big Texan vampire into a heavy sabre and Edmund into a rapier – quick, lethal and razor sharp with deadly intent.

“As you wish. It matters little in the long run.” Don Rafael waved the correction off like an emperor dismissing a scullion. “You know the price for coming here, especially when I swore sixty years ago to kill you the next time we met.”

“I should have let all the Spaniards die when I had the chance, instead of trying to save them, no matter what I’d learned when I guested with the Inquisition,” Edmund said furiously, his hands opening and closing at his sides as if hungering to close around the other’s throat. “God’s blood, Perez, will you never understand honour? Can you not recognize that you have to follow orders even when you don’t believe in them and don’t enjoy the consequences? Especially during a war?”

Don Rafael, his dark eyes boiling with murder, slammed the slighter man against the wall hard enough to shake plaster dust free. “Never question my honour, English dog!”

Edmund snarled in his face, fangs fully bared, and kicked him viciously in the knee. His old enemy snapped out a curse and they tumbled into a conflict like a pack of dogs, blood and growls flying faster than blows.

Sarah surged forwards to help but St Just’s glare warned her off. Sick to the bone, more terrified than she could remember, she retreated to her corner.

How much of an advantage was three centuries to Don Rafael?

Something caught her heel and nearly tripped her. Edmund’s knife glittered on the floor almost under her hem. It wasn’t a butcher knife, which she knew how to wield, but perhaps she could accomplish something with it.

Pretending faintness, she stooped down and slipped the knife into her pocket, careful not to be seen by the preoccupied Frenchman.

The combatants were taking up more and more of the balcony until St Just was backed against the wall far away from her.

But Edmund was moving far too slowly. One leg dragged behind him and the wicked gash on his cheek had started bleeding again, badly enough to make his movements apprehensive. Don Rafael, damn him, fought as if he’d barely entered combat – coldly, quickly, unaffected by the blood spurting from his arm.

Surely her heartbeat could be heard in Maryland yet her thoughts were entirely clear. Sarah needed to help somehow, some way. For once, she could see the movements of the combatants very precisely, rather than as a whirlwind blur of saloon brawling.

How did one stop a very old vampiro?

When they rolled back next to her and Don Rafael was on top, Sarah leaped on him and stabbed him in the side. Somewhere, anywhere, who knew or cared where she struck? She only needed to distract him long enough to save her love.

She put her full weight – such as she had – behind the stroke. The blade went deep, slicing through wool and hard muscle and softer flesh. Damage, she was doing damage to a man’s body. A fiery shock raced through her skin, more intimate than a handshake or a waltz, and she hesitated for a split second.

But this was Edmund’s would-be killer, damn him.

She twisted the knife viciously, with every bit of strength and skill ever learned in a firelit kitchen.

Don Rafael’s roar was loud enough to be heard across Austin. He broke away from Edmund and yanked the knife out, then stood staring at it. Anger repeatedly chased astonishment through his eyes.

Edmund staggered onto his feet and shoved her behind him. A few hard shakes of his head sent blood splattering across the balcony from his face.

St Just lunged for Sarah but his master snapped an arrogant finger under his nose. “Leave her be; the lady has won this bout.”

Triumph’s wings began to tentatively unfurl inside her heart. She must have greatly injured the far older vampiro to force him to back off so completely. But she and Edmund still needed to escape Texas.

The Frenchman retreated slowly, clearly unconvinced she could be trusted, while Don Rafael’s men in the street below murmured angrily.

“My congratulations to both of you.” Don Rafael eyed her, his saturnine features betraying little expression.

“Thank you. And thank you for the pleasure of serving beside you against Bonaparte.” For the first time, Edmund too relaxed and Sarah allowed herself to rest her head against his shoulder. Perhaps they truly might escape both her father and this frontier.

The church bells began to ring in the New Year. One. Two . . .

She shook out her handkerchief and began to mop Edmund’s face. He’d lost far too much blood and would need to feed very soon. Back in Maryland, she’d have seen that as an excuse for the delicious lovemaking necessary to infuse her blood with the most emotion possible. But here?

Don Rafael eyed her, coldly.

“Devereaux, at what time was your rendezvous with Señorita Calvert scheduled?” Don Rafael rubbed his bloody fingertips together, then pressed his hand back against his bleeding waist. St Just stepped forwards to offer an improvised bandage from his cravat but was impatiently waved off.

“Midnight, Perez. New Year’s Eve at midnight.” Edmund wrapped his arm around her waist, standing wonderfully close.

“I wondered who she was watching for last year.” The big landowner stretched slightly and grimaced, hissing when the new movement put a new fresh strain on his wound.

Sarah pursed her lips and wondered if she’d ever gain any feelings of Christian charity for him. Then his words caught up with her. “What do you mean ‘last year’?” she echoed. “You knew I was looking for somebody, yet you kept us apart?”

“Do you mean I spent an extra twelvemonth living in hell because you wanted to play God, you pestilential knave?” Edmund demanded furiously.

“Señor, Señorita Calvert was hardly well enough to travel last year, unlike now,” Don Rafael snapped. “In fact, I suggest you depart immediately before her aunt comes looking – if you want a head start on the troops that female is certain to send after you, claiming you need a Maryland patriarch’s permission even here in Texas.”

Sarah sighed and grasped Edmund more firmly. At least this time, the army wouldn’t have the advantage of Cassius as a guide.

Edmund kissed the top of her head, chuckling a little. Silly man, he always enjoyed a good challenge.

Don Rafael’s eyes travelled over them, as encompassing as a scientist’s spyglass.

“However, if you’d prefer. . .” He paused. “Since you have won this bout, perhaps you will permit me to assist you?”

“How?” Edmund asked bluntly.

“You could be married by my priest – I believe Señorita Calvert is a Catholic? – and spend your honeymoon at my ranch. I can vouch for my staff’s discretion and their ability to keep your aunt at bay.”

Under a vampiro’s roof?

Sarah glanced up at Edmund but he wasn’t looking at her.

“If it’s the fastest way to get married, we’ll do it. Thank you.” It might not have been Edmund’s most gracious speech but it was certainly emphatic.

“It is nothing. After all, what are old comrades-in-arms for except to smooth the road?” Don Rafael bowed courteously, only to quickly bring himself upright. He’d need to feed soon so he could heal. But he undoubtedly had resources close at hand, since this was his territory.

“Do you wish to leave by ladder or through the ballroom, during the midnight supper, my friends?”

“Ladder,” Sarah and Edmund announced in unison.

St Just snickered softly.

“Then if you will permit me a few minutes, I will have one brought round and you may depart. My friend here will remain inside so you may be assured of no interruptions.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sarah said, feeling much more cordial towards him. “You’ve been very kind.”

“Perhaps.” He raised a dark eyebrow. “Or a little foolish.” He nodded to them both and was gone, still keeping his elbow tucked hard against himself. St Just shut the balcony door, ending a final glimpse of the fickle, grasping world inside, and left the lovers alone in the warm silence.

Edmund spun her around to face him, blood trickling slowly down his cheek. “Are you sure? We’ve been separated for more than a year.”

Poor darling, he’d lived through such hell. What delight to spend a lifetime making it up to him.

“Dearest love.” She caught his face between her hands and kissed him on the lips, giving him all the love, all the reassurance she could.

He caught her closer and his mouth devoured hers, tasting her breath, catching her joy, her trust in tomorrow, her tongue’s willingness to make new words of love. Always him, only him.

“My darling Sarah.”

His fangs pricked her lips and she moaned softly, moved closer, candlelight drifting behind her eyelids. Oh yes, giving him a small taste would be lovely now.

He nipped her and sucked, drawing on her like the breath of life itself. Her fingers tangled in his hair and his heart beat against her. Warmth surrounded her, swept over her shoulders, and down through her bones.

He rumbled her name and sipped her blood, while firelight warmed her veins. Tomorrow when they were married, there’d be a nova of stars to enjoy when they shared their first deep drink of each other’s blood.