Blood Sworn 1: Salva Me Page 3

  After a moment, Carter’s usual flamboyant confidence reasserted itself. “No need to show me the way to the bath,” he said, in clear anticipation of the treat. “Thank you for having me, Lord Colbourne,” he flung over his shoulder, barely glancing at Makoto. “Until the next feeding, then!”

  Jeremy cringed at the ridiculous double entendre. However much he enjoyed bedding Carter postfeed, the pleasure wore off almost as soon as the man opened his mouth. Worse, his determination to aggravate Makoto only seemed to escalate.

  “There’s more to being a Host than sex and blood, idiot,” he muttered, collapsing back against the heaped pillows. “And I don’t want anyone other than Morgan as my Host.”

  “I would not choose Master Carter for a Host either.” The words were barely audible, and unlike Makoto’s usual calm manner. After a breath, he added, “Holland-san is an extraordinary man, danshaku. Do not take Master Carter’s words to heart.”

  Jeremy glared at Makoto, irritated at having let Will’s comments affect him. “Of course I won’t. There is no need to state the obvious about Morgan.”

  Extraordinary might be an understatement. In spite of the terrible injury Morgan had received at the last feeding, he’d still been the one to search Jeremy out. He had accepted Jeremy’s refusal to drink from his neck and then bared his lower body to a man who desired him.

  It had been hard indeed to ignore the evidence of Morgan’s desire. So tantalizingly close, that obvious proof of the pleasure his Host found in their Contract. Jeremy’s lack of control had caused him to overstep Morgan’s bounds the last time. So he’d held himself in check tonight, satisfying himself with only the sweet taste of Morgan’s blood until he felt his lust surge.

  He’d finished the feed early, despite his longing to continue. Though Morgan appeared fully recovered, Jeremy had been reluctant to test it. The weakness had dissipated somewhat, particularly with the added blood he’d taken from Carter during Makoto’s minore feeding. It had only been intended for foreplay, though, and fell far short of compensating for what he’d stinted himself. It would have to be enough, somehow, to carry him through until the next feeding.

  Chapter Three

  There. The perfect prey. She stood on a street corner, ragged gown and worn shoes reflecting her ignoble status among London’s unwashed populace. The once-pretty features had become gaunt, her wasted frame hinting her blood would be poor quality.

  He knew better. He had tasted her before, savored her fear and strength when her once-lush figure had first bloomed. The flow of her blood carried the sweetest, richest flavor, one he’d encountered only once before. Her great-grandfather had been his until the coward had fled. Her father too had been almost within his grasp, until the day the man had vanished, only to return bound to someone else.

  Infuriated, he had visited his rage on the family, discarding the girl’s mother and brother. Their blood had been tasteless, yet they had taught him the pleasure of the kill. When his fangs sank into the tender young flesh of the girl, he had become mindless with the pleasure.

  She should have been transfixed with fear or overcome by the power of his maleness. Instead, she had wrenched her neck from his jaws and fled through the trees behind her home. Despite her being merely human, despite his superior existence as a nosfera, a vampire she shouldn’t have been able to elude, she had managed to evade him. Sight, sound, and scent, she had somehow hidden from him.

  Here she stood in his sight again. This time she would not get away.

  * * * *

  Morgan studied the heavy doors to Colbourne’s sanctum, considering the summons from his master he’d received that morning. As steward, his responsibilities centered on maintaining the household accounts and handling the correspondence his master did not deal with personally. As Host, his duty was to ensure Colbourne fed well and according to Contract. Now it seemed he would be undertaking new tasks. New duties to do with the damned nosferatu, as Colbourne had hinted weeks before. Morgan squared his shoulders and entered after a brief knock.

  Colbourne sat by the fire, hands steepled in front of his face. As Morgan approached, Colbourne gave him an appraising glance, then gestured to the chair beside him. “Sit.”

  Morgan did as commanded, surprised to feel a hint of Compulsion behind the words. Had Colbourne feared rebellion?

  Another glance. “Not rebellion, just resistance. You have been far too active for your own good these past few weeks.”

  “Please don’t read my mind, Lord Colbourne.” Morgan’s mind held other, less polite commentary, in case his employer probed again.

  The corners of Colbourne’s mouth quirked the barest fraction. “Consider me duly chastised. I will refrain from testing the waters of your mind—for now.”

  “For now?” Morgan didn’t like the sound of that.

  Colbourne sidestepped the question with another. “Do you recall your question the night we found that poor girl?”

  Ah, that. “Yes. I asked if it was too late to turn her. You answered a bit oddly. Something about it being time to let me know the reason the barony exists.”

  “I also instructed you to do some reading. Recent events have postponed both. Today we remedy the lapse.”

  The words piqued Morgan’s curiosity. “So which comes first?”

  Colbourne stood and crossed to the enormous ebony desk occupying the bulk of the opposite wall. He pulled out a thick ledger from a bottom drawer and returned, handing it to Morgan.

  Heavy iron bound the edge with a lock fitting no key Morgan could imagine. The pale leather binding showed stains from centuries of handling. “I assume you hold the key,” he said, looking up from the huge tome.

  “I keep it on me at all times.” Colbourne pulled a fine gold chain over his head.

  Morgan recognized the pendant. He’d always thought it just an amulet, some variant of the oriental yin/yang design that graced so much of the sanguis cubiculum. He watched, fascinated, as Colbourne pressed the edges of the gilt circle, splitting the amulet into three pieces on his lap.

  “Black—yin. White—yang.” Colbourne held up each in turn. The third piece looked oddly familiar.

  “It’s a nosfera fang, isn’t it,” Morgan said, though his surprise proved less than it should.

  “Yes.” Colbourne held up the gilded tooth, reverence reflected in his eyes. “This is the pledge of the Barons of Colbourne to protect our land against the depredations of our maddened kin. The first of the line to hunt and kill nosferatii left this for his descendants to remember our sacred trust.” He touched the book on Morgan’s lap gently, almost lovingly. “This book is bound in human skin. The beloved Host of the first Colbourne and the first victim of the nosferatu he hunted.”

  Morgan struggled to control his shock. A book bound in human skin? The Church of England would have called it the book of the Devil. He knew better, but the knowledge didn’t stop the instinctive flinch at what he held. “Forgive me, Lord Colbourne,” he mumbled, embarrassed at the lack of control.

  Colbourne waved the apology away. “No need, Holland. Most people would be shocked. I was, when I first learned the tale. The years since then have given me another perspective.” He gave the book another caress. “This is an expression of love and determination.” After a moment’s pause, he continued. “It is the responsibility of the baron’s Contracted Host to keep this ledger and to record the names of those unfortunate enough to cross paths with the nosferatii.”

  “So now that a madman is on the hunt, this is my responsibility.” Morgan gave the matter due consideration and then sighed. “A somewhat daunting task, all in all.”

  Colbourne gave him an enigmatic smile but did not dispute the words.

  Daunting was perhaps an understatement. Colbourne’s words had been “to record the names” of the victims. Considering the state of the young woman they had buried not too long past, the task could prove impossible. The thought struck him then that when he had first met Colbourne, his master had been near de
ath from dealing with a nosferatu.

  He’d never before thought to ask what should have been an obvious question. What had happened to the baron’s previous Host? Colbourne had practically begged Morgan to Contract with him. The question took on a new urgency in light of this revelatory meeting. “I hesitate to bring this up after so many years together, my lord, but when I found you all those years ago, you had no Host.”

  A grim expression darkened Colbourne’s eyes. “I failed him.” The clipped, angry tone resonated with a festering hurt. “I miscalculated, and the nosferatu trapped us while Makoto and my hunters were unprepared to assist. The bloody thing came at me, and David stepped between us like a fool, thinking he could save me.” A red glint edged the dark irises.

  Anger? Remorse? Or blood-hunger? Morgan couldn’t tell. “The nosferatu killed him, then.”

  “Yes. Pinned him to the ground, ripped open his neck, and delivered enough poison to put David into immediate shock. I had no time to intervene.”

  Morgan cringed inwardly. He could not find any consolation to offer, late in coming though it might be.

  “Don’t bother to look for words, Holland. There was nothing I could do then, and there is nothing you can do now.” Colbourne leveled a speculative stare at Morgan. “I was desperate when you found me, you know. I hadn’t fed in nearly three weeks, so I couldn’t heal.” After a moment, Colbourne sighed. “I have to confess, if you hadn’t been amenable to feeding me, I would have used a much stronger Compulsion to draw you in.”

  Morgan felt the faintest heat touch his cheeks from the memory. Colbourne had apologized later for that transgression, though to Morgan’s mind that small trick of seduction had fallen far short of any real Compulsion. He cleared his throat, looking to turn the conversation away from what had become sticky territory. “This pledge you spoke of, to keep England safe… Is this pledge honored by the other nosferii nobles? How many of you hunt these monsters?”

  Colbourne’s gaze flicked away, then back, as though he pondered the answer. “In England, only the Colbourne family holds this responsibility, Holland. At the present time, I am the only one who bears this burden.”

  The only one? The statement took Morgan aback. Colbourne hunted alone, then?

  He voiced the thought aloud, and Colbourne smiled grimly.

  “No, I don’t hunt alone. Makoto hunts with me, as well as several of the Colbourne minorii.”

  “But what about the other nobles? Shouldn’t they bear this burden too? Why does this duty belong only to your family?”

  A very long silence followed in the wake of Morgan’s question. Then Jeremy sighed heavily. “Many Hosts have asked that question over the centuries. To own the truth, it started as a matter of pride.” Jeremy gave the book a sad caress. “When the Colbournes were first granted our lands, the nosferii in England were widely scattered. We were more successful, because our venom was more toxic to our own kind than to humans. And our mental abilities were far stronger than any other family, at least here in England.”

  “So pride in the Colbourne legacy kept your ancestors from having the help of the others?”

  “Yes, to a degree.”

  Something in Colbourne’s manner suggested a frustration that mirrored Morgan’s own. Ancient pride bordering on arrogance had trapped the Colbourne descendants, leaving them vulnerable even as the entire nosferii pureblood population slowly dwindled.

  “You must understand, Morgan, that each nosferii line has its own peculiar adaptions from the original infection. While we are all the same in essentials, the purebloods would strengthen particular traits through closer interbreeding between specific families.”

  Morgan stared at Colbourne, appalled. Consanguinity had been the bane of many civilizations, leading to increased deformities and madness in successive generations. Then he realized just what had been implied.

  “So pride created the nosferatii.” Morgan couldn’t keep the disgust from his voice. Not that he blamed Colbourne or even his ancestors. Nonetheless, the thought that the monster who had mauled that poor girl had been the result of overweening pride—just the idea made his gut hurt.

  The resignation reflected in Colbourne’s eyes told Morgan he had hit the mark.

  Averting his gaze, Colbourne continued. “By the time we had realized the dangers of what we had done, most of the families strong enough to assist the Colbournes had been essentially assimilated into the bloodline, and our particular strengths reached the point of being unmatchable by other lines for what we needed to do.”

  And others had become incapable of staving off the addiction of venom madness. Morgan didn’t voice his suspicions, but they settled into a corner of his mind like a dark thorn that couldn’t be plucked. He wondered how many such weakened bloodlines existed. He brushed that consideration aside for the moment in favor of a more pressing issue. “So even if you wished to have other families aid you in your hunts…”

  “There are now no families with the necessary venom traits and mental abilities to do so,” Colbourne finished. The words weighted his voice with bleak confirmation. “So no, I can’t ask anyone to help us this time.”

  “I asked you not to read my mind.”

  “It was on your face,” Colbourne answered, smiling. “I have been abiding by your wishes, much as I might choose otherwise.”

  The words raised another, more disturbing recollection. “Why did you never tell me you could read my thoughts?”

  Colbourne looked a bit sheepish. “It is an old, old skill, one of the first the nosferii refined. Originally meant to control our prey, it’s now almost solely used to enhance emotional intimacy between the nosfera and the Host. The Barons of Colbourne are the only ones with another use for the ability.”

  Enhance emotional intimacy? The implications were alarming, at least as far as concealing his turmoil. Morgan had to know.

  “Do you mean you’ve known my mind this whole time?” Anger began to build, a slow burn that threatened to blaze out of control if he permitted it.

  “No. I am cautious about such things, and I consider myself a gentleman. I’ve only heard those thoughts uppermost in your mind. Moreover, you have a natural shield, an unusual thing in those not born to the nosferii Host communities. So you have no need to fear. Last time—” Colbourne paused and looked away, turning the lock pieces over in his lap. “Last time, I transgressed. I can only apologize and ask you to overlook it as being caused by the circumstances. I will never again insinuate my thoughts into your mind without your prior agreement to such intimacies.”

  The candid admission reassured Morgan. Colbourne valued his word and would do as he stated. “I accept your apology.” Morgan looked at the book. “How do I unlock this?”

  A wry chuckle showed his master’s appreciation for the change of topic. Colbourne leaned close, placing the black piece into an indentation on the upper end of the iron binding. The white piece fitted into a matching location on the bottom end. Holding up the last piece, he showed Morgan an odd, elongated slot in the middle.

  “The fang goes here. Press it in until you hear it click. This operates on a spring mechanism and can only be opened by this particular piece due to the unique length and shape of the fang.”

  “So if the key was ever lost, there would be no way to open the book?”

  “Other than by cutting the book apart, no.”

  A lock with a single, irreplaceable key. He fit the tooth into the slot, pressing downward. After a second, he felt resistance, which gave way after the click Colbourne had mentioned. The binding sprang open on well-oiled hinges.

  The first pages were covered with extensive writing, clearly not the requisite listing of names Colbourne had mentioned. Instead, it appeared to be a journal of sorts, each page dated, with the opening word for each entry being “To-day.” Morgan read with difficulty, struggling with the archaic language to get an approximation of the words on the vellum pages.

  To-day, we found Æthan lying in the south field
. His neck bore marks of a savage feeding. He has been nearly drained of blood, and his body burns with fever from poison. It can only be the doing of a nosferatu. I have sent for the Master of the Council of Nobles, in hopes he will aid me in attempting a turning.

  Morgan looked up. “This is what you wished me to read?”

  “Among other things. It is the account of Colbrand, the first Master of Colbourne, and his hunt for the nosferatu that attacked his partnered Host. This record is almost eleven hundred years old. We have borne the responsibility since that time.”

  Eleven hundred years? The enormity of what Morgan held finally sank in. “Your family has hunted these monsters since the Saxon kings ruled?”

  “Yes. King Æthelstan granted us the rule of Colbourne, naming us Masters of the surrounding lands, as thanks for ending the nosferatu’s depredations. Moreover, the first Colbourne’s Host, Æthan, was one of the king’s illegitimate sons.”

  Morgan considered that. “So their hunt succeeded, then.”

  “Yes.”

  “And the turning?”

  Colbourne hesitated. “The turning failed,” he said at last, though something in his voice suggested more than the simple answer implied.

  “I’ve read the odds are one in two,” Morgan offered, hoping to draw out the full tale. Perhaps demonstrating he had done some research would encourage a deeper discussion. His curiosity demanded satisfaction on this point, particularly since he knew so few of the nosferii minorii, the turned ones. Colbourne’s next words repaid his efforts.

  “Today, yes, the odds are that good. When Colbrand and the Council Master attempted to turn Æthan, the chances were less than one in one hundred. Our doctors had not yet found the right means to maintain the appropriate heat levels for the Hosts.”

  A chill sang through Morgan’s blood at the comment. An oddly sensual undertone whispered behind Colbourne’s voice.