“Do not touch her,” Leonardo warned.
It was working. She had managed to pit them against each other. Vampires were…beasts. All she had to do was prod them enough to make them fight. Serena took a deep breath and called out, “Are you too cowardly to take a risk?”
Roman shoved Leonardo back. He reached to the cuff at her wrist. Victory! It was not locked, only had a closed hasp, and this he flicked open with his thumb. He freed both hands, then her feet.
Desperately she rubbed her wrists and squeezed her hands tight to bring feeling back. She rotated her feet but had no idea if they moved. She was free but still trapped, still shockingly nude.
It was a struggle, but she managed to sit up, and she covered her naked breasts with her tingling hands.
Roman reached for her leg—she lashed out with her foot, and he caught it and kissed the lacy trim on the top of her stocking. She clawed at his back, as his tongue slid from silk stocking to bare flesh. That touch—that warm, wet tongue against her skin—
Sensation screamed through her.
Her anguished cry electrified the room. The heightened sexual arousal of the vampires hit her like a wave of water.
You have incited them too much, my dear, Roman warned.
Her fingernails gouged into his shoulders, but she couldn’t push him away. The four vampires stood from the sofa and advanced. Serena saw their chests rise and fall with their deep, heavy breaths. A generous splash of holy water might drive them back, but her vial was gone.
They surrounded her—Roman and Leonardo at each side, two at the top of the billiard table, and two stopped at her feet.
Roman lifted his head from her thigh. “Go to the brothel!” he shouted. “Amuse yourselves there. I will attend to Miss Lark.”
But the two vampires at her feet stripped off coats, waistcoats. Both were blond—one had dirty wheat-blond hair captured in many long braids; the other’s mane of gold was waist length and loose. The golden blond opened his shirt, threw it aside. The sudden violence of the motion stopped Serena’s heart for dizzying moments.
She had to think—think of a way out! Knowledge was her only hope. “W-when is your master to come for me?” she stuttered. “Tonight?”
“He sails.” The curt words had come from Roman.
From the continent. On a ship of innocents. No doubt they would all arrive dead, the poor helpless souls.
Roman crossed his arms over his chest. Of all of them, he had the most powerful chest, the broadest shoulders, the biggest biceps. Power and menace. Veins snaked up his huge forearms. Had he been a soldier, turned in battle? The most brutal warriors of the past made the wildest, most uncivilized vampires. “You are aroused and you need to feed,” he shouted at the others. “Go to the whorehouse and find your pleasures there. No one is allowed to touch her.”
Cursing, the other vampires nodded in obedience, and Serena felt a surge of relief. Left alone with Roman, surely she could escape—
But he turned to her and leered. You have never been bitten, have you? He opened his trousers.
Held in thrall by his gleaming eyes, she crawled back along the table—
The door exploded into the room. The thick slab of wood hit the wall with the crack of a gunshot. Deafening. Paralyzing. Light flooded in, silhouetting two men in the doorway.
The sharp, crisp twang of crossbow fire sliced the sudden silence. Horrified shrieks rang in her head as Brittan and Aristide fell. Roman spun toward the door, his mouth open in fury, his jaw wrenched wide. His fangs flashed. Before her eyes, he arched back, his head snapping with a crack. Blood launched from his chest. A silver arrow, tipped in blood and gore, tore out of his chest. Below his heart.
Roman screamed in rage, and she flinched as he jumped up on the table. His powerful legs straddled her. Tangled and wild, his hair hung around him. Blood poured down his bare chest, dripped onto his hard, clublike cock, which swayed above her. A demonic red fire burned in his eyes. Come with me, Serena. Come to me.
He reached down.
Like hell. Serena kicked upward, aiming for his ballocks. She missed. Her heel harmlessly smacked against his thigh and skidded away. Roman launched forward, in a kind of sailing flip, and he hit the wall feet first. Impossibly, the wall gave way, a panel opening for him like a door, and, in midair, Roman vanished. His trousers and boots dropped empty to the floor. A huge black bat soared into the black opening and disappeared. Roman had shifted shape.
The Irish vampire, Liam, leapt on the table, his auburn hair flapping.
She kicked at him, but Liam lashed out at her with his foot. His boot struck her hand, enough to jar her shoulder and send agony screaming through her arm. Damn him. Instinct made her grab. Her damp, aching fingers held fast to smooth leather as she clung to his boot. He could shift shape and fly away, but she held on.
Another man jumped up on the table—he grabbed Liam by the hair and hauled him back. One hard thrust of the slayer’s arm and he drove a stake through the vampire’s heart from the back. A toss and Liam tumbled to the ground. Slain.
Her savior caught her gaze and grinned. His blond hair—startling white-blond hair—swung free and wild around his face. His green eyes flashed with excitement. And then he glanced lower and winked.
Drake Swift. Drake Swift and Lord Sommersby had come to her rescue.
A silk robe flew at her.
Swift caught it.
“Cover her!” The command could only have come from his lordship. Humiliation, frustration, and fear burned through her. Mr. Swift and Lord Sommersby had laughed at her determination to become a vampire hunter. She’d planned so carefully, yet she’d made a mistake and proved them right.
And if they knew that she was a vampire, they would stake her. Kill her.
It was too late to even pretend she was in control. She was shaking. Mr. Swift was sweating from the fight, his platinum hair damp with it, his handsome features gleaming. Towering above her, he looked like an avenging angel. He dropped the robe over her. But he was distracted for the moment, and out of the shadows, Guillaime lunged, fangs bared.
The scream died in Serena’s throat as Guillaime plunged his teeth into Drake Swift’s neck.
3
Destined
Serena rolled down the billiard table, toward Guillaime’s outstretched legs. Toward his dangling ballocks. This time she wouldn’t miss. She slammed her foot up and connected, driving her heel hard into his most sensitive place.
The vampire jerked, flinched, but his hands clamped tightly on Mr. Swift’s broad shoulders.
Mr. Swift snapped his head to the side. “Christ Jesus! Thank you, sweetheart, but he’s plunged deeper!”
Blood rolled down Mr. Swift’s neck. Rivulets of it, racing over his tanned-bronze skin, soaking into his pristine white collar, into his cravat and
