she slowed to almost mortal speed. His van was still parked under the trees, and every light was out in both house and workshop. He was the hardworking early to bed and early to rise sort.
She jumped the river just for the heck of it and covered the last few meters in seconds. At the door she hesitated, listening, then slowly walked around the house, senses alert. By the time she returned to the front door, she was frowning, trying to ignore the deep and heart-stinging disappointment. He was not in. No doubt about it. There was no heartbeat.
Hardly likely he’d died since she last was here. He’d been far too healthy and hale for that. Foul play? No sign of anything untoward, but she still needed feeding. Kit had managed for years on local livestock while he lived here. Might as well follow his example.
A half mile across country brought her to a riding school. Twelve nicely groomed horses and ponies slumbered behind neat stable doors. Antonia went for the first one, calming the white mare with her voice and stroking the strong neck gently as she felt for a vein with her other hand. Not quite what she’d hoped for, but the mare’s blood was rich and abundant. Taking just enough to restore her, Antonia eased away, licking the wound closed. The mare seemed contented enough, even nuzzling Antonia’s shoulder and whinnying as she left. “Don’t worry,” Antonia whispered as the mare picked up her ears. “I might well be back some other night.” Closing the door behind her, she noticed the name Madam stenciled over the doorway.
Who knew, she and Madam might get to be close acquaintances.
The night was too fine to go home. Energy and strength renewed, Antonia ran back toward the common at an easy lope. She debated taking a short cut through the grounds of a large house to her right but instead veered left across open fields. She’d gone a couple of hundred meters when she saw the animal ahead. It was the size of a large dog, but it moved with the sinuous grace of a cat. She slowed, wanting to keep her distance and not scare it. Unlikely it would hear her, but if it caught her scent…
It appeared not to, or perhaps the wind was in her favor. She drew closer, fascinated by the strength in the animal’s shoulders and the smooth grace of its pace. Running diagonally to put distance between them, she drew level, but it seemed the creature sped up. Not that she had any trouble keeping up. It leapt a hedge; she followed easily, barely breaking her stride.
It was then the creature turned and looked her way. She froze, watching, waiting to gauge its reaction. If it attacked, she could easily outrun it, or attack back, if need be. Seemed aggression was not on the animal’s mind. He just stared, watching. Mutual risk assessment, Antonia thought to herself and smiled.
What the heck was it? She’d seen wolves in her youth and foxes and wildcats more recently, but this was far too large for either, and Abel help her, it was watching her. Even met her eyes. No wild creature did that voluntarily. Why? How? She wasn’t exerting any power other than the ability to stay stock-still.
Turning its head both ways as if to catch the wind or her scent, the creature set off across the field at a racing pace.
Curiosity overtaking caution, Antonia followed.
Chapter 5
She had to be, in Sam’s words, barking. Here she was, Antonia Stonewright, vampire; daughter of King Vortax, one of Arthur’s chieftains; wife of King Aramaugh’s younger son, running around in a cow pasture, following a big cat. Barking didn’t even begin to describe it, but something compelled her, and in fifteen centuries, she’d learned to follow her instincts.
It was an easy pursuit.
The cat moved silently and swiftly, keeping to the shelter of the hedges unless crossing fields. Quite amazing, really, how much open countryside was so close to London. She followed him a good fifteen minutes, moving at pretty much mortal speed. The creature never looked back, just continued at the same steady pace as if stalking an invisible prey, until it disappeared.
One instant it was there, moving silently along a field of yellow mustard plants, then it was gone.
Sweet Abel! It had been a long, long time since she’d been shocked like that. Given that cats, no matter how large, were unlikely to levitate, where was it? How had it crossed the ten or so meters to the trees so swiftly? There was nowhere else it could be concealed; Antonia ran for the fringe of woodland. She could move faster than any cat and would soon catch up.
Minutes later, she was through the trees and in a narrow lane. A lane looking surprisingly like the one leading up to Michael Langton’s and no doubt similar to forty or fifty miles of twisting thoroughfares between here and Guildford. Looking around, she sensed life to her right and ran down the middle of the lane. In seconds, she saw Michael’s van parked by the stream, and with a leap, she was back in the woods. Watching. She moved forward cautiously, still in the shelter of the trees.
Then she saw him.
Michael Langton. Standing in the wash of light from his wide-open front door. Tall as ever. Naked apart from a pair of jeans that looked as if they’d been pulled on in haste. The zip was fastened, but not the metal button at the waist, and his waistband hung open.
Sometimes, vampire sight was a questionable advantage.
Seeing Michael like this—tall, beautiful, his bare chest gleaming in the night—underscored her earlier disappointment and her desire. Madam had not satisfied her needs one iota.
He lifted his head as if sniffing the air, looked slowly from side to side, then looking straight in her direction, asked, “What are you?”
She shivered. A reaction she hadn’t known in centuries. She half-suspected she was blushing, or would be if such an action was physiologically possible. He knew. Something.
She stepped out of the trees. Making herself move at mortal speed. For now. “I’m vampire.”
Before she had time to debate the wisdom of that bit of foolishness, he took a step in her direction. “What?”
She moved toward him. “What are you?” His question seemed purely academic.
He smiled, his dark eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “I’m the local legend.”
Another Samism, “clear as mud,” came to mind. Why, oh why, had she revealed her nature? Why was she standing an arm’s length from him? Why was she wanting those arms around her?
“You were here earlier,” he said.
“You weren’t.” At this rate, it would be dawn, and they’d still be trading facile utterances.
He nodded while she tried to think of a good reason not to turn and run. Preferably back to Yorkshire. But the prospect of walking away from such a perfect specimen of maleness, warm skin, sweet muscles, and firm chest, to say nothing of the warm blood coursing through his veins, was an impossibility.
For better or worse, probably worse, Michael Langton had her mesmerized.
“Since you’re here, want to come in for a cup of tea?”
She couldn’t hold back the smile. “It’s not my beverage of choice.”
His laugh was full, rich, loaded with amusement and sheer and utter confidence. Obviously facing a vampire didn’t disconcert him in the slightest. She’d no doubt be very wise to run. Fast.
She
