"Hurry-" It was Lord Sommersby, holding open the drapery.

Mr. Swift gallantly offered his arm, but she ignored it to dart up the stairs, holding up the trailing hem of the oversized robe.

The gallery was empty, shadowed. The dangling chandelier that should illuminate the salon below was unlit, but the crystal caught golden light from wall sconces below and dazzled. Urbane laughter welled up, as did the strains of cultured music and feminine giggles.

She'd expected wildness, rowdy sounds, mayhem-like an uproar in a theatre pit.

"The exit must be there-shielded by those curtains," Lord Summersby directed. His domino cloak flapped around him as he strode across to where the railing reached the wall, beside crimson curtains. His long legs crossed the s.p.a.ce in seconds.

"Wait." Mr. Swift kept his voice low as he prowled to the gallery's edge. "We should see if we can spot Miss Lark's captors in that crowd."

"Even if we do, we aren't attacking here," Sommersby warned.

Her library-and Dracul's journal-were so close. Serena moved to the gallery's edge to look down on the ballroom. She wanted a glimpse into the vampire's world. If she was truly a vampire, she wanted to know...

How could she be a vampire yet not drink blood? Not be undead? She didn't understand-and she was determined to make Ashcroft tell her.

The bra.s.s rail around the gallery was smooth, cool beneath her touch-her hands were still bare. She needed a moment to plan. How was she going to retrieve the Vlad Dracul book without Lord Sommersby discovering what it was? He'd take it from her, likely by force. He might be known for heroism, but it was known that if he wanted something, he took it.

How could she find it and hide it?

She heard the click of boot heels behind her, Sommersby approaching her. Drake Swift was scanning the crowd below. Blinking, Serena looked down on the scene. Everywhere she saw women. Courtesans, high-flyers, jades, lightskirts-but all were voluptuous, lovely, fascinating. Many were young, with long silky hair that reached their bared bottoms, but they were of all ages, all coloring, all sizes and shapes, and most wore the same costume. They wore corsets of black with scarlet strings, dyed black stockings and heeled shoes.

It was scandalous, but it also seemed so freeing to be unafraid to parade around in such clothes-certainly wearing just a robe made her feel both courageous and nerve-wracked.

There were men below, of course, dozens of men. In the center of the salon was a raised dais, a large one, like a stage. It was empty. Around it, many of the men strolled. Men in evening dress, in capes, in robes. So many men on the move it was almost impossible to search them for her vampire captors. All were surrounded by women-women fawning on them, touching them, whispering to them.

It still startled Serena to see the l.u.s.ty smiles on the women's faces-women who should be terrified. It was like watching rabbits leap into foxes' jaws.

Serena glanced up. On her left, Drake Swift was slowly scanning the crowd. On her other side, Lord Sommersby did the same.

Did she see Roman? No. To Serena's astonishment, one dark-haired man, wearing a cape, tossed a blond woman onto the stage. The woman giggled, and her expression was a blend of l.u.s.t, excitement, and playfulness. She was delighted to be a vampire's plaything. The man pushed her back and she flopped back, on the stage, arms outstretched. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were exposed, her waist cinched impossibly small by the corset, her nether hair exposed. The man shoved her legs apart- wider, wider, until the woman let her head fall back. He dropped to his knees and pressed his face to the woman's quim.

Applause and cheers abounded.

Serena knew what that act felt like. William Bridgewater had done it to her-she had been shocked and enthralled. At the time, her heart had been as excited as her body. She had believed it an expression of love. She had been quite wrong.

She could not look away from the moaning woman as the vampire feasted on her cunny. He pulled the jade's hips to his mouth, the way an uncouth man would lift a soup plate. The woman's eyes shut tight, her hands fisted. She banged those fists against the polished floor of the dais.

"Oooh!" The vampire's plaything cried out in pleasure. Her limbs went slack, her head lolled. The vampire slid his hands up to her waist. He stood, lifting the woman, his face still in her quim as- "What do you see, little lark?"

Serena blinked at Drake Swift's voice. Startled, she saw Mr. Swift stood behind her. He had approached her and she hadn't noticed. His black-gloved hands rested beside hers on the rail.

"I do not see any of them-any of the vampires who captured me." She tried to be as nonchalant as he, but her face flushed. At least her mask disguised some of the red heat on her cheeks. She wanted to appear unmoved by what she saw. She didn't want to appear to be just a "delicate" woman.

"We should go and find the library," she urged.

"You are a remarkable woman. Tougher than any I've met."

She wondered at that-he had grown up in Covent Garden. Women there were tough.

"Have you ever wondered why we really kill vampires?" he asked.

Serena frowned and shivered-because vampires killed mortals. Why else? But she knew he was teasing. She was aroused. Burning. But also terrified-what would he do if he knew she might be a vampire?

"Because they have all the fun." Mr. Swift's voice held naughty wickedness.

He wanted her to step unwisely into s.e.xual banter. The drug was still in her head, still making it hard to think. She was watching sensual acts and beautiful lovers, and each time she moved the silk of the robe skimmed her nipples, brushed her nether curls, and maddened her.

"Do you really believe that?" Serena challenged, because naughty boys required a firm hand.

Drake Swift laughed. "Sometimes, my dear, I am tempted to get bitten."

She recoiled at that, remembering the horrifying sight of Guilliame biting him. Was that why he discounted the bite?

Anger flared-how easy for him to joke. Mr. Swift did not fear he was truly a demon.

Then she saw him-Roman. Flitting through the crowd, his long dark hair flapping with his hurried steps. He now wore a robe. A tall woman emerged from the throng and grasped his arm. A woman strong enough to stop Roman in his tracks.

Serena pointed. "Look, there is one of the vampires who captured me. The one with the long hair, with that woman in the topaz gown-"

She felt the excitement ignite in Drake Swift. "Wait, little lark. Watch awhile. We will see what he does." He stepped behind her and braced his arms on either side of her. "Learn about your foe before attack."

"You don't do that," she protested. "I've heard that you race in madly, and by a miracle, somehow you survive."

"Didn't Sommersby warn you not to listen to everything you hear, my dear?" Mr. Swift bent close. "Does it frighten you to watch him?"

"No-yes," Serena admitted. She could feel the bite of the manacles on her wrist and ankles again, and felt the fear of being vulnerable. And a deeper fear-that she was vampire too.

"Fight it, angel. If you want to hunt, you have to learn to fight your fear."

Serena found Roman again, in the crowd. The tall woman had left him, and he stood watching the stage, his arms crossed over his chest. She was afraid to look too long. Roman would sense her.

She glanced up and saw Lord Sommersby a few yards away, walking slowly alongside the gallery railing, watching the scene below.

She should call out to him. Tell him where Roman was. But she knew once she did that protective Lord Sommersby would ensure she had no part in pursuing him. He would get her out of here, and she'd have no chance to find the library.

Horror rushed like ice water through her veins-if Sommersby and Swift captured Roman, Roman would tell them what she was.

The madam-the tall woman with the shimmering topaz gown, the pile of raven black curls, the magnificent diamonds-clapped her hands.

At the sharp clap, many of the corset-clad girls scurried to the center of the room. Giggling, the girls began to kiss. The madam spanked one on her bottom with harsh slaps of her open palm, and the girl turned, presenting her now-rosy derriere. She still lushly kissed the other girl, mouths wide open. Grunts and murmurs of male appreciation filled the room, especially when the madam picked up a black leather switch. The girl held her cheeks apart, and the madam thwacked the girl's rear thoroughly with the leather straps. After the girl's b.u.t.tocks were flushed red, the madam lifted a device from a table, a long rod of black with a tail of peac.o.c.k feathers and two gold chains attached. Graceful fingers dipped the rod into a tall bra.s.s container and withdrew it. Clear, viscous liquid dripped from the tip.

"What is she doing?" Without thinking, Serena asked the question of Drake Swift.

She immediately regretted letting the words slip out.

"Penetrating her a.r.s.e."

A quiver of heat and agony shot through Serena.

The madam pushed with hearty force until the rod disappeared deep into the girl's bottom. The girl was rocking and panting with each thrust, her loose auburn hair tumbling over her back.

Once the rod was within to the hilt, the woman-the madam-looped two chains around the girl's bare thighs. She attached two to the girl's corset. The girl giggled with delight, waggled her b.u.m, and began to spin and dance around the room. Peac.o.c.k feathers swirled and spun with her wild motions.

Mr. Swift breathed heavily. Serena felt the warmth of those deep breaths against her ear.

"Does that not hurt?" she asked. Her own bottom tingled.

"It pleasures her," he insisted. "She will perhaps reach o.r.g.a.s.m many times. Eventually she will wish to remove it, for it is large and is spreading her wide. After several hours, she will yearn to stop. That is when she will be selected by a vampire as his companion and he will heighten her pleasure."

Serena could not understand why the thought of such a bizarre thing made her own body weak and shivery.

The madam continued to slap the girls on their bottoms and continued to slide large rods into their derrieres. She chained each one in place. A larger and larger rod was used on each girl. For the last, a beauty with chestnut ringlets, two other girls held her to support her as the madam worked the enormous black pole inside.

The first girl was already straddling a man's lap, crying out in pleasure as she bounced upon him. The chains were taut, straining to keep her filled. Two other girls lay upon a divan and began to kiss each other's privy curls. One banged her bottom roughly against the divan. The other spread her thighs wide and wriggled. Did that provide stimulation?

Men-vampires-sprawled on the various chairs, watching the display, exuding raw sensual power. All were cast in shadow, so they looked mysterious and dangerous. Some crooked their fingers-summoning a girl to dance before them.

The girls would play with their nipples or hold open their nether lips, then spring around to display their bottoms. One girl with enormous b.r.e.a.s.t.s was able to reach her nipple with her tongue, eliciting a cheer from the bright-eyed man watching her. Another man dragged the girl toward him, until she crawled on her knees on their chaise. He pulled her hips to his face so her quim was at his mouth. With his large, gloved hands, he began withdrawing the rod and thrusting it in her, the chains attempting to resist.

Serena realized his tongue was licking the girl's privy parts, tasting the moisture there, and the vampire made hungry, growling sounds. Another girl crawled between his thighs and began to undo the placket of his trousers.

Serena's face was aflame, her throat dry and tight.

Mr. Swift leaned forward-heavens, she felt his erection push against her backside. He was aroused. She wanted to push back against him. But she tried to stay completely still.

"Is this the sort of thing you do?" she croaked the question at him. She should disapprove. But she found watching so arousing, so irresistible.

"Is it the sort of thing you would want to do, little lark? Wouldn't you wish to perform for him, to entice him beyond all control?"

She had no answer, swallowed hard. "But those women are enticing vampires. The vampires will feed from them, hurt them."

"But you know vampires do not always kill-and the only ones allowed here are those with control over their feeding urges. And the girls are well treated, in a way. They have warm beds, beautiful clothing, and are very well fed. They have every comfort they could imagine. These are not girls trapped and abused by a brutal madam."

"They are free to leave?"

"Yes, but they don't leave."

"Why not-if they have freedom, why would they not take it?"

Swift leaned closer. "Because they need to offer their blood. They cannot exist any longer without joining with a vampire and surrendering their blood."

"Slaves? Or worse-food!"

"In all relationships, one partner feeds on what the other offers. In different ways. The vampires are as much their slaves."

"I don't believe that." She glanced up and caught Lord Sommersby's gaze. She saw the way his lips parted, the tense way he held them. Shadows shielded his eyes, but something in his expression knocked all the air from her chest.

Slowly, like a prowling beast, Lord Sommersby walked toward her. Instinctively, she wet her lips in antic.i.p.ation of his touch, his kiss. She was living her dream. She moved back from the rail, which pressed her derriere against Drake Swift's rigid erection. She was aware of her heat, her scent, her wetness, and the power of the two men who had vowed to protect her.

Serena gasped as Drake Swift kissed the back of her neck. As he suckled. A burst leaped from there like a tiny firework. It raced through her, furiously fast, and exploded between her legs in a flood of wetness. Ecstasy. Pleasure. Goodness, at just that touch-that hot, lovely touch-she'd climaxed! She cried out.

Chapter Five.

Addicted Jonathon heard Miss Lark's little cry of pleasure and almost came on the spot. A bolt of sensual agony crippled his legs, and he had to stop walking.

Miss Lark's head arched back, her cheeks flushed pink, and she breathed frantically. She'd climaxed at just the touch of Swift's mouth to her neck. Of course she would. She was a born vampiress.

Swift groaned, "Yes, sweeting," and reached for her plump b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Jonathon clamped his hand on Swift's shoulder and shoved his partner. Swift took a step back, a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

This wasn't the first time Swift had pleasured a woman Jonathon had wanted...

"This isn't a game, and Miss Lark is a respectable lady." Jonathon kept his voice low, but his temple throbbed and he felt the beat of his pulse in his skull. d.a.m.n, he was hard and aching for Serena Lark. He hadn't sought s.e.xual release in a year. Frustration kept him sharp on the hunt. And what woman would want to be the mistress of a man who spent his nights slaying demons and his days locked in a laboratory, slicing the brains of vampire cadavers with a scalpel?

He couldn't let himself desire Miss Lark. And he had to ensure his blasted partner did not learn her secret.

"Out of my league, you mean." Swift's hands fisted at his side.

"I-I fear it was the drug," Miss Lark said, and she touched her cheeks, wincing as though she'd burned her palms.

Swift, who thought she was an innocent miss, was taking advantage of her shock and confusion. Jonathon lifted his fists.

"Gentlemen, stop!" Miss Lark managed to make a whisper into a shout. She wagged her finger like a disapproving governess. "Roman-the vampire who captured me-is leaving. He was speaking with the madam once more and is going into the crowd. We should go now to the library."

Miss Lark set his head spinning. Beneath her veil, her cheeks were still flushed from her ecstasy. Her words were rushed as though she still hadn't caught her breath. She'd just witnessed the lewdest acts he'd ever seen. But she was fixated on the b.l.o.o.d.y library.

What did she want there? Did she really not know she was a vampire? Did she believe Ashcroft's lie about her parents' deaths by vampire attack? Had she really come here to find a book that might tell her about her parents? She was such a mix of innocence and determination, vulnerability and strength, he couldn't tell if she was lying to him.

He saw Swift move to her side. "We should follow the vampires."

Jonathon had the privilege of rank, and he gripped the bra.s.s rail to spend some of his tension. "Too dangerous to combat a half-dozen vampires in their own den." He looked to Miss Lark and tried not to remember her climaxing for Drake Swift. "You said the vampire was speaking to the madam?"

With bright pink cheeks, she nodded, and her raven black curls danced against her back.

"Then Madame Roi is who we want to speak to. The vampire Roman will be subordinate to her. She had a great deal of power. She rules the vampires of London."

Miss Lark frowned. "That is something I have never understood. If you know she is a vampiress, why do you let her live?"

Swift grinned. "Because she has the protection of powerful men."