His nakedness startled.

"Come with me, Serena Lark," Roman crooned.

She felt the power of his voice-she stared into his reflective eyes, mesmerized, trying to will herself to look away. Sommersby shook her and she jerked free of the spell, just as Drake Swift charged forward, a stake raised. She screamed-expecting Roman to launch at Swift. But Roman turned and fled down the tunnel, his hair a long stream behind him. Swift laughed, the laugh of a man enjoying himself, and followed.

"No!" she cried. "It must be a trap."

"I have to go after the b.l.o.o.d.y fool, and I'm not leaving you alone." The earl grasped her hand and pulled her along.

"He must be-be leading Mr. Swift into disaster." She gasped the words. Lord Sommersby's hold on her arm again kept her from falling into the muck. Her slippers skidded as she ran.

Mr. Swift vanished into the dark ahead.

"You-G.o.d-Aieeee!"

Someone screamed. The worst scream of unholy pain.

"Christ Jesus!"

Her legs wobbled in relief beneath her at the sound of Drake Swift's voice. He was alive, thank heaven, and while his voice betrayed astonishment and surprise, he didn't sound weak or in pain. Serena forced her feet to keep moving forward.

Then a great force of air rushed over them, and the edge of the torchlight illuminated wide, black wings. Roman had transformed into a bat and flew back toward the brothel.

The earl stopped first. Under the light of his torch, Serena saw Drake Swift in a crouch. Had he been hit?

With a cry, she pushed around Sommersby and stumbled forward, just as Mr. Swift straightened. "I b.l.o.o.d.y missed him. He dove at me, clawed me, and I staked him-got him below the heart again." Swift stared right into her eyes. "Miss Lark, angel, don't look so distressed. I'm not hurt."

The earl held up his hand. "Listen."

She strained to hear-and suddenly her mind was filled with the splatter of drips, the distant rush of the water in the tunnel.

"I don't hear wings or footsteps," Sommersby murmured. He drew out his pocket watch, and for the second time, he gave a slight smile. "A quarter of seven. Daylight."

Mr. Swift winked. "Saved by dawn, little lark. We can go back through the brothel-it will be empty now."

"The library," Serena whispered. "We must return to the library."

His lordship shook his head. "No, Miss Lark. You have had a traumatic night-you will be returning to Lady Brookshire's house. With me. The Society will take care of the library today."

"My lord-no!" She reached for his arm.

"Yes, Miss Lark."

Seething in frustration, she looked to Mr. Swift, but he nodded in agreement. "Little lark, we must get you to safety."

Without the book, how could she find out the truth? Panic gripped as the earl turned and swept her up into his arms. No, she had to go back- "She gave you a right shiner."

Jonathon touched the swollen corner of his right eye, but he would be d.a.m.ned if he'd give Swift the satisfaction of wincing at the shot of pain. Serena Lark had indeed pasted him right in the eye as she'd struggled in his arms. He should take it as proof she was a vampiress-she had incredible strength for a female.

He scrubbed his jaw. She'd been after a particular book, one that was missing. He would have to discover which one. Since Ashcroft's stories about two vampires raiding her parents' home was a lie, what book could she have found?

Swift poured more coffee into his cup and leaned back in the chair, holding the cup, then insolently propped his booted feet on the breakfast table. He drained the steaming brew in one gulp. "Miss Lark was d.a.m.ned angry at you for taking her away from those books. I suspect you won't be kissing her again anytime soon-not without getting a slap for your trouble."

"Leave her alone," Jonathon snarled at his partner. "I behaved like a b.l.o.o.d.y cad last night. As did you."

"We risk death, brother-the rules of polite society needn't matter to men who risk death every night."

"We face death by choice, Swift." Jonathon refused to show any reaction to Swift's use of the word brother. They weren't brothers, not by blood, but he knew their relationship was stronger, more intertwined, more d.a.m.ned infuriating than the one between real brothers. "It's no excuse not to behave as gentlemen."

"Then it's fortunate I'm not a gentleman." Swift swung down his feet and stood. "I'm off to bed. Regrettably alone. Are you going to lock yourself in that b.l.o.o.d.y laboratory again?"

Jonathon grunted. That was exactly where he was going. He swallowed his coffee without tasting it and poured another br.i.m.m.i.n.g cup as Swift sauntered out. d.a.m.n, he was exhausted, but he had to fight it, and the coffee helped invigorate him. Forgoing cream or sugar, he gulped down the second scalding cup and set it rattling on the saucer before striding out of the room.

Rumpole, his elderly butler, stood in the hall, looking as morose as ever. "Lord Ashcroft, my lord. Waiting in the laboratory."

Jonathon gave a brief nod and hurried down the corridor. He pa.s.sed the many unused rooms of his home-the curtains drawn, the furniture swathed in Holland covers, fires unlit. The coolness of fall was beginning to settle into the house.

He thought of his father's words of warning as he pa.s.sed by dark room after dark room. A vampire hunter's life is a solitary existence. You're better to be alone, because you'll fear the risk to someone you love. It was the truth. He possessed a house that was no longer a home, populated with a few aging, trusted servants. He never attended parties or b.a.l.l.s. Never gamed, never drank to excess, never spent the night in a mistress's arms. His house was devoid of the sparkle of a woman's touch, a woman's laughter...a woman's soul.

That thought spurred Jonathon to race up the stairs, to jog toward the dark, tomblike east wing that housed the laboratory.

After last night, he knew he could no longer obey Lord Ashcroft or the Royal Society. He couldn't let Serena transform into a vampire, and he knew he couldn't destroy her.

If he wanted to try to save Serena Lark's soul, he had to get to work.

The door to the study adjoining his laboratory stood open. Inside the study, Ashcroft cradled the jawbone of a vampire in his hand, holding it up to examine it under the sunlight that drizzled in the windows. His mentor-the man who had been more of a father than his own-turned at the sound of his step and touched the long upper fangs. "Fascinating."

Jonathon gazed on the face of the man who had always encouraged him-who had often acted as peacemaker between he and his father, and realized, with shock, how cadaverous Ashcroft looked. The tall, lean body stooped, the back rounded, the shoulders slumped. Deep lines etched Ashcroft's face, and his few remaining strands of hair were chalk white. His cheeks were sunken, his eyes shadowed.

Jonathon frowned. "Are you ill, sir?"

The older man gave a thin smile. "Blunt as always, Sommersby."

His words had been ill mannered, but he didn't have time for niceties. "The truth, sir. What ails you?"

"I take it I don't look at my best." Ashcroft looked amused. "It's the loss of sleep, my boy. And old age."

Jonathon got to the point. "Who the h.e.l.l is Lukos? And why does he wants Miss Lark? Could he know what she is?"

"I've no idea who Lukos is." Ashcroft eased himself into the club chair closest to the low fire. "There's no mention of such a vampire in any of the literature possessed by the Society. We have only begun to remove that treasure trove of books you found beneath the brothel."

Jonathon raked his hand through his already disordered hair. "Miss Lark found that."

"A clever woman." Ashcroft leaned his head back, shut his eyes for the moment. Jonathon moved to the brandy decanter. He poured two drinks. Given the odd hours he kept, he took brandy whenever it was convenient. Ashcroft did the same.

Ashcroft accepted the gla.s.s.

Jonathon cradled his between his palms. "You told me that Serena Lark has not yet transformed-that she is still mortal. She still has a soul; she doesn't yet have the characteristics of a vampire. I want to try to stop her change into vampire."

"Impossible." Brandy spilled from Ashcroft's gla.s.s as the earl pounded his fist into the leather chair arm. "Her transformation on All Hallow's Eve cannot be stopped-and it will be the Society's first chance to witness the actual moment of change."

"My father believed there was a way to stop it."

Shock registered on Ashcroft's shadowed face. "You found your father's journals? Where?"

"Not the journals, just notes and a letter. Unfinished and hidden underneath a secret panel in his desk."

"A letter? Written to who?"

"To me." His father had started it the day before his death of a heart seizure.

"And what did it tell you?" Ashcroft barked. He perched on the edge of the seat now, pale blue eyes burning with intensity.

"Only that my father kept records of Serena Lark-meticulous records of her life. From records kept by the people who raised her-apparently from Mr. Bridgewater, who died shortly after she left their care-when she returned looking for answers."

His mentor's face jerked up. "From Bridgewater? But why-" Ashcroft broke off and pa.s.sed a gloved hand over his jaw. "I had no idea your father and he corresponded. It was dashed unfortunate that Bridgewater and his wife died."

"I believe my father was keeping these records for you, sir. He was planning to unveil his discovery-the way to stop the creation of a vampire."

Ashcroft was trembling. "I never saw his journals, Jonathon. He never showed them to me."

Jonathon put his untouched brandy on the desk. Frustration surged in him. "I'm still searching for the journals. I've tried every blasted property belonging to the estate-and I'm back here, none the wiser. In that unfinished letter he was gloating over the grand discovery. Why would he hide it from me?" He could understand his father's care in hiding the books, but not why his father would have left no clues for him. "I've been trying to work from the laboratory books prior to those that are missing-to see if I can replicate what he found."

"But you don't know that this discovery is in any way related to Miss Lark."

"It was, sir. In the journal I did find, my father specifically says that he believed he had a better use for Miss Lark than waiting for her to transform, then cutting her open-" Jonathon's stomach lurched as he remembered what his father had planned to do. In the name of protecting humanity, his father had dispa.s.sionately listed the procedures he would perform on Serena Lark's corpse.

"And that use would be?"

"Proving, with her as example, that he could prevent the loss of soul. That he could reverse the transformation."

"Impossible!" Ashcroft shouted. "We must observe what happens-Sommersby, we will never have this chance again."

"She's a living, breathing human being, not an experiment."

Wheezing, Ashcroft shook his head. "She is a vampire, Sommersby. This is her destiny. Imagine how many others could be saved."

Jonathon clenched his fists at his sides. He remembered Lilianne's eyes-that moment of trust, of hope. "I cannot sacrifice Miss Lark."

"You will have no choice. You do not have your father's notes. You can't replicate his discovery, can you?"

Jonathon gave a curt shake of his head. No. No, he had no idea what his father had done. "His journals are somewhere. I will find them."

With a groan and a pained grimace, Ashcroft lifted from the chair. "Sommersby, your duty is to the Society, to England. To mankind."

Jonathon closed his eyes. Remembering the mantra-think of the innocent lives a vampire will claim. One life sacrificed to save many.

He heard Ashcroft's rasping voice. "I have watched her grow from infancy, Sommersby. A vampire who would live as a mortal until the prime of her life, then transform into a being more powerful than any we have ever known. Since her birth, I have kept her under control...waiting for this...waiting for the moment of change. I had to take great care-she was my precious secret."

"But you told my father."

"Of course. I could trust your father." Ashcroft clapped a weak hand on his shoulder. "Lady Brookshire informed me that Miss Lark is determined to hunt Lukos. She wants to destroy him before he goes after her. Sommersby, we cannot take the risk of letting Miss Lark get near Lukos. Your mission is to protect her-to keep her away from Lukos."

"Lady Brookshire is a vampiress," Jonathon pointed out. "A good one. She has never killed."

He thought of Lilianne again. His pretty fiancee had not been a "good" vampire. He had lost her to one of the most brutal of vampires-one who created true soulless drones. She had become a monster.

And when he'd staked that vampire-that nameless, inhuman beast-he'd found that getting vengeance hadn't given him peace.

Lord Ashcroft shook his head. "Lady Brookshire l.u.s.ts for blood and she has the power to kill. Even though she helps the Royal Society, we cannot forget that. I have kept it hidden from Serena Lark that her ladyship is a vampiress-you must not reveal the truth." Ashcroft's face was grim. "A vampire can never be trusted. How can we allow them to flourish? They are stronger than we are-we are mere prey to them. Serena Lark is the key to saving human souls, Jonathon."

Jonathon's heart tightened. He was running out of time. "I'm going to need the time in the laboratory, sir-to try to save her. And I want to hunt Lukos."

Ashcroft shook his head. "I'm afraid that won't do, Sommersby. I have a.s.signed other hunters to destroy Lukos. I want you to let Miss Lark hunt with you-"

"And how the b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l will that keep her safe?"

Ashcroft held up a quelling hand. His eyes gleamed. "You will make her believe she is helping you pursue Lukos, but you will keep her away from Lukos. You will keep her under your protection. In ten days she will turn...and we will learn how a vampire is made. We will be able to study her power." Then his mentor flashed the autocratic look of a father. "This is your duty, Sommersby. I expect you to carry it out."

Moonlight filtered through the trees, casting puddles of blue-silver light on the path ahead of her. She was running, her chest heaving, her heart pumping hard enough to burst. Her hair flew out behind her; her skirts flapped around her, trapping her legs.

Serena tripped over a root and fell to her knees. Sharp rocks bit through the wool of her skirts. The stake ripped against her bare palm, tearing her skin, releasing blood, and she heard the howls behind her as her scent was carried back on the wind.

Two large hands gripped her shoulders, lifting her. Sheer horror tore through her. Lukos. It must be Lukos-she jerked her head up to see...Lord Sommersby. He towered over her, dressed to perfection, a cloak swirling around him.

"I know what you are," he said, "and I desire you in a way that is completely unholy. You have bewitched me."

His mouth lowered and she lifted hers, breathless-how long did they have before the vampires caught them? Minutes? Or mere seconds? Sommersby pressed her back against a tree; the rough bark bit into her. His mouth, hot and demanding, claimed hers. He cast a spell on her again, and she hauled up her skirt, tangling her tongue with his.

His fingers filled her cunny, thrusting into her, and she sobbed with need and pleasure into his mouth. She was going to die this way.

Another man. She sensed him at her side. Out of the corner of her eye, Serena glimpsed pale silver-blond hair. Drake Swift.

His hand slid up her exposed inner thigh, brushed Sommersby's, and found her derriere. Delicately, his finger toyed at her a.n.u.s, touching until she began to melt with pleasure.

The need to o.r.g.a.s.m took her. She began rocking on their fingers. Sommersby freed her mouth, and she panted with hunger and fierce desire. Yes, yes, more. She didn't care about death. Didn't care about anything but coming, now, here, on the thick, skilled fingers of the men she desired- Oh yes! The o.r.g.a.s.m slammed into her and she screamed with it. The vampires would hear her, they would come- She looked helplessly to Drake Swift as she shuddered and shook in ecstasy. He grinned and bent close, his breath heating the tingling rim of her ear. "We are going to make love to you together, little lark."

And before she could gasp, she felt the delicious pressure of Lord Sommersby's enormous c.o.c.k against her drenched cunny- Fangs. She felt fangs explode from her mouth.

She heard Sommersby's horrified shout, Drake Swift's cry of shock. Swift's hands gripped her shoulders. Sommersby held a stake. The stake arced toward her heart- She bolted upright, chest heaving. Sweat drenched her nightdress, her forehead.A rap came at the door. From behind it, Althea, Lady Brookshire, called out, "Serena?"

Chapter Eight.