Chapter Thirty-One
Two hours into the carriage ride, Winifred’s pulse pounded in the back of her neck.
Keenan snored gently, having slept through most of the journey.
Winifred wished she could have done the same, but she hadn’t been the one who had frantically packed the trunks after Winifred had returned from the museum in a panic.
Keenan had been curious, of course, but Winifred had been too upset to provide an explanation beyond a strong desire to return home.
She put her head in her hands. She couldn’t lose Marcus.
It would be like tearing out a piece of heart she hadn’t realized she’d been missing until she’d met him.
Never had she thought Felicity could be so cruel.
It was as if her cousin had carved an image of Marcus in her mind that was centuries old and refused to recognize that he might have changed, which was absurd.
Before Winifred had forced him to confess, he’d admitted that he hadn’t even drunk from humans in centuries.
It made her wonder what other vampires were like to make her family so determined to eradicate them.
She recalled the book of names Felicity had shown her.
Once, she would have said that written history was unchangeable, albeit subject to the interpretation of the reader.
That belief had been na?ve. She’d been so focused on the past, she’d failed to see her own biases.
Humanity changed and evolved. She could never truly understand who Marcus had been because that person no longer existed.
The best she could do was rewrite the narrative to better reflect who he had become.
She peered out the window and spotted billowing smoke in the distance.
As they ascended a hill, she saw a line of people passing buckets of water toward a burning building.
Several of the figures worked in the castle.
She was briefly tempted to tell the driver to stop—there had to be some way she could help, even by tearing sheets into bandages—but then she realized what the fire meant.
The castle would be nearly empty, perfect for an ambush.
Her stomach gurgled as a horrifying image swam to life in her mind.
Her uncle would find Marcus sleeping and stab a dagger into his chest. It would be over in seconds, and Marcus would never know how much she loved him.
She gritted her teeth and tried to banish the premonition by staring at the tiny shape of the castle in the distance.
The full moon sat high above it, faintly visible through the clouds.
When that failed to eradicate the awful vision, she imagined herself stepping between her husband and uncle with her arms spread. The cold metal would cut through her twill walking suit as if it were gossamer, then slide between her ribs and pierce her heart.
She clutched her sides and gasped. She could almost feel her lungs crackling as they filled with blood. There would be nothing left of her but a writhing, gurgling shape at her uncle’s feet.
The carriage hit a rut, making her bottom leave the seat and thrusting her back into the present.
No matter how vivid her thoughts were, they were nothing more than a product of her terrified mind.
She braced herself against the walls and remembered what she’d told Marcus before she’d left for Glasgow.
She had been, and still was, prepared to become a vampire.
They could remain together forever, and she could experience history rather than reading about it in dusty tomes.
It would mean giving up the sun, her mortal life, and her uncaring family, but those were trifles compared to the thought of losing him.
Even thinking such dire things made her feel like she’d already taken her uncle’s dagger through her ribs.
The carriage slowed to a stop. Keenan jolted awake and yawned. “Have we arrived?”
“Yes,” Winifred said. Then before Keenan or anyone else could open the door, she gathered her skirts and raced up the stone path.
The exterior entrance to the castle was devoid of footmen, but she did not let that stop her.
She grasped a brass ring and heaved until there was enough space to squeeze inside.
When she popped through, she yanked the hem of her dress free from where it had caught and looked around.
The foyer was silent. There should have been servants bustling about, but she couldn’t hear footfalls upstairs or smell the garlic cheddar scones Mrs. Grange baked every morning. They must have all left to help with the fire.
She inhaled deeply, then shouted. “Marcus!”
Her own voice came back to her in a mocking refrain.
Marcus, Marcus, Marcus…
She didn’t have time to search. Her uncle was likely already preparing to execute her husband.
As it was past sunrise, the most logical place for him to be was in his bedchamber.
She was about to ascend the stairs when she felt an odd sensation in her head, like someone had wrapped a string around her brain and tugged.
The red receiving room.
The thought popped into her head, unbidden. She didn’t stop to wonder how it had happened but lifted her skirts and made her way to the third floor, then down the hall until she arrived at a scene out of a horror novel.
The furniture had been overturned, the walls were splattered with blood, and Marcus stood with one hand clasped to his waist, panting heavily. His hair was plastered to his head, the arm of his coat was torn off, and there were deep gashes all over his body.
Uncle Ethan was nowhere to be seen, but when she saw the only other occupant of the room, she shrieked.
An impossibly large four-legged creature swiveled its head until black eyes bored into hers.
Saliva dripped from its open jaws and formed smoking puddles on the floor.
The creature writhed and twisted, shrinking until it was only her bloodied, naked cousin.
Vincent was a werewolf.
That explained why he’d loathed her father’s hunting dogs and his wretched need to possess her as a wolf might claim a mate.
Come to me.
Those were Marcus’s words, but he hadn’t spoken.
She was running to him before she realized it.
When he took her hands, something sparked between them, like static, and her mind opened.
There were no other words to describe it.
One moment she was alone in her head, and the next, she wasn’t.
She felt him reach for her, mentally, and met him with an exuberant sharing of sensation.
She could feel her own hands clasping him because his body was hers.
They were one and the same. She physically and mentally embraced him, passing along every reassuring feeling she possessed.
He sent back a powerful wave of love that warmed her from the inside out.
“I can feel you,” she whispered.
The ragged edges of his thoughts scraped against hers. She gently pulled back, just enough that she could distinguish where she ended and he began. He must have felt the same, as he blinked several times, like he’d been spun around in circles.
Vincent stood from behind the couch and scowled fiercely. “You cannot support that monster, Winifred.” He held out his arms. “Come with me and I will bring you home, away from this nightmare.”
She slid her hand into Marcus’s. “This is my home.”
Vincent picked up a pistol from the ground and leveled it at Marcus. “Then you have made your decision.”
There was a loud bang, and a bullet struck Marcus in the torso. The pain reverberated through her body. She clasped her own shoulder, expecting to feel carnage, but there was nothing there.
Marcus toppled over. She shrieked his name and clawed at his shirt. The edges of the bullet wound weren’t knitting together.
“No,” she whispered. She brought her wrist to his lips. “Bite me.”
His head lolled to the side.
“Marcus!” Her voice broke. “I can’t lose you.” She wiped his face with the corner of her sleeve. The fabric of his coat was mangled, and the angry flesh beneath torn to shreds and speckled with bits of metal. She picked them off while tears flowed down her cheeks and splattered on his face.
His eyelid fluttered open. “Winifred. I have seen to it… You will be… taken care of. Your uncle…” He trailed off and went limp.
A sob burst from her mouth. It felt as if someone had taken a sword and ran it through her heart, then pulled it out, leaving her with a gaping hole in her chest.
A hand landed on her shoulder. “Leave him.”
She shrugged away from Vincent and ran her hands over Marcus’s body, searching for a knife or dagger or anything with a sharp edge. If he was not conscious enough to bite her, she would have to help him.
“Winifred, that’s enough,” Vincent said. “Do you know what I’ve done for you? I’ve spent the last several months setting everything in motion to earn your freedom. Now we can finally be together.”
She heard his words but didn’t care. Her arms trembled from the effort of holding Marcus. His skin was slippery, but she couldn’t give up. The moment she did, it would be admitting that he was gone.
“We have to leave,” her cousin said. “Your husband’s distress will summon more of his kind.”
Vincent was going to take her away. Marcus would die, cold and alone, while her family forced her back to Canada. She would live the rest of her life with a piece of her soul missing.
It was not a life she would accept.
Her numb fingers grasped the ground until they landed on a shard of glass. She curled her fingers around it and when her cousin crouched, she slashed.
He leaped out of the way but sustained a thin scratch along his arm.
Blood splattered to the ground. “You cut me!” He snarled, and his skull elongated.
In moments, he’d become a wolf again. She wouldn’t get another chance.
She brought the shard to her neck and sliced.
The pain was intense, but she gritted her teeth to keep from crying out and she leaned over Marcus.
Drink.
Her vision grew hazy. Vincent was shouting, but she couldn’t make out the words over the whooshing in her head. She clung to Marcus until her strength gave out, then closed her eyes and fell on top of him.
At least they would die together.
Lips moved against her neck, followed by two sharp pokes.
Pleasure coursed through the bond, wrapping her in a glowing, golden haze. She could feel her vital essence leaving her body and entering Marcus, restoring his strength and healing the damage he’d sustained.
She brought her fingers to his shoulder and felt firm, cold skin. “Thank God.”
He kissed her forehead. “I would never leave you.”
She buried her face in his shirt, even though it was crusty and smelled like sweat. Nothing else mattered except that they were together.
“Don’t let that monster confuse you,” Vincent said. “You belong to me, Winifred.”
“There is only one monster in this room,” Winifred said. “And it’s not my husband.”
Marcus’s amusement filtered through the bond, but when he looked at Vincent, his voice was full of menace.
“It’s time for you to leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere without her,” Vincent said.
She felt Marcus’s white-hot anger. He would kill anyone who came between them, and she didn’t care. So much had changed since they’d met.
He gently positioned her against the wall. She had only enough strength to remain sitting, propped up by the stiff fabric of her gown and her corset. It was distinctly odd watching passively as Marcus faced off against a man she’d once considered family.
Vincent’s body expanded with a sickening crunch. Silver fur erupted from his skin. He fell onto his hands and knees and growled like a beast.
“This is your last chance,” Marcus said. “If you do not leave now, you will be removed from this castle in pieces.” He flicked his arm, and an enormous ruby blade materialized. It was like nothing she’d ever seen, somehow liquid and solid at the same time.
“I really do not want to kill you,” Marcus said. “I know what was done to you was not your choice.”
Vincent opened his jaws, bearing razor-sharp teeth.
The golden thread in Winifred’s mind pulsed so strongly that it reverberated throughout her entire body.
Marcus lurched. He was so fast that in the time it took for Winifred to blink, he had gone from standing in front of her to across the room with his hand buried in Vincent’s fur and the shimmering blade pressed against her cousin’s neck.
Then there was a wet tearing sound, and the beast toppled over… without his head.