Chapter Thirty-Two
Marcus carried Winifred in his arms through the empty halls.
She was too silent, yet he could feel her on several levels.
The moisture on her warm skin. Her faintly soapy scent.
The pressure of his own arms wrapped around her.
If he paid too much attention, the looping of sensation between them made him dizzy.
“I can’t…” She shook her head. “It’s too much.”
Her distress buzzed against his mind, but as he welcomed her physical touch, he welcomed the sound of her thoughts and the feel of her emotions.
It was like coming home after being marooned in a sea of despair.
The bond between them had filled cracks in his heart he hadn’t even realized had been there.
Even after mere minutes, he knew he would not survive losing the connection.
They reached her room, and he heard shouting from elsewhere in the castle. It could have been his staff, or Mr. Sorrow. He’d lost track of the hunter with the arrival of the wolf.
He juggled Winifred in his arms, opened her door, then deposited her on the bed.
She’d done everything she could. Now it was his turn to rescue his brothers and Kitty.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on the faint sparks of their presence.
They were close. On the grounds. Likely engaged with other hunters in combat.
He reached the top of the entry staircase. Two people in black cloaks argued in the entryway. Winifred’s uncle, who had raced out of the receiving room when his nephew had attacked, shook his head as Winifred’s cousin Felicity Sorrow gestured with her arms, obviously making an impassioned plea.
“Leave,” Marcus said, pitching his voice so it carried.
The figures sprang apart before facing him, shoulder to shoulder. The old man wasn’t a problem. But he was not keen on taking the life of a woman, especially one who was friends with Winifred.
“Miss Sorrow,” he said.
She straightened. “Do not use my name, vampire! Where is Vincent? What have you done with my brother?”
He crossed his arms. “The werewolf is dead. I suggest the rest of you leave before you end up the same. There has been too much blood shed this night already.”
Mr. Sorrow slashed his arm through the air. “Absolutely not. You might have survived our first assault, vampire, but I am not afraid of you, nor of death. I will do whatever is necessary to avenge my nephew and see every wretched person living in this castle executed.”
Miss Sorrow grabbed his arm. “Uncle, no! The staff are innocent.”
“They are complicit, for serving a monster. We cannot suffer them, or my turncoat niece, to live.”
“Please, Uncle—”
Mr. Sorrow slapped Miss Sorrow, sending her sprawling to the ground. She clutched her cheek and whimpered.
Marcus had seen enough. He descended the steps one at a time while sending a thread of power to all the blood Vincent had spilled in his reckless assault.
It came at his call, dripping from the ceiling like rain and drenching the hunters.
With the steady, reassuring beacon of Winifred in his mind, he felt ready to take on an army. A few measly humans were no threat.
Miss Sorrow rose unsteadily to her feet and wiped her face with a handkerchief, turning the white cotton bright red. “This isn’t right, Uncle. We should leave. We can’t win this fight.”
The old man shoved his niece behind him. “Let me handle this, child.”
Pity. He should have listened.
Marcus willed his strength into his blood. As it crept from his body, a throbbing started between his temples, but still he continued, until a pool formed beneath the intruders. They didn’t even seem to notice they’d walked directly into a trap.
“I will give you one last chance,” he said. The red liquid coiled beneath their feet. If they agreed to leave, he would summon it back. But if they refused, he would show them what a two-century-old vampire could do.
“I-I don’t want to die here.” Miss Sorrow backed up, slipped, and fell on her rear. He stared at her as she scrambled upright, then turned around and fled. He would have to deal with her another time, but for the moment, he would let her go.
Mr. Sorrow slid his hand into his cloak, likely reaching for this revolver.
Before he could wrap his fingers around the hilt, a scarlet tree sprouted from the floor, skewering him in dozens of places and lifting his limp body to the ceiling.
He gurgled and flailed before finally falling silent.
The tree formed tiny buds that flowered and released a shower of bloody petals.
Marcus recalled his power. His victim remained floating in the air for a fraction of a second before splashing into the crimson pool in a lifeless heap.
The ache in Marcus’s head eased, and his legs gave out. He grasped the railing to keep from falling down the steps.
It was over.
He reached reflexively for Winifred’s mental presence. As long as he had her, he would never return to that awful darkness that had made him want to walk into the sun and sunder himself into a pile of ash.
I’m coming.
He pushed the words through their bond but didn’t know if she’d heard. Their mating was still too new. There were many things he was still learning about how it worked.
He would have to consult with Cordon.
He turned the last corner that led to Winifred’s room, when a figure barreled toward him and hit him square in the stomach.
It took several seconds to realize it was Miss Sorrow holding her brother’s severed head against her chest. She shoved him and Marcus hit the window at the end of the hallway with a thud.
“Demon!” she cried. She removed a pistol from under her cloak, but the tears streaming down her face made Marcus doubt she would pull the trigger.
“I did not want to kill him,” he said. “I know what it’s like to be changed into something against your will.”
He didn’t need to ask to understand Vincent hadn’t wanted to become a werewolf. There had long been stories of hunters using other creatures to assist them in their patrols.
“Did your uncle do it?” Marcus asked. “Did he lock your brother in a cell with an infected human and let it happen, turn his own blood into a weapon?”
Miss Sorrow’s lips thinned. “Nothing you say will convince me you aren’t evil.
” Then she screwed her eyes shut and fired.
There was a sharp report, followed by the sound of shattering glass.
Miss Sorrow had swung her arm up, missing him.
He glanced at the broken hallway window behind him, then back at her, and at the pale figure approaching her from behind.
Winifred, stay away from her.
His wife shook her head. He could feel her determination and her love for the woman standing between them.
Miss Sorrow’s eyes were enormous, and her arms were shaking. As if sensing Winifred’s presence, she glanced over her shoulder, then dropped her brother’s head. “Winnie! You’re hurt.”
Winifred limped the remaining distance and draped herself over her cousin. Miss Sorrow returned the embrace, causing Winifred to wince.
Be careful, dearest.
He would refrain from harming Miss Sorrow because Winifred cared for her, but if Miss Sorrow made any movements that might suggest Winifred was in danger, Marcus would sever the connection between the two women by any means necessary.
“Don’t do this, Fel,” Winifred said. “Marcus isn’t your enemy. Vincent attacked us. We had no choice.”
Miss Sorrow shuddered, then pulled away from Winifred until she faced both of them, the battle lines drawn.
“You can’t stay here, Winnie,” Miss Sorrow said.
Tears dripped down her cheeks. “If you do, I’ll never see you again.
Losing my brother was difficult enough. I told our uncle not to do it, but he insisted having a werewolf join our cause was the only way to rid the world of vampires.
Vincent resisted, but you know Uncle Ethan.
He pressured my brother until Vincent gave in. ”
Winifred fell to her knees with a grunt. Marcus was at her side in an instant, supporting her with an arm around her waist.
“Choose,” Miss Sorrow said. “Him or me.”
Marcus felt Winifred’s decision. A moment later, Miss Sorrow must have realized it, too, because her lower lip trembled.
“We can find another way,” Marcus said. He held out his hand but must have startled Miss Sorrow, as she reacted by throwing out her arms. She smacked Winifred, who stumbled out of Marcus’s grasp.
She pinwheeled her arms. He grabbed for her, but it was too late.
Her knees hit the back of the ledge, and she fell backward through the broken window.