Blood Rose. Sharon Page

not leaving without trying to find it.”

      Jonathon’s patience was at its end, but he let her elbow go. He was squeezing too hard; he’d left faint bruises. Goddamn his unwieldy hands. “We aren’t searching every room of a bawdyhouse to find a library that may not exist.”

      “It does exist. After all, I am skilled at research. I pieced together a plan of this brothel—”

      The word brothel on Serena Lark’s full lips shot a bolt of forbidden desire through Jonathon. The memory of her curvaceous naked body on the billiard table made him hard. He wasn’t a gentleman who sought perverted diversions, but that sudden forbidden image had him aching.

      He moved to stand between her and her view of Drake Swift, who was dealing with the fallen vampires.

      Gritting his teeth, he snapped, “Forget the books, Miss Lark. I intend to get you to safety.” But he couldn’t stop himself from lifting Miss Lark’s bare hand. He touched his mouth to the red mark on her wrist, to the bruising there. A trace of rose scent from her silken skin fought with the smell of vampires’ drugs.

      He released her hand. The taste of her skin made him yearn to taste more—her lips, her throat, and lower…to the sweet curves of her breasts, belly, and her hot, honey-drenched quim.

      Hell, Jonathon knew exactly why he desired her so much. Why his need for her bordered on madness. He wanted her because Serena Lark was a vampire’s child, destined to transform into a vampiress on her twenty-fifth birthday—on All Hallow’s Eve. She already possessed a succubus’s magic allure that drew men to her—and she had no idea what she was.

      Damn Ashcroft for assigning him to this mission.

      Her beseechingly innocent eyes widened with desperation. “I can’t forget the books. I need to see them. You should understand, my lord. I need to know who—what—killed my parents.”

      You should understand. The familiar coldness touched his heart. The hell of it was that he couldn’t summon a memory of Lilianne’s face. He wanted vengeance for her death because it had become a mission to him, but his anger, his hatred, the pain of lost love had long since died. All he had left was cold guilt.

      “I do know what it feels like,” he said. “And that’s the very reason, my dear, I can’t let you wander around a vampires’ brothel.”

      “How can you walk away from a treasure trove of vampires’ books?” Miss Lark asked. “I know you’ve spent a lifetime studying the creatures, my lord. The entire history of vampires will be in those books. You are a man of science—how can you resist finding the truth?”

      Jonathon held back an ironic laugh. Serena Lark thought she could appeal to the noble scientist in him. She had no idea, the poor sweet.

      He took a deep breath, inhaled more of the drugs the demons had used—they had been burned earlier in another room and allowed to seep in through holes made in the wall. They must have left Serena alone with it. Solange and another drug—one he hadn’t recognized, though he could guess at its purpose. It must be an aphrodisiac. How much Miss Lark had inhaled, or how long it would affect her, he couldn’t speculate.

      Having finished the job of decapitating the destroyed vampires, stuffing the mouths with garlic, and stowing the remains out of sight, Drake Swift stepped behind her. Jonathon saw her become immediately aware of Swift. He gritted his teeth as he saw her stiffen in tension—in appreciative tension, not fear. Her pretty tongue licked her lower lip, her fingers played against the silk of the robe. Miss Lark kept flicking glances at Swift beneath demurely lowered lashes. Lashes that tempted Jonathon to touch with his lips—to catch her by surprise with a kiss.

      Of course Drake Swift was definitely aware of her. Swift let his fingers lightly graze her tumbled hair. Jonathon noted Swift’s breathing was quicker, his trousers tenting in an obvious display of his notorious sexual appetite.

      “We should hunt down the vampires—find out from them about this master.” Swift glanced up at him. “And let Miss Lark find her books.”

      The one advantage of large hands is they would fit easily around Swift’s bloody neck.

      “Surely you want to see that library, Lord Sommersby,” Miss Lark insisted. “Every answer you’ve ever sought could be in those books.”

      Jonathon grimaced. She was holding out the juicy apple of knowledge—begging him to take a bite.

      Swift nodded, encouraging her. “It’s easy enough to infiltrate the place. Grab a couple of masks and pose as clients to our lovely Miss Lark. The tunnels likely lead two ways—next door and to safety.”

      “We have to go through the brothel,” Miss Lark added. “We can only get to the tunnel that leads to the library through it.” She crossed her arms over her chest, which made the silk gape and gave a view of shadowed cleavage.

      “Then you, Miss Lark, are going to have to pose as a jade.” Swift gave a wink. “You must convincingly convey that you intend to share your bed with both of us.”

      “Shut it, Swift,” he warned. “It’s utter bloody madness to waltz through a vampires’ brothel.” He scrubbed a hand over his chin. “How do you know about these tunnels, Miss Lark?” he asked sharply. “Have you been in them?”

      Spots of color came to her cheeks. “Not yet—I merely did research! These tunnels connect to the underground rivers. The ones covered over by the city—the Fleet and the Tyburn.”

      “Research? How is it no other hunters have unearthed this knowledge?” His hair prickled at the back of his neck. Was Ashcroft wrong—did Serena Lark know of her destiny? Was she leading them into a trap?

      “Because no other hunters are assigned to dust library shelves, my lord,” she snapped. “And no, the information is not obvious—I had to piece it together from dozens of volumes.”

      “And you really believe vampires have a library beneath London?”

      “There are underground rivers, my lord. The tunnels carry the sewage to the Thames. Is it so impossible to believe that there would be more catacombs? That vampires would use them?”

      Jonathon had to concede that point. It was, in fact, very likely.

      If she was right, it would be the most amazing discovery made on vampires in centuries.

      He looked into her hopeful eyes and wanted to agree to this mad scheme. “Is there any other way to get in there?”

      Swift groaned. He was sliding a stake back up the sleeve of his coat. “Christ, Sommersby, we don’t have time for blasted dithering. We have vampires to hunt.”

      Miss Lark frowned again. “We can only get into those tunnels from the brothel. Unless you wish to travel up the Fleet River to do it—and the only way of getting in there is at its end, at the Thames, and that’s below water.”

      “The brothel, then.” Jonathon nodded to Swift. “Swift, bring the disguises in.” They’d left their capes and masks in the hallway—hindrances during battle.

      “I don’t fetch,” Swift snarled, but he turned on his heel and stalked out to the empty hallway.

      Miss Lark touched Jonathon’s arm. Her silvery-gray eyes flashed. “But aren’t all the gentlemen here vampires? Won’t it be obvious that you aren’t?”

      “How long will it take us to access the tunnels?”

      She smiled, obviously pleased to be the one holding the information. “We have to pass through the brothel, but it shouldn’t take more than minutes.”

      “Then we should be able to remain unnoticed for a few minutes.”

      Swift strolled back in wearing his mask and domino—a voluminous black silk cloak, the traditional masquerade of Venice. Silver moons and stars glittered on the ornate purple mask that covered Swift’s face from hairline to lip. True to his word, his partner had bought only his own disguise