coolness of fall was beginning to settle into the house.
He thought of his father’s words of warning as he passed 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 balls. Never gamed, never drank to Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 41
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 hell 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 glass.
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 glass 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.
Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected]
He thought of his father’s words of warning as he passed 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 balls. Never gamed, never drank to Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 41
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 hell 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 glass.
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 glass 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.
Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected]
Similar Books
