"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 n.o.ble 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 s.e.xual appet.i.te.

"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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 p.r.i.c.kled 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 a.s.signed 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 pa.s.s 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 brought only his own disguise in from the corridor, where they'd discarded cloaks and masks to attack. Jonathon would have to retrieve his own.

He took one last look into Serena Lark's eyes before leaving her side. She met his gaze with an open expression that spoke of hope. She didn't look afraid.

Unease rode Jonathon as he left the room, and found his own mask and cloak. Had Miss Lark really pieced together information in plain sight in the Society's books and discovered a secret no one else knew? Or was she leading them into a trap?

He tied on his mask, knotting the cords. Swift was right-they needed to hunt down information on this master. Jonathon knew how valuable Serena Lark was. She was the first known vampire child. If this vampire Lukos knew...

h.e.l.l.

Jonathon swung his cloak around his shoulders, pausing on the threshold of the room. Drake Swift held Serena Lark's hand, and she was smiling up into his partner's eyes.

Jonathon's heart felt like ice. Since he'd first set eyes on her-on her glossy black hair, seductive gray eyes, sweet heart-shaped face-he'd been obsessed with Serena Lark. Even before Ashcroft told him to watch her. He was obsessed with her in his dreams. When he bathed. When he rode. When he toiled in his b.l.o.o.d.y laboratory. d.a.m.n, even when he hunted. Especially when he hunted. While he stalked the fog-laden London streets, he dreamed of being in Miss Lark's bed, making love to her, and hearing her cry his name- Ashcroft wanted to let her change, wanted Jonathon to study the transformation of mortal to vampire. She was to change on her twenty-fifth birthday-All Hallow's Eve. It was her destiny, Ashcroft insisted, and they would learn how to save vampires if they studied Serena Lark. Jonathon had to admit that was true. He hated letting her change, but he didn't know how to stop it.

He knew exactly what service the Society would require of him when they decided Miss Lark was no longer of value. Once she transformed and gained her power, she would be too dangerous.

He would have to stake her.

Chapter Four.

Enslaved Serena reached the bottom of the stone steps and held her candle up to illuminate the dark tunnel. It stank. There would be rats. A cold drop splattered on her neck, and she gave a smothered cry.

In front of her, Mr. Swift turned. His mask hid most of his face, shadows hid his eyes, but his lush lips cranked down in a grimace. "Smells like p.i.s.s."

Before she could agree, he caught hold of her waist and lifted her. "The floor is mud, Miss Lark." He juggled her with ease so he was carrying her in his arms, one solid arm beneath the crooks of her knees, the other around her waist. His gloved hand splayed over her bottom.

He grinned, revealing a dimple in his right cheek-she could see the shadow of it, half-hidden by the exotic mask.

"Are you truly so concerned about saving my slippers, Mr. Swift?" she asked.

"Of course, Miss Lark. Don't ask me to put you down-I won't. I'm enjoying this too much."

She had to laugh at that. Just a small giggle that only he could hear before the blackness swallowed it up. She held out a candle, but it did little to fight the dark. Lord Sommersby strode ahead-she could see his light a few feet ahead of them, hear the rea.s.suring slap of his boots in the mud. The walls of the tunnel were too dirty, too covered in sludge to reflect much light. They were curved and gave the strangest sense of enveloping, like demonic arms.

The light played on the arched stone ceiling above them. At once Serena saw her research had been correct-the tunnel ended a few yards to the left, narrowing and closing to a wall of dirt and stone. It stretched into blackness in the other direction, and there was no sound but their breathing and the splatter of drips on mud.

Mr. Swift gave her bottom a squeeze, but he lifted her also, as though he'd only intended to improve his grip. She should protest, but she liked the pressure of his hand there. She hooked one hand around his neck. Even carrying her, Mr. Swift strode confidently into the dark.

Daringly, she let her bare fingertips brush his hair. So soft. So remarkably pale blond. He caught her gaze, his green eyes glittered in the faint light, and she saw wicked desire there.

Lord Sommersby stopped abruptly, his candle held in front. "Ahead," he whispered. "I see the outline of the door." His light twinkled on the gold painted stars on his rich midnight-blue mask. Serena glanced from his masked face to Mr. Swift's. Both the Venetian masks sported strange long noses-noses with a downward curve at the end, like vicious beaks. They looked like creatures of fantasy, masked and swathed in black silk capes.

Twisting in Mr. Swift's arms, Serena saw nothing but shadow, until the glow of Lord Sommersby's candle touched a padlock, open and hanging off the hasp.

Serena's heart leapt-there was nothing to stop them getting into the brothel.

"Remember, little lark-" The nose of Drake Swift's mask b.u.mped her lips. His voice held dangerous promise, as he set her on her feet. "You are our courtesan-our lover. You must play the part to keep us alive."

Around her, dozens of people-vampires, courtesans, gentlemen-were having s.e.x. Serena tried not to stare. She truly did. But the groans made her legs ache, and each time a woman cried out, it was as though a bolt of lightning struck her quim.

She remembered her confident answer to Mr. Swift. Yes, I can play the part.

Now, she wasn't so certain.

Her hand on Lord Sommersby's arm, Serena gaped at one vampire, his trousers down around his ankles, his tight, muscular derriere exposed. A woman's bare white legs were hooked around the vampire's waist and he held her up against a wall. He was thrusting into her so hard he shook the wall.

"I die!" the woman cried.

Goodness, they had to save the poor creature! But the woman screamed in pleasure and ripped at the vampire's clothed back with fingers curved like claws.

The woman was enjoying herself. Her life wasn't in danger-yet.

"h.e.l.l and perdition."

She heard Sommersby mutter the curse. "My dear, you really don't belong here."

It was true. She'd steeled herself to expect audacious s.e.x acts and lewd couplings-she'd seen many such ill.u.s.trations in the Society's hidden texts-but she knew he was right. She was not a virgin, and she truly liked s.e.x, as illicit and unladylike as that was, but she was shocked by this. By women who willingly gave themselves to demons, who exposed their b.r.e.a.s.t.s to catch male attention, and who were willing to sink to their knees and kiss a man's privy member at his command.

Many jades cast glances at Lord Sommersby and Mr. Swift-below the bizarre masks, both men's beautiful lips and strong jaws were visible. She guessed the women knew the masks covered handsome faces, that the cloaks shrouded muscular, beautiful bodies.

The three of them kept to the shadows-though in this crowded corridor it was almost impossible. Serena noticed the care Lord Sommersby and Mr. Swift took to disguise the fact they had no fangs.

She was masked too-in harem style, with a subtle strip of white cloth hiding her face. Mr. Swift had torn fabric from his cravat to fashion it for her. He'd chosen the part that wasn't b.l.o.o.d.y from his wound, a wound that he cavalierly disregarded.

A woman with wild henna-red curls leapt in front of Drake Swift. A quick tug of her hands and her low-cut bodice popped beneath her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She jumped giddily so those b.r.e.a.s.t.s wobbled up and down, like jelly aspic on a platter. The woman's hand snaked out and clamped onto Mr. Swift's crotch.

Drake Swift gave a hearty laugh. "Not now, wicked wench. I promised to stuff the a.r.s.e of this one with my companion. But those luscious t.i.ts of yours look like a meal for two."

Sensual need forked through her at his crude words, and she almost stumbled in shock. The woman gave a playful pout of scarlet-painted lips, then raced off, and leapt into another vampire's arms. This gentleman was most definitely a vampire-his fangs lapped his lower lip. He possessed white hair; a grizzled face; a strong, lean body. He pulled out his c.o.c.k and the woman toyed with it. It was incredibly long, curved like a scythe, and soon many women's hands teased it while the vampire moaned his pleasure.

Serena looked away. These women must be fools. This vampire would drink from them. He would hurt them. The books described the vampire's bite as the most intense pleasure, but Serena didn't believe it.

"Are you all right, little lark?"

It was Drake Swift, murmuring by her ear, setting her skin tingling with the warmth of his breath.

Serena nodded. She was. Her heart beat a wild rhythm as they pa.s.sed men-the dozens who prowled the hallways or who suckled women's b.r.e.a.s.t.s or who rutted wildly against the wallpapered walls. What would happen if she walked into Roman? Or Leonardo? But she did not recognize any of the handsome faces with their glittering, reflective eyes, their long, curving fangs.

Every vampire she saw was attractive and wore clothes that spoke of great wealth. Many smiled at her. With just a glance, a vampire could make a lady l.u.s.t and need so much she willingly offered her neck, but the heat these demons ignited-which she fought-was nothing compared to the sparks that scorched her each time she brushed against her hunters' bodies. She walked between the two men, Mr. Swift on her left, Lord Sommersby on her right. She no longer knew which man's hand rested on her waist, her shoulder, or gently grazed her arm.

"Which way, sweet?" Mr. Swift whispered.

"The ballroom," Serena said.

Suspicion glittered in the earl's dark eyes. "The most crowded place here? No other way?"

She swallowed hard, and whispered, "There's a gallery that overlooks-and stairs on both sides. We could pa.s.s through there, go down the stairs, and then down to the tunnels."

"And all this you learned from books?" Sommersby asked.

"Yes, all this I learned from books." This brothel had existed for decades-she had traced its ownership back hundreds of years, to the original Tudor building that had been on the site.

A gong sounded-it was subdued, but it must act as a summons, because people began to flow in the opposite direction to the gallery. Some vanished into bedrooms on the way. But Serena could see that no one was looking in their direction as they reached the draped entrance to the gallery.

His lordship went in first, simply vanishing behind the curtain. She was alone with Drake Swift. It was eerie to gaze at his mask, to have no idea of his expression. He moved in front of her, to trap her back against the wall, shielding her from the eyes of a couple of women who pa.s.sed.

He bent as though biting her neck but did not touch her. His words were soft. "Do you want my touch, Miss Lark?"

His voice was deep, roughly accented-Serena knew he'd grown up around Covent Garden- but his brazen words only made his low baritone more sensual.

Serena felt his warm breath on her skin and grew indecently wet. She felt dizzy still-from the drug, she a.s.sumed. From shock, too, no doubt, but she couldn't give in to that. "Yes," she said simply. She touched Mr. Swift's cheek, below his mask, and didn't care. She pulled him closer, drew him until his hot mouth ignited against her neck. "I do want your touch."

"You're a brave woman, Miss Lark," Mr. Swift murmured as his lips skimmed around her throat, down to the hollow at the front. Heat flared in her blood.

Was she brave? She was nervous. Were brave people nervous? She knew that Drake Swift was wildly courageous. He'd told her that once in the Society's library-I'm addicted to the hunt, love. It is almost as fun as making love. She hadn't blushed for him then, which she had suspected was his goal-to embarra.s.s the prim former governess.

His teeth brushed her neck, and the pressure sent a bolt of pleasure rocketing through her. Warmth. Wetness. A delicious tickle. He was running his tongue over her neck! Her quim ached with the contact. Even the brush of the mask's long nose along her neck made her legs wobble.

She pushed on Mr. Swift's shoulders to force him away. He conceded, lifting his mouth from her neck. "Did I frighten you?"

Serena tipped her head back to look into his eyes, dazzling green behind the mask. "Of course not! But I'm so close now-I can't be sidetracked."

He laughed at that, leaning back against the wall, his eyes bright behind his mask. "Do you really think books are more important than hunting? More important than pa.s.sion?"

"Tonight, yes," she answered, trying to banter.

"Do you really believe that words, not stakes, can destroy vampires?"

She hadn't expected such a question from Drake Swift, the man known as the Mad Slayer. Strangely, having him forsake his devil-may-care persona and show a glimpse of his soul made her heart thump against her ribs. She moved closer to the drapery. "Words have great power. And I have no choice but to bury myself in words-the Society will not let me hunt."

"But tonight you defied them. Are books worth risking your life?"

He was questioning her motives, and she couldn't have that. "Are you offering, now, to let me hunt with you?" she asked. "To take me on as an apprentice?"

He looked more startled than if she had lifted her robe and jumped on him. Of course he would never consider hunting with a mere woman by choice.