toward Lerina. Corvindale reacted instantly, and, with a groan of exertion in a great moment of pain, raised his stake to intercept the jewels midair. They caught on the wooden spike and in a sharp movement, he whipped them to the ground.
Maia didn’t hesitate. She dropped to the floor and snatched them up, staggering a bit with the unexpected activity. Better that they were in her hands than their enemies’. But then, before anyone could react, she ran a few steps toward the window and winged the necklace toward the opening.
The vampire near it leaped but missed, and the lethal gems sparkled as they tumbled into the moonlit night.
Lerina gave a muffled shriek of anger just as the nearest vampire lunged for Maia. She tried to spin away, still gripping her stake, but he was fast as a breath and he caught her by the arm. His yank was hard enough that she fairly flew through the air, slamming up against him. She flailed out with her stake, stabbing as Iliana had taught her to do; but she was no match for the vampire and couldn’t get him in the right place.
He laughed and shifted, twisting her around roughly, grabbing up a handful of her hair and baring her neck. He spoke for the first time. “Did you say something about sharing, mistress?”
Maia swallowed and risked a glance at Corvindale, expecting to see him apprehensive—or at least furious— but he wasn’t even looking at her. He was watching Lerina, whose eyes had turned red and whose fangs were showing once again.
“Lovely thought,” Lerina said.
Maia’s heart was pounding and she couldn’t get a good angle with her stake, which had been immobilized by the vampire holding her anyway. Then, everything happened at once…but it was as if the world slowed, underwater, and the events unfolded like a bolt of cloth.
As Corvindale turned, he made a sharp movement. Something spun madly through the air and slammed into the torso of Maia’s captor. A stake. The vampire cried out and released her, tumbling to the floor, but by that time, Corvindale was there, slinging Maia up around the waist. She lost her breath and before she caught it again, he’d lunged toward the window. He caught the edge with his hand and pivoted them through the opening.
She heard someone scream as they went out, weightless, into the night, nothing but air around them.
15
“Do stop screaming,” Dimitri said, his ears ringing, his feet flat on the ground. He hadn’t even staggered when he landed. He adjusted his hold on the squirming woman in his arms, for now that they were on the ground safely, she was bound and determined to get free.
“You’re mad,” she was gasping. “Mad!”
This was no time to talk; Lerina and her make would be out and after them in a moment—either through the window or down the stairs. And though Dimitri had man aged a perfectly executed escape, he was still more than a bit wobbly in the knees and trembly in the muscles. Yet, the rush of energy from real, fresh, human blood had restored him more quickly than he’d thought possible.
But he wasn’t going to think about the consequences of that now.
Definitely not now. Much, much later.
Perhaps even never.
Ignoring Maia’s contortions, Dimitri ducked into shadows and dodged around the close-knit warehouses. They were, as he’d surmised, near the wharf, and even at this time of night, sailors were unloading and loading cargo, drinking, gaming and whoring. An easy environment in which to get lost.
If someone would keep her mouth closed.
“Hush, blasted woman,” he ordered. “They’ll hear you.” The last thing he wanted was to attract attention from anyone at the wharf and have to deal with that delay, as well.
It wasn’t until he flagged down a hack and she disappeared within, disdaining his assistance, that Dimitri was able to take a deep breath. And suddenly everything halted.
The driver waited for him to climb in, his hand on the door, an impatient look on his face. Certainly Dimitri knew he looked beyond disreputable, with blood streaking him every where, and what had been left of his shirt lost somewhere along the way.
But he was Corvindale, and he wasn’t about to be rushed into anything, particularly by the likes of a hackney driver. He glanced into the shadows of the carriage, easily able to make out Maia’s figure even in the dark. The prickling over the back of his shoulders and the upheaval in his gut bordered on unpleasant.
If he climbed into that carriage with her, he knew what was going to happen.
“My lord,” the hack driver said, allowing the barest hint of impatience in his voice as he looked around. “Shall I—er—transport the lady, and return for you?”
“No,” Dimitri said at last, stepping onto the stair. Then he paused and looked at the driver and, making a quick, probably foolish, decision, gave him Rubey’s direction.
He couldn’t take Maia home looking as she was, and himself the same. If anyone saw them in their respective conditions, let alone together, Maia would be ruined. At least they could get a change of clothing and washed up at Rubey’s, and perhaps something that would even hide the mauling marks he’d left on her skin.
He snatched the morbid thoughts away and continued on logically. Aside of getting cleaned up, going to Rubey’s would be the easiest way to get word to Giordan and Voss that he and Maia were safe. Despite Voss’s change back to mortality, the establishment remained a central location through which those familiar with the Dracule communicated and socialized. They knew Rubey could be counted on for confidentiality and secrecy even if she and her ladies weren’t providing services.
It was the most expedient, prudent thing to do. Just like intercepting her before she waltzed at the masquerade ball.
With uncustomary care, he climbed into what he now perceived as his own personal hell and settled onto the bench seat across from his own personal tormentor. As the door closed behind him, its latch clicking into place with finality, Dimitri looked across at Maia.
She was not, as one might expect after such a harrowing experience, huddled in the corner, wide-eyed and meek. Not Maia.
He steered his thoughts around. Perhaps it would be best if he went back to thinking of her as Miss Woodmore.
“You could have killed me,” were her first words. Not shouted at the pitch or volume that set his ears to ringing, but in a low, hushed tone.
That was the first sign that something was truly wrong.
“Which time?” he replied, hiding behind a bored tone.
He could, of course, see quite clearly in the dark. Everything was tinged bottle-green, and all shades of that hue and black, but he could easily discern the enticing curves of her collarbones, the sagging bodice of the simple dress she was wearing, the fact that her hair hung in a messy knot at the left side of the back of her neck, and that her mouth was a hard, flat line. He was not looking at the tiny marks on her shoulder. Definitely
“That’s a very good question,” Miss Woodmore replied, shifting a bit in her seat. Her very movement sent a shimmer of her essence toward him and he had to turn away, trying not to allow the scent to reach him. “Both times, in fact. The time when you threw a stake at me and hit the vampire and the time you jumped out of a window and dragged me with you.”
Dimitri opened his mouth to correct her—after all, he’d thrown the stake at the vampire, not at her—but thought better of it. Perhaps if he simply didn’t talk, he could get through this carriage ride with nothing more than having to listen to her reprimand him.
And that was much preferable to other things that could happen herein.
