Summoning every ounce of strength he had left, Raven tried to turn his head, tried to lift it out of the pool of blood that drenched his cheek. Nothing happened.
He loved Ophelia. He was not going to let her die because he was a bloody vampire who could not move until sunset.
In his thoughts, he roared in fury. Pain screamed through his body. His cheek rose a bit from the floor, then fell back with a splattering squish.
But he fought and finally dragged his legs ahead, forced his arms to move.
Nothing would stop him protecting Ophelia.
Ophelia was traveling in Harry’s carriage. Althea, Lord Brookshire, and de Wynter followed, along with two more vehicles filled with slayers from the Royal Society.
But she heard a weak groan in her head.
The words ceased to flow to her.
A demigod? What power did he have, what could he do to Ravenhunt and to her, what did he want?
Guidon had told her about how he loved the daughter of the goddess Aphrodite, who was Mrs. Darkwell and that Darkwell was herself a prisoner, with the task of finding love for one hundred preternatural females. To defeat a demigod, would Mrs. Darkwell help her? She did not know why Mrs. Darkwell had kept her for years. She assumed her parents had paid the woman well. But how well did one have to pay a woman who had the powers of a vampire and some of the power of a goddess?
She closed her eyes and sent her thoughts to Althea.
“We must go to Mrs. Darkwell’s house,” Ophelia announced to a startled Harry. Quickly she told him everything. Then the turmoil in her heart spilled out. “I think she could help me, but will she?”
“We will convince her,” her brother vowed.
“It won’t be that easy. Guidon told me she is as capricious as a goddess. It was her duty to find true love for the women under her care. That was how she could find freedom from the curse that holds her here.”
“Then she will help you, because this will help you find true love.”
She prayed it would. Her heart thundered as she recognized the streets. Ophelia pressed her forehead to the window and saw the town house that had been her prison. “There it is.” Strangely she was no longer afraid of the place.
But why should she be? She was never going to be a prisoner again.
Minutes later, she stood in Mrs. Darkwell’s office with her brother at her side. Terrible memories of loneliness lurked in Ophelia’s mind.
But she would not let them weaken her.
She slapped her hands down firmly on Mrs. Darkwell’s large desk, leaned over, faced the woman with courage, and said, “You are going to help me save Ravenhunt.”
“The man who captured you? You wish me to save him?” Mrs. Darkwell pursed her lips in anger, her thick black lashes lowered as her pale eyes narrowed. Her former keeper looked just as Ophelia remembered—tall, slender, dressed in a gown of black silk and lace, which made a stark contrast with the woman’s golden curls.
“Guidon told me everything,” Darkwell continued. “This man took you prisoner to kill you, and now you wish to save him. Child, you are completely mad.”
“I’m not a child anymore. I haven’t been for years—I’m three and twenty! He deserves to be saved! He may have taken me prisoner, but he rescued me. I intend to do the same for him.”
Mrs. Darkwell drew back stiffly in surprise. “You have certainly gained courage.”
“I’m not a cowering prisoner anymore, not weak and frightened. My power is gone, and I will never hurt anyone again.”
“Your power is gone?”
“Yes,” Ophelia hissed impatiently, but knew she would have to give the entire tale. She spilled out her story in a mad rush—explaining how she had lost her power, how Ravenhunt had saved her and was now a captive, and how she needed the help of a goddess to rescue him.
She could face Mrs. Darkwell, the woman who had once made her quake, with the confidence of a mature and strong woman.
“I am delighted you are freed from your power, and I am proud of how you have grown up, Ophelia. Yes, I will help Ravenhunt for you—if you truly love him.”
“I do! Of course I do.” How could the woman even doubt it?
Through her mind, she spoke to Raven—and lied, of course, to learn where he was. She promised Lord Brookshire and de Wynter would go to him, with Royal Society men. But the moment she ended the conversation, she turned to Mrs. Darkwell. “He is being held in an abandoned church in the stews. He has told me the way, and we must go quickly.”
“Here, Ophelia. Time to learn to use a crossbow.”
Harry pushed the weapon into her hand. Nodding, she watched her brother’s expert, effortless movements as he loaded the bow, drawing back the taut string to place the arrow. She winced as she forced the string back —heavens, it took so much strength.
Harry pointed at a noticeboard, long unused, on the side of the church. “Aim for that.”
She lifted the heavy contraption. Sighted.
“Fire,” he said.
She released the arrow. It smacked against the wooden door, three feet to the right of her target. She let out a small cry of fury. Her arms ached with the effort.
Harry looked to Mrs. Darkwell. “Perhaps she should have learned a skill or two with you.”
Ophelia’s eyes widened. She was ready to defend her brother against the goddess’s attack, but Darkwell merely inclined her head. “Perhaps you are correct. But I am a goddess, and this is easily rectified.”
Mrs. Darkwell lifted her hand. Sizzling streams of white light, like tiny lightning bolts, leapt from her hand. They arced through the night air. Ophelia stumbled back, but they slammed into her chest. Her entire body tingled.
“Try again, Lady Ophelia,” Mrs. Darkwell urged with calm. Ophelia found it was easy to draw back the bowstring. She lifted the crossbow, which now felt weightless. And let fire.
The arrow hurtled, straight and true, and bit into the center of the board. “Heavens,” she breathed.
“I have bestowed the strength of a vampire on you for a while,” Mrs. Darkwell said, wearing a smug smile. “Now, let us find the man you love.” The smile disappeared. “This will be a very dangerous battle, Ophelia. You can go, if you wish. Save yourself. You will be fighting a very powerful being in that church. Not only that, the rebel members of the Royal Society have followed you here. They will attack.”
“Now? When I have to save Raven?”
“Of course now, my dear,” Mrs. Darkwell said. “They have been waiting for this chance to claim you and your power.”
“My power is gone,” Ophelia declared. But fear struck even as she spat out the words.
Mrs. Darkwell shook her head. “There is something you must know.”
“I don’t want to know it. My power is
“No, it is dormant, waiting, preparing to be triggered back into existence—and back in control of your body. But not gone.” After a sigh, Mrs. Darkwell explained everything.
Ophelia’s entire body went numb and cold as she tried to take in what the woman was saying. Her power was indeed not gone at all. Her only choice was destruction.
“No, it is not,” Darkwell said, as if she’d read Ophelia’s thoughts. “There is another way. I promise.”
