Blood and Damnation Page 5

  Chapter 6

  Two Months Later

  There was something peaceful about a quiet room where the only noise was the gentle crackling from the fireplace. Winter had descended with a vengeance on the estate, and with the colder weather came unavoidable duties to perform.

  For the most part, we were ready for the long months where glistening snow covered every inch of the Suffolk countryside. I didn’t allow it to hinder my true work, however. With my extended life, I braved the chilly conditions, pushing on when most men would retreat, because truth waited for no one.

  One of these days I was certain I’d find the gypsies who cursed me, and if not them specifically, at least their clan. I wouldn’t rest until I held their lives in my own two hands, satisfied only when they had removed their magic.

  My heart screamed for vengeance, and even having the curse removed wouldn’t curb my thirst for retribution. They had judged me without knowing all the facts. I would return that favor tenfold.

  The leads Knox had brought to me months earlier had dwindled away into nothing, just as the fire in the hearth would do. It was part of the frustration that slowly ate away at my psyche. Every tidbit of information had to be explored, but not every morsel bore fruit.

  We’d hit a dead end, and for the last few months, had heard little else.

  I was itching to get out on the road and far away from the estate accounts that now demanded my attention.

  And from her, I silently choked back, trying to ignore how easily her face surfaced in my mind. She was like a plague that decimated my hard-earned resolve. I didn’t want to think about Catriona, or the way her defiance tugged at my focus.

  I should be furious.

  I should seek for ways to teach her a lesson, but the maddening woman didn’t care. She spoke her mind whenever she managed to corner me, and I’d finally taken to avoiding areas of the house I knew she frequented.

  My threats often fell on deaf ears, something Knox liked to rub in my face.

  The knock at the door disrupted the peace, and I mentally prepared myself for who was on the other side.

  “Go away,” I called out.

  The handle turned, and Knox entered, his face filled with tension. “Marcus—” he began.

  I didn’t bother looking up from the page I’d been reading. “She is your problem, Phineas. Whatever she’s done, deal with it.”

  Dipping the quill in the black inkpot, I scribbled out the numbers I was tallying. The estate was in better shape than I’d assumed.

  “Trust me, I’ve tried.” His voice was filled with exasperation and annoyance. I didn’t envy him. She was infuriating enough that even the pope himself would jump into the deepest ocean to escape her.

  “Well, obviously not hard enough, if you’re standing there expecting me to intervene.” I placed the quill on the desk and folded my arms across my chest as I sat back in the chair. “Let me guess. She wishes to go to London for some pretty trinket?”

  The affairs of women were lost on me. What they wanted was beneath my attention.

  Knox cocked his eyebrow at me, unimpressed. “Do you really think that little of me? That I would need to come have you hold my hand over something so trivial?”

  He was right. While I hadn’t told him such, his patience with dealing with all the unpleasantness that infiltrated my life was commendable.

  “I’m sorry, my friend.” I bowed my head respectfully. I’d interrupted him before even giving him the chance to explain. “What’s the matter?”

  “She’s found him.”

  My gaze narrowed on him. I’d heard no horses approaching the house, no cloaked riders delivering messages. There was only one she he could’ve been referring to.

  And by found him . . .

  The chair I’d been sitting on teetered close to tipping from the force of my standing. Estate business came to an abrupt end as I stormed toward the door.

  “How did she find him? What the hell have you been doing?” I didn’t wait for him to catch up as I continued to rant over my shoulder. “How difficult is it to keep track of one pesky female?”

  He was wise to not answer, choosing instead to hurry behind me as I headed toward the one place in the entire house Catriona had no business venturing.

  Angry footsteps resounded in the air as we raced down stone steps to the rooms I’d affectionately dubbed my dungeons. The only people, besides Knox and myself, who saw the inside of said rooms were those unlucky enough to cross me.

  Right now, that title was reserved for one man, and one man alone—my only souvenir from my search months ago.

  I heard her before I saw her—Catriona’s voice growing louder and louder on my approach.

  “Marcus,” Knox warned, calling out right as I put my hand against the door and pushed. “Remember who she is.”

  “She’s a nuisance and a thorn in my damn side,” I countered angrily, my response the only alert to those in the room.

  Catriona jumped as guilt skated across her features. She knew she’d been caught and that there would be hell to pay, but that didn’t stop her from then positioning herself in front of the chained man in the center of the cell. Her arms spread out as if to protect him somehow from more harm.

  Little did she know how close she came to feeling the full weight of my wrath.

  “You are a monster!” she screamed, fire blazing in her eyes. “How long has this man been here? Why do you have him chained like some animal?” When she couldn’t get the response she wanted from me, she turned to Knox. “Free this man now!” Catriona punctuated her demand by pointing at the motionless form on the chair.

  Knox simply stood there with his hands behind his back. He wasn’t there to jump to her every command. He knew better than to listen to anyone but me. While we enjoyed a close relationship, Phineas never forgot who his master was.

  “So, you are a coward, too!” she spat out, running forward to beat her small fists against his broad chest. “You made me believe that you could be trusted . . . that you were just as much a prisoner in this place as I am.”

  “Are you finished?” I asked, disappointed that she hadn’t turned all that passion and fury my way. When she stood there—chest heaving from a shortness of breath and her body rigid from indignation—I moved closer to my prisoner. “Knox, take her back to her room and see that she stays there.”

  “I refuse to leave until I know he’s safe.” She crossed her arms across her chest, the motion pushing up her breasts. The muscles in her jawline twitched from being tight, her nostrils flaring with insolence. “So help me God, I will rip those chains from him myself if you deny me!”

  I didn’t know who laughed first—Knox or me. Glancing his way, I saw him shrug, and I chose to instead lean against the wall closest to her. “Then by all means, Mrs. St. James, dazzle us with these feats of strength.”

  Her face reddened until it rivaled the color of the apples that grew in the estate’s orchard.

  “What is wrong with you?” she asked, studying me like I was some carnival display she couldn’t quite understand. “What could he possibly have done to warrant such treatment?”

  She crouched down beside him, her clean hand resting tentatively on his dirty pant leg.

  “His business doesn’t involve you.” It was the only answer she would receive.

  Judging by the incredulous look on her face, she wouldn’t be accepting it.

  “Knox,” she pled. It was quaint how she believed he would somehow rally to her side—pitting them both against me. “This man needs sustenance. He may even need a doctor.”

  “What he needs is none of your concern,” he replied, woodenly, without emotion. He glanced my way. “I’ll return her to her room and lock the door behind me.”

  This stirred up wildness in Catriona that was both intoxicating and amusing. It was the kind of expression I imagined she would make in the throes of passion—an expression I wouldn’t allow myself to witness. What fascinated me, though, was the beli
ef she still held tightly to. That, somehow, she still had control over her life.

  “When you’re done, return here so we can deal with this mess.” I gestured to the still form with disgust. Our reluctant guest hadn’t stirred since I visited his cell late last night, attempting once more to get the information I needed.

  “Noooo!” Catriona screeched, kicking out as Knox wrapped his arms around her to carry her out. “You can’t treat me this way!”

  Her furious tirade continued to echo outside as Knox removed her from the lower levels of the house.

  The room descended back into blissful silence.

  “Kill me,” came the barely audible whisper. “Kill me and be done with it.”

  I still hadn’t managed to uncover exactly who my prisoner was within the gypsy clan I was hunting, but I knew enough to determine he wasn’t being truthful.

  Sooner or later, with enough incentive, they always confessed. With enough applied pressure, even the most resilient and determined babbled like babies.

  “You wish for death?” I asked, equally quiet. Pacing about the young man, I wondered what it would take to finally break him. Torture had yielded very little result, and frankly, he was beginning to reek from the lack of bathing. “Perhaps I should release you so the wolves can fill their bellies with your flesh.”

  “It would be an honorable death compared to this.” His tone was the same as the long line of others who had sat in that same seat, filled with misplaced pride.

  His bitter response filled me with mirth. “You believe yourself honorable?” I barked out an abrupt laugh. “You and your people create monsters, justifying your misuse of magic in the name of family. There is no honor in you or your ancestors.” I kicked out at the legs of his chair, gaining his attention.

  Black eyes glared up at me—their inky depths revealing how blackened his soul was. There would never be a time when I believed gypsies were a force of greatness in the world. In my mind, the only good gypsy was a dead one.

  He tried spitting at me and failed, his mouth too dry to form any kind of spittle. Slumping back in the chair, his head lolled forward, his chin hitting his chest.

  “Nikolai,” I crooned, walking around him again like he was my prey and I was playing with my dinner. “Your suffering can come to an end . . . you can go home to your family.” I trailed my hand across his shoulders, relishing the way he managed to flinch despite being exhausted. “You know what I want. Give me the information, and all this will end. You have my word.”

  His words came out mumbled, but I still understood them. “The word of the Devil means nothing.”

  I struck him hard against the side of his head. My patience had limits, and I was growing tired of this song and dance. “Tell me!”

  Laughter bubbled out of Nikolai, and with great effort, he lifted his head to stare at me with contempt. “You will never find the cure. You are blood and damnation. Accept it.”

  I seized hold of his chin, squeezing it tightly between my fingers. Thin lines of blood welled where my fingernails broke his skin, and I resisted the urge to lap up the red liquid. Monster or not, I still had standards, and I refused to feed on gypsy scum.

  “You walk a thin line,” I threatened, again.

  “And you talk too much.” He mumbled something in Romani, the sound filled with scorn.

  I stopped and got down close to his face—close enough that I could feel his faint breath across my skin.

  “You’re right.” I held his gaze as I made sure he understood my next meaning. “And that is the beauty of your clan. When one won’t talk, there are others more fragile who are easier to break. Perhaps a sister . . . mother . . . daughter?”

  I studied his reaction, knowing that sooner or later I would hit the mark.

  Daughter.

  He had a daughter.

  “I will give your apologies to her. It’s unfortunate that you won’t get to watch her grow up. That she won’t enjoy growing old.”

  It took a few moments, but the second he understood, he strained against his restraints, heated threats rushing out in a mixture of broken English and Romani.

  Reaching forward, I placed both of my hands on the sides of his head and twisted, snapping his neck. He wasn’t going to relinquish the information. I wasn’t wasting any more time on the dead gypsy.

  “Where do you want me to dispose of his body?” Knox had returned in time to see me execute the prisoner.

  “With all the snow, you might be hard pressed digging a grave to dump him in.” Wiping the grime off my hands, I couldn’t help feeling disappointed that once again, we had come up empty-handed. “Ride out a few hours, then drop him into a river or something. Do it far enough away from the estate so as not to raise suspicions.”

  “And Catriona?”

  I let out a heavy sigh. “Inform her that I did as she asked. I gave him his freedom.”

  It wasn’t the complete truth, but it should at least appease her.

  I was almost out the door when Knox spoke up.

  “Don’t give up hope, Marcus. We will find the cure by either finding the gypsies who cursed you or through my experiments. We just need more time.”

  Nodding, I left him to take care of the body, trudging back up the stairs to my office.

  Alone.

  Chapter 7

  Life was about ritual—at least that’s what mine had been reduced to. The carefree days of my youth were but a distant memory now, and it was often painful dwelling on what might have been.

  Making my way to Knox’s study was part of the nightly routine that dictated everything—superseding temptation and any form of nostalgia. Just once, I wished I could abandon all the safeguards I’d placed in my life, and simply be.

  Free to be whoever the hell I chose to be and not the persona—the monster—I had become.

  Ever since Catriona had moved into the house, these kinds of thoughts plagued me, causing waves of self-doubt to surface from the emotions I kept buried deep inside me.

  It didn’t pay to feel or have a heart anymore. Every decision I made was one of life or death. When it came to seeking vengeance—pure unadulterated revenge—feelings simply got in the way. I’d learned quickly once I started changing into the blood drinker those two women cursed me to become, that I would drown trying to hold tight to my humanity.

  It was one of the first things I relinquished of my old life—like a snake shedding its skin. What was needed was the ability to be one hundred percent ruthless, to be such a force of nature that even the trees would bend to my will.

  I lived in a world now saturated in deviousness and darkness. It was one where you were either the predator or the prey—the invincible or the destructible.

  What was left of that former Marcus wasn’t enough to brave falling in love. There was barely enough of my true self to maintain the friendship I had with Knox. He knew that and accepted it anyway.

  What begun by chance had evolved into a symbiotic relationship where we both benefited. I’d found him a homeless beggar on the streets of London, and there was something about the young Phineas Knox that whispered his value. I’d learned not to judge others too quickly, and it had definitely paid off.

  Down on his luck, his tall form lanky and thin from malnutrition, Knox hadn’t thought twice about my offer to become his employer. All he saw was a way out of the cutthroat streets—a way to always have food in his stomach and a warm place to sleep.

  I saw an urchin who was street smart—someone who could slip by unnoticed—a boy who would know the value of loyalty.

  So it came as a complete surprise when he confided that he’d been an apprentice to an obscure alchemist. That brand of magic and science was a mystery to me, but something had impressed on me that, one day, such knowledge would prove useful.

  It didn’t matter that he claimed he’d burnt his master’s home down from a spell gone awry. I overlooked the way the tips of his ears reddened as he confessed his complete lack of skill—his mouth full
of the fresh warm bread I’d given him.

  Knox had looked me dead in the eye—every inch the man he was beneath the grime—and vowed that should I give him a chance, he would never fail me. He would always serve me to the best of his abilities.

  Here we were, after all this time, and he’d honored his word.

  There were a few small incidents where he’d set fire to the bed in the connecting room, and then to the draperies hanging heavily over the only two windows in his study. Those things were inconsequential compared to the work he slaved over at the desk.

  Knox had preserved my sanity, and for that, he would always have a home with me—servant or not.

  Knocking briefly on the door, I didn’t wait for him to welcome me into his sanctuary. It was a given that no door would ever be barred against me. There would never be any secrets. He knew mine, and I knew his—what little there was to know.

  “I wondered where you were,” came a deep baritone voice. “I would’ve brought the elixir to you, Marcus, but as you can see . . .” Knox waved his hand over the large wooden bench he’d made to work on. The surface was covered with all manner of tools he needed—glassware, candles, endless stacks of papers with weird symbols and scratching on them, empty ink bottles, and herbs.

  I crinkled my nose. How he managed to work in such chaos was beyond me, but he’d once said that all creative geniuses preferred working in a mess. It quieted the voices in his head, apparently. I didn’t argue.

  “Please tell me that stench isn’t for me.”

  While I was his master, I recognized this was his domain. Careful not to disturb anything, my gaze skimmed over the work in front of him. Knox didn’t bother covering it up—he knew full well I couldn’t read the alchemist symbols.

  He let out a chuckle. Pushing back from the bench, the wooden stool scraping across the bare floor, Knox picked up a glass filled with thick, red liquid. That was another thing we removed from his study—carpet. We considered it a wise choice considering the amount of liquids and potions he spilled on an almost daily basis.