Regina Jeffers - Vampire Darcy's Desire

“Make it soon, Colonel. I fear Fitzwilliam needs our help.”

The colonel nursed his drink as two men shared their stories of how each night those foolish enough to be out after midnight took the chance of meeting what these men simply called “bloodsuckers.” He also learned that the whole neighborhood “knew” the source of these diseased creatures to be the master of Wickford Manor.

“He be the family of Seorais Winchcombe,” the one called Gordy told him, “the one who be lovin’ Lady Ellender. The lady and Lord Benning be buried up in the cemetery with all them others. It be odd the man came here.”

“How far is it to Wickford Manor?” the colonel asked casually.

“Half ’n mile back towards the church.Wickford Manor is not much by London standards, but it got some land.The thing is, it sit right on the back of the line where be the church’s graveyard. Like Wickford Manor takin’ in them souls.”

His partner offered his own insights. “Some be sayin’ them bloodsuckers dance in the hall every night. I nary believe it, but everyone be sayin’ it so.”

Finally, having all the information he needed, the colonel bid the two farewell. “It is near eleven, gentlemen. I shall not detain you any longer. I thank you for sharing your local legends.” Damon Fitzwilliam knew he should go and share what he had discovered with Elizabeth, but if what these men said was true, he needed to act now, before the “dance” began.

A quarter hour later, he stood before the church’s graveyard. Everything still seemed quiet, but after the past hour of listening to two grown men excitedly share what they knew of the grave sites looming before him, Damon Fitzwilliam had to steel his nerves before proceeding. As rambunctious children, he and Darcy had often played soldiers, hiding behind family headstones in a pretend battle; and in the military, he had spent more time than he cared to remember with the dead. Yet this was different, and the colonel sensed it. In this cemetery, death lived.

He chastised himself for his fear and quickly crossed the mounds to exit through the hedge shrub outlining the graves. A

His drunken informants had told him the house was behind the cemetery; they had forgotten to mention the hill and the wooded field. Luckily, light streamed from the house’s windows, serving as a beacon for him as he took unsteady steps on the hill, and the colonel made his way stealthily through the forested area to come out where the steps led to the kitchen. In the back of his mind, Damon reasoned how country homes would never be lit up as such at that time of night, but this was no ordinary household. Armed with cloves of garlic and a crucifix purchased in one of the small villages through which he and Elizabeth had passed, he edged the kitchen door open and slipped into a perfectly clean room. At first, its pristineness shocked him, but then he remembered Elizabeth had told him that Wickham never ate regular food.The pots and pans and kettle were purely for show—Wickham’s playing at being the master of his small estate.

Leaving the kitchen behind, Damon followed a staircase leading to the private living quarters, but again these offered no insights into how to defeat Wickham, because they stood unused—sparsely furnished—a mausoleum to an unemployed life. Only one room was locked, and although he wished to force his way into it and see what it might hold, a pulsating cadence caused him to curtail his search and find his way towards the center of the house. Drawn by the unusual sound, he felt compelled to find its source. Creeping on all fours, Damon edged forward to where the upper floors overhung the center hall. He glued himself to the wall, crouched so he might respond if necessary, and looked for what he could not explain.The sound increased as he peered between the slats of the railing to the room below. He feared his presence might affect the show, but nothing stopped the accentuated movements as one after another shadowy eidolon entered a spiritual gambol.They turned and twisted and oscillated to an undulating rhythm. Periodically, one pasty form would hazard a challenge to another, and the room

Then a creature as pale as the colonel had ever seen got out of his grotesquely adorned chair. He held out his hand to a pretty sort of girl with curls pinned tightly to her head.Then, horror of horrors, the image the colonel assumed to be George Wickham looked on in infinite sadness as the girl slid into his embrace.Wickham brought her closer still, swaying with her in a primitive invitation to passion. His hands searched her body, and then wordless voices rose in exultation as Wickham lowered his head and drank the girl’s blood. Damon bit back a cry of dark, piercingly pure contempt for the display. He shuddered in anguish at his inability to change what was happening to the girl.With a despairing gesture, he withdrew to the servants’ stairs. He had to escape before the surging call of the coven pulled him in.

Slipping cautiously down the passageway, he rested a split second with his fingers on a door’s handle, before a muffled sound on the other side sent his heart racing. Damon froze with fear, unable to move, and prayed that what was on the other side would not find him. He pressed his ear to the door, listening with all his senses, but he heard only a soft wind.A mysterious presence moved through the closed portal, and the colonel could feel it so exactly, it was as if he saw through the door. He knew the moment it moved on, and he eased the handle to the right, sliding the door aside only far enough to fit his body through before silently resettling it.

Clinging to the wall, Damon stepped softly, trying to escape his fear and what happened in this house. On the battlefield, he knew death was all around him, but he had never felt it before, never knew it to fill his lungs like acrid smoke, never smelled the stench of decay so clearly. He felt totally unprepared for this battle.

A door stood ajar on the other side of the hearth—a door not open before, and despite his desperate need to flee the room and the house, Damon made himself move to where he could see into the space. Before him, Wickham paced to and fro, and then he stepped to the side, and the colonel stifled every impulse to rush Darcy is alive! Damon’s first instinct was to storm the scene and fight Wickham to the death, but how did one kill something already dead? From a distance, he heard the murmuring increase, but Damon continued to watch as Wickham bent to taunt Darcy. The tension rose between the two, and for a moment, Damon thought that Wickham would attack Darcy also, but then he realized, He just fed;Wickham will not feed again so soon. And despite the number of vampires dancing ceremoniously in the main hall, Damon knew Wickham would allow no other to touch Darcy. Wickham would want to destroy his enemy himself. If he wanted Darcy dead, his cousin would no longer be breathing.

Assured that he could do nothing that night, he let himself out the kitchen door. He still was not safe if what his drinking consorts said was true. Damon slipped the crucifix from his pocket and lifted his sword in readiness for any attack. He wove his way among the trees and climbed the hill, but when he reached the cemetery, Damon circled the hedgerow on the outside. Loudly repeating every prayer he could remember, he vigilantly watched as the fog he thought to be part of the countryside congregated solely in the church’s cemetery. From it, specters formed and disintegrated before his eyes. Some challenged his progress, but all retreated from the raised silver weapon he carried and from the sign of the Lord’s forgiveness.

Reaching the road to the inn, he followed the embankment; the mist trailed him, but the spectral provocations—strange, unheard presences—kept their distance. He congratulated himself for leaving the horses at the inn.A nervous mount would serve no master. Damon kept up his litany of invocations and refused to look about to see what might await him. He figured the prayers would not hurt, and they definitely made him feel safer.

When he arrived at the inn, Peter let him in through the door. Damon had set the man on guard when he left for Wickford Manor, and he was thankful for his foresight. He handed the garlic and the crucifix to Peter.“Keep them close,” he warned.

“I saw what followed you, Colonel. If these keep that evil away, ye will not be able to pry them from me.” The coachman bolted the door.“Will they not try to come in?” He listened closely to the howls of the night.

“This is more than that for which we all bargained, Peter, but those creatures must be invited in by someone who lives here. No one will do that.” Damon leaned back against the door to steady his nerves.

The servant moved closer, fearing that someone might hear. “Did ye find him, Colonel? The Master? He be alive?”

Damon gave a curt nod. “Now I must figure out how to get Mr. Darcy out of that hellhole.”

“Bless you, Sir.” Peter started for the pallet he would sleep upon that night.“When ye be ready, I be ready, Sir.The Master be a good man.”

“That he is, Peter.” Damon moved towards the stairs.“I need to tell Mrs. Darcy what I know.”

“The Mistress will certainly be glad to hear it.” He settled onto the straw-stuffed mattress.

Damon let his gaze travel up the stairs, resting on Elizabeth’s door. “Mrs. Darcy is an exceptional woman. Good night, Peter.” He knew she would be awake, waiting for his news. Slowly, he climbed the steps; they had a daunting task ahead of them. What if we cannot save Darcy?

“Someone looks for you, Darcy.” Wickham paced the room, agitated by the intrusion into his home.

Darcy tried not to react; he forced his breathing to remain even, but the joy of knowing another knew of his capture played havoc with his composure. He kept his eyes closed, fearing Wickham could read his countenance.

Wickham leaned down, his face only inches from Darcy’s.“Do you want to know who it was?”

Darcy opened his eyes slowly and smiled.“As you appear intent on telling me, I see no reason to waste my energy with guessing.”

Wickham walked away casually, although he knew apprehension. “It was your beautiful wife, Mrs. Darcy.”Wickham straddled a straight-backed chair, turning it to where he could watch Darcy’s reaction.

For a split second, Darcy’s heart skipped a beat. He did not want Elizabeth to put herself in danger for him, but then the truth flashed in Wickham’s eyes. “You are quite amusing, Wickham, but the thought of my wife being here is ludicrous. I told you from the beginning, Elizabeth left with your seduction of her sister. However, if that were not true, and my wife were here, you have not enough ghouls in your congregation to hold me in these chains, for she would not stop until I was free.Trust me,Wickham, there is no way you could defeat her. She is more than either of us can handle.”

Wickham sat in complete silence; Darcy chose to ignore him and closed his eyes again. Finally, Wickham barked out a forced laugh. “You have me there, Darcy.Your rescuer was a man. Maybe you would have been better off with your wife; at least, she would not turn tail and run.” He stood with that statement. “The man favored you in some ways, Darcy—not quite as tall, however. Should I send for reinforcements?”

“Probably a stranger enticed by tales of the unknown.” Darcy hoped to convince his enemy to ignore the incursion.

“I can smell human blood.” Wickham looked off, as if no longer seeing Darcy. “Did you know that? I smell it as easily as I once smelled a rose. It is metallic and bittersweet. Have you ever tasted it, Darcy? It is addictive.”