In the Heat of the Bite

  Copyright © 2011 by Lydia Dare

  Cover and internal design © 2011 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover illustration by Patricia Schmitt (Pickyme)

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  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

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  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  About the Author

  Preview of Never Been Bit

  To Sabrina Jeffries, Deb Marlowe, Claudia Dain, and all of the other ladies and gentlemen of Heart of Carolina Romance Writers ~ Thank you so much for your support and your belief in us, and for answering all of our questions over the years.

  One

  Cooper House, London—April 1817

  Sisters were a blasted nuisance. And it made no matter whether the sisterhood came by blood or by coven. Rhiannon Sinclair had often wanted to dispense with them all and be afforded a chance to live a normal life. Yet she found herself chasing her younger sister from Edinburgh to London just so she could ensure her safety.

  Rhiannon paced the entryway of her aunt’s home on Hertford Street, smarting more than a bit at not having been invited to wait inside in a parlor. Instead, the Coopers’ butler had looked down his craggy, beaklike nose as she explained who she was and why she’d come. Then he’d left her standing in the entryway while he walked much too slowly down the corridor. If the disdainful servant wasn’t careful, she’d hit him with a bolt of lightning and show him the error of his ways. Perhaps he’d move a bit faster if she did. Before she could summon even one thought of a storm, he vanished around a corner.

  After what felt like a lifetime, the butler returned and nodded briefly at her. “You may follow me, Miss Sinclair.” What had taken the man so long? Had he gone to hide the silver before showing her in? That was as likely as not. There was no wonder what her aunt had said about her.

  With a beleaguered sigh, the servant led her to a tidy blue parlor where her aunt and new uncle waited. The pair had been married less than a year, so Rhi didn’t know Mr. Cooper well at all. But her Aunt Greer was another matter entirely. In fact, the aunt in question was her mother’s younger sister, and unfortunately Rhiannon knew her quite well.

  “My dear!” Aunt Greer gushed. “It’s so nice to see you.” As fraudulent as ever. The woman even tried to hide the brogue she’d been born with. And her tone was so sickly sweet that it made Rhiannon want to cast up her accounts. Because, truth be told, her aunt resented her more than a little. She’d resented Rhiannon enough to take her younger sister to London in the dead of night, and she had left Rhi at home with nothing more than an absentminded father and a house full of servants for company. “What brings you to Town, dear?”

  As though she didn’t know. What brought Rhiannon to Town? How could the woman even say that with a straight face? Rhi took a deep breath as thunder rolled outdoors. “I came ta check on Ginny. Could ye send someone ta fetch my sister? I’d like ta speak with her.”

  Aunt Greer sucked her teeth lightly, a habit that had always annoyed Rhi to no end. “Unfortunately, she has already retired for the evening.” She raised her eyebrows at Rhiannon. “Perhaps another time?”

  It was rather late. But Rhi didn’t mind waking Ginny, if need be. “Certainly, she’s still awake. If I could just see her for a moment.” She pointed down the corridor. “Which way ta her chambers?”

  “Not now, Rhiannon.”

  Thunder rumbled outdoors again.

  “As I said, Ginessa is already abed. So, let me walk you out, dear,” her aunt said as she grabbed Rhiannon’s elbow in her gnarly little grasp and shoved her toward the doorway. Of course, Rhiannon could make the woman release her. She could do it in a way her aunt would never forget with a nicely aimed bolt of lightning. But it would probably be best not to burn those bridges in case she had to cross them later.

  Her aunt’s voice dropped to frantic whisper. “My husband is not aware of your particular affliction, Rhiannon. And I’d prefer to keep it that way. Keep your powers in check when he—or anyone else, for that matter—is present. Your mother never managed it. But you are still young enough to learn.”

  Rhi tried to keep the scorn from her voice when she replied, “I’m sorry ye were no’ born magical, Aunt Greer. There’s no’ much I can do about that. But, really, ye should have accepted the situation by now.”

  “I will never, ever accept that my sister was born an anomaly. And you and your little coven of witches will never have my approval. In fact, from this point forward, I plan to limit your access to Ginessa so you don’t inhibit your sister’s chances of a successful launch into society. Her name will not be associated with scandal. Do you hear me?” She hissed the last.

  “A successful launch into society?” Rhi’s mouth fell open. Truly it was the last thing she expected her aunt to say. Ginny was barely seventeen and a rather naïve seventeen at that.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Rhiannon Sinclair.”

  “But Ginny’s so young.” And London would swallow her whole.

  “Well, you’re not her guardian, are you? Besides, your father welcomed my invitation.”

  Papa probably hadn’t lifted his head long enough from whatever tome consumed him to even hear a word Aunt Greer had said. He couldn’t possibly think this was a good idea, not if he’d actually thought about it. Her aunt had never offered a thing where either she or Ginny was concerned. Not until now. Rhi must be missing something, but whatever it was escaped her completely.

  “How did you come to be here?” Aunt Greer’s frown deepened. “You didn’t travel south with that coven in tow, did you? I won’t have you hurt Ginessa’s chance at finding a proper husband.”

  “Proper husband? What is that supposed ta mean? Are ye plannin’ ta marry her off ta some blasted Sassenach?” Rhiannon hissed.

  “Better than what she’d find in Scotland.”

  Rhi sucked in a lungful of air. “Why can she no’ marry a man from Scotland? Ginny is Scottish, after all.”

  “Because in Scotland, Ginessa cannot escape the taint of your creation, Rhiannon.” Her aunt sighed deeply as though dealing with her was the worst sort of trial. “And I’ll expect you and whoever you brought with you to return to Edinburgh as soon as possible. I’m certain your fondest wish is for your sister to find happiness.”

  Of course, she wanted Ginny to find happiness. But there had been no reason to remove her to London in order to do so. Rhiannon was the older of the two. And she had never been launched
into society. Her aunt would never do such a thing. Not with all the resentment she held in her heart for the members of the Còig, members of the coven of witches she’d so badly wanted to belong to when she was younger. Unfortunately, only the oldest daughter in each family was born magical. Her aunt had never recovered from the slight of being second born.

  “The taint of my creation is the least of yer worries,” Rhiannon warned.

  Her aunt’s shoulders went back, and she lifted her nose a little higher in the air.

  “Know this, Aunt,” Rhiannon said, as she pointed a finger in the woman’s face. “I willna allow ye ta run roughshod over her life just ta spite me. Or ta spite the fact that ye were born average.”

  Rhiannon could almost see the storm cloud forming in the air. Her aunt could as well, if her smirk was any indication. Unfortunately, Rhi’s powers were often ruled by her emotions, and while most people could blink back the tears that welled behind their lashes, the telltale patter of raindrops in a room full of people could give her aunt much more insight into Rhiannon’s feelings than she wanted her to have.

  Rhiannon turned on her heel and fled. The butler looked supremely satisfied as he quickly opened the door. Rhi was surprised not to feel the press of his boot against her backside as she neared the threshold. He yelped lightly as she passed him. Teach the English dog to mess with Rhiannon Sinclair. She’d hit him with the force of power that one might feel after dragging one’s feet on the carpet, for which he should be immeasurably thankful as she could have done much worse.

  Rhiannon slipped out into the dark night. She was quite used to skulking about under the moonlight. And with her powers, she had little fear that anyone would accost her and do her harm. So, she took a short walk to Hyde Park, where she could take a seat on a bench alone and plan what she would do next.

  She hadn’t expected her aunt to ask her to stay with her. In fact, Rhiannon had already sent her belongings on to Thorpe House in Berkeley Square, the home of her coven sister, Caitrin, now the Marchioness of Eynsford, and her wolfish husband, Dashiel. Rhi supposed she probably should have mentioned as much to Cait, but her friend would forgive her popping in unannounced since they hadn’t seen each other in months.

  Cait would welcome Rhi into her home, unlike Aunt Greer.

  In all honesty, she hadn’t expected Aunt Greer to welcome her with open arms, but couldn’t her aunt at least have allowed her to see Ginny to be sure she was all right? Rhi sighed. Apparently not. Aunt Greer had treated her as she always had. Not as a revered member of the Còig. Not as someone with superior strength and cunning. Not as someone capable of being loved. She treated her as something vile. Something that should be squashed from the face of the earth.

  A lone tear trickled down Rhiannon’s cheek as a raindrop landed atop her head. Fantastic. She’d be drenched within moments if she didn’t pull herself together. Yet the longer she sat there, the more distraught she felt and the angrier she became.

  Rhi jumped to her feet. The wind swirled around her, raising her hair and the trailing end of her traveling dress in its haste to circle her. She glanced about the park. Thank goodness she was alone. She could have the devil’s own temper tantrum, and there wasn’t a soul to watch. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed overhead. Rhiannon raised her hands in the air and called the wind and the rain, stirring it to the point where she was drenched within seconds.

  She felt only slightly better. So, she stomped her feet and the air crackled with her anger. Better. Much better.

  Despite the chit lounging across his lap, Matthew Halkett, the Earl of Blodswell, had more than a meal on his mind. He needed to find his new charge and be sure all was well with the newly reborn Scot. Alec MacQuarrie had turned out to be more work than he’d ever expected. When Matthew had first met the gentleman in the lowlands, the Scot had seemed a gregarious sort; and when they’d become reacquainted later in the Highlands, Matthew had no idea the man had since suffered a broken heart. If he had known, that might have altered Matthew’s decision to turn MacQuarrie into one of his kind. Now the damage was done, and Matthew had to deal with the consequences, even if it meant following the younger man from room to room as he learned to use his new baby teeth.

  Matthew lifted the wench from his lap, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and thanked the woman with a soft smile. She curtsied quickly and said, “It was my honor, sir.”

  Of course, he’d brought her great pleasure before he’d pulled his incisors from the nape of her neck. That was very much the reason why so many women lingered around Brysi, the gentlemen’s club for those of his kind. They craved the emotion and satisfaction a vampyre could bring. And almost all of them were in it for the pleasure, if not for the coin. He rarely even had to enchant them to make a meal of them. Or to draw one beneath him. Or to do both at once.

  “Have you seen Mr. MacQuarrie about?” he asked as she adjusted her clothing.

  “He’s abovestairs with Charlotte, I believe. I saw him go up there just before you arrived.”

  He pressed a coin into her palm. “How many of you has he enjoyed tonight?” he asked casually, dreading the answer.

  She giggled. “Quite a few. The man is insatiable.” She shivered delicately. Obviously, she’d been with him recently, if her reaction was any indication.

  Matthew sighed. “I’d best go and find him.” He left the chambers and started for the stairs. If he waited for MacQuarrie to be free of the Cyprians who lined these halls, Matthew would have to wait decades. Thankfully, Brysi was a safe place for the newborn to test his mettle. Matthew glanced in doorways and down corridors until he finally heard the guttural sound of the man’s voice when he moaned.

  “Don’t,” a woman cried.

  Oh, good Lord. MacQuarrie could find trouble unlike any other. Matthew didn’t even knock. He thrust the door open and stepped inside. He paused when the paramour cried out again.

  “Don’t… stop!” she begged.

  So that was a cry of pleasure and not of distress. Bloody wonderful. Matthew wanted to snort.

  MacQuarrie didn’t even bother to look up. He had a blonde straddling his lap, where he lifted and lowered her slowly, her bodice down around her waist, her dress up around her hips. Damn it to hell. Matthew hated walking in on scenes like this.

  Yet something about it made him pause. A thin trail of blood dripped down the woman’s back from where the infernal Scot had failed to seal his lips across her skin properly before he sank his teeth into her.

  “Please,” she begged, her voice raspy and strained. She glanced over her shoulder and was fully aware that Matthew was in the room. “Please finish it,” she cried. She didn’t make a move to cover herself. Or to remove herself from MacQuarrie’s swollen member.

  “Make the seal and finish the chit,” Matthew grumbled. He’d told Alec the same bloody thing over and over. She was waiting for the seal, for the transfer of emotions between them, for MacQuarrie to share his desire with her and take her pleasure in return.

  Alec looked up and spoke around the woman’s flesh. “I don’t want to. I don’t want to feel it. This is enough for me.” He mumbled against her skin, but Matthew heard every word.

  “It’s not enough for her.”

  MacQuarrie shot him a look that told him to go to the devil.

  What was a mentor for if not to teach? “Finish it,” Matthew commanded.

  “Bloody hell,” the man said as he leaned forward and sealed his mouth over the bite with fervor. The chit cried out in ecstasy, and Matthew turned his head to avoid seeing MacQuarrie shudder beneath her.

  What was he thinking? The blasted Scot was in no condition to leave Brysi, at least not at the moment. Matthew sighed again. Damn if he wasn’t doing that a lot lately. And he didn’t even need to breathe. “I’ll be back in a few hours, but I expect you to stay here. And to stay out of trouble,” he warned as he turned and left.

  Alec MacQuarrie’s laughter followed him all the way down the corridor. Keeping that
man out of trouble was like trying to return a whore to chastity.

  He slipped from the club out into the night and walked and walked until the scenery of Covent Garden disappeared behind him. He needed to clear his head and decide what to do about his charge. It had been much easier when he’d tutored Kettering in this life a few hundred years earlier. Was he getting too old to deal with the foolishness of youth? Or was this generation of man particularly trying?

  Before he knew it, he’d walked all the way to Mayfair and yet still had no idea of how to continue. Out of nowhere, a crushing wind nearly knocked him from his feet. He braced himself. What the devil? He’d never seen a storm come on so quickly, and he’d seen more than most.

  That was when the rain started in earnest. Only moments before, the stars had been twinkling in the sky. Yet now, thunder crashed and lightning flashed. Hail clattered on the cobbled path where he walked. He covered his head with his arm and ducked beneath a tree.

  That was when he saw her. Standing directly in the middle of the fray was the loveliest sight he’d ever seen in his life. Her black hair was slicked back with water but it trailed all the way down to her waist. Her gown was pasted to her body, sodden with water. She laughed loudly and sardonically as a bolt of lightning flashed at her feet.

  The chit was likely daft. Didn’t she know better than to stand out in the rain? Likely, she would be killed by the ferocity of this sudden storm if he didn’t intercede. Matthew dashed across the park to where she stood. She clapped her hands in time with crashes of thunder that made even him jump. And looked ridiculously pleased by it all. She didn’t even see him as he bolted toward her. Had she escaped from Bedlam?

  He yelled over the wind and thunder. “Miss? Are you all right?”

  She spun to face him. “Oh!” Her eyes flashed with the same ferocity as the storm. Yet the wind calmed and the thunder stopped crashing when her hands dropped to her sides. Then the beauty brushed the sodden mass of her hair from her forehead. “Who are ye?” she asked.

  Her Scottish lilt nearly startled him as much as the tone of her voice. She sounded like she’d recently been crying, but with the rain that continued to fall, he couldn’t tell if her cheeks were wet from more than just rain. He found himself with the absurd desire to reach out and brush her cheeks dry with the pads of his thumbs.