Free Blood Deep by Sharon Page Page B

waiting for a bolt of his magical power to strike her.
    A man shouted. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the man sail backward off his feet and land hard in the mud.
    Zayan wasn’t using magic.
    She squeezed and pushed her way between bodies.
    Someone shoved her forward and she slammed against the side of the stage. Her wind flew out of her chest. Gasping, she raced around the large vehicle.
    What was she going to do? She couldn’t outrun a vampire.
    Could she leap into a passing carriage? Three were leaving and she raced blindly toward them.
    “There’s been a boy trampled!” someone shouted. “My god!”
    Standing still amidst the cries of shock and horror, Miranda slowly turned toward the gathering crowd. She could not just run away now. She had to do something. Shivering, glancing around for Zayan, she made her way to the circle of people who were all trying to crush forward, to see. She had to elbow her way between these heartless people. They weren’t doing anything, they were feeding on horror and disaster like a vampire fed on blood. And it was like trying to fight a raging current.
    “Move,” she commanded one man. She had to kick another to get him to jump aside. Through the gap between bodies, she saw a tiny form sprawled in the dirt and a woman leaning over him, screaming, tears streaking down her face.
    She had to act now. She didn’t have much time.
    From behind her, a hand clamped down on her right wrist, holding her captive. “Got you, you witch,” a man growled.
    That voice. She recognized it. Her heart threatened to leap out of her chest. Miranda twisted to meet the hard gaze of James Ryder—the vampire slayer who wanted to kill her.

    4
    Rescued
    “It’s no use. She will not take my milk anymore. She doesn’t even want blood.”
    Althea Yates, Lady Brookshire, heard the frantic desperation in her voice. How could she be so helpless? So useless? She did not know what to do. Her child wouldn’t eat, no matter what she tried. She had consulted with midwives, wet nurses, experienced women, and vampires, too, and nothing worked.
    Her maid hurried away. Althea heard Nan’s rapid footsteps on the stone floor of the ancient castle’s corridor. The frightened girl would be fetching Yannick and Bastien, Althea guessed.
    If her daughter didn’t eat, surely she would waste away.
    Althea licked away the tear that dripped to her lip. She could cry. She may be a vampire, but she could cry. But what would tears solve?
    She gazed down at baby Serena, known as Serry, so as not to be confused with Serena, Lady Sommersby, Althea’s very best friend. Althea smiled at soft, puckered lips that blew tiny bubbles, and at the fragile, translucent lids, and the dark lashes that lay along small cheeks. One thick lock of downy blond hair lay along her daughter’s cheek. She guessed Serry must look as both 68 / Sharon Page
    her husbands had when they were infants—since both men were blonde.
    Was Serry immortal, as she, Yannick, and Bastien were? Althea didn’t know. No one could tell her that. But now that her little daughter was nearly three months, she would not eat.
    “Please, little one, please take some food,” Althea whispered.
    She clasped the tiny hand. Her daughter’s fingers curled around Althea’s baby finger and clutched her tight. Serry had been so strong when she was first born. So healthy. For the first few days, her daughter had drunk from her breast with gusto, had always wanted to feed. Her breasts had swelled large with milk, and she’d known the most intense pain as the milk flooded in.
    Right now, her breasts were beginning to ache again. Just the thought of feeding set them off. The pain would get more and more excruciating because Serry would not take her nipple and would not take her milk. Her breasts would become engorged and rock hard, and then, even though pain shot through her when she just touched her bosom, she’d have to ruthlessly massage the fluid out herself.
    And soon