Free Miss Austen's Vampire by Monica Knightley Page B

had so recently kissed.
    Moving his face closer to hers, he spat, “I am a vampire, a monster, a creature of hell, a demon.”
    She couldn’t turn her eyes away from him, and just gaped at him while she tried to make sense of his words.
    “I have rendered you speechless, dear Jane. I am profoundly sorry I have to share such horrifying truths as to my nature, but you must know. I should never have used you so, knowing that we could never have more than this one night. And you, good woman, deserve more than one night. And you never deserve to be with a monster.”
    Finding her voice, she said, “But . . . it cannot be. This is a myth, a legend, the stuff of stories we scare one another with as children. Vampires, blood drinkers, do not exist.”
    “They do, and that mark on your neck is proof of it.” He started to reach for the place where his teeth had penetrated her skin, then quickly retracted his hand before making contact.
    A tear welled up first in one eye, then the other before escaping and finding their way down her cheeks. Gabriel reached into his vest pocket, took out a crisp handkerchief, and laid it on her lap. Without taking her eyes from him, she picked it up and absentmindedly dabbed at her tears. She could only focus on the face that seemed to her so angelic. First looking into his dark eyes, then down his nose to his lips, over his jawline and back up to his eyes, she searched for some sign of a monster and could find none. But . . . not human? Vampire?
    Shaking her head violently back and forth, Jane stood, still staring at Gabriel, then turned and ran from the room. Just as she reached the threshold, she stumbled, but managed to recover and kept running away from the man who claimed he was a monster.
    “Agatha, your breakfast table appears to be down one guest. Where is Miss Austen this morning?” Gabriel tried to affect a casual tone as he helped himself to coffee.
    “Oh, poor thing. She wasn’t feeling well when she woke this morning, and despite my protests that she should stay until she felt better, she insisted on returning home. I had one of my carriages take her. I must confess, her wit will be missed here.”
    “Indeed,” was all he could say, and he clenched his teeth and sighed.
    “Are you not going to eat this morning?”
    “Perhaps after my coffee.” Distracted by his own dark thoughts, he ignored the cheerful conversations taking place at the table. He was sure Agatha was angry with his unsociable behavior, but his mind was filled with thoughts of Jane as she ran away from him, tears running down her face. To spend hours making love to her, taking her virginity, only to destroy any happiness she may have felt by disclosing his monstrous truth. What must she be thinking this morning? Certainly, that she was used most horribly. Even worse, he feared she would feel tainted by his evil. Such a lovely woman should never feel anything but joy, and felicity, and true contentment. To be introduced to the dark world of a demon . . .
    Without excusing himself he stood abruptly and stomped out of the dining room. Minutes later, he found himself at the stables and hollered orders to a stable hand to saddle up Greystone. Normally this was a task he would insist on doing himself, but the animal would have sensed his tension, making saddling impossible.
    Gabriel rode the stallion hard, for miles around the countryside. Greystone loved when he could use his endless energy, and seemed to revel in his master’s demands as they went to the far ends of the county. For Gabriel it was a feeble attempt at reducing his anxiety over his mistreatment of Miss Austen. Again and again, he kicked the stallion’s flank, urging him on ever faster.

Chapter 8
    August 1815
    London
    Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen , Gabriel counted. He paused a moment, feeling he had missed one or two along the way. It was of little consequence how many people he had killed that summer, but keeping track of the numbers allowed him to