Free Dawn Thompson by Blood Moon Page A

until he did. Whether it was the hour or the excitement of his encounter with Sebastian, the feeding frenzy was upon him with such a voluptuous swell that only gouts of blood would slake it. He felt the pressure as his deadly fangs began to descend. His heartbeat quickened. He had the deer in his sights—eye to eye. He had the power to mesmerize it. Its blood wouldn’t be as satisfying as a human’s, but the animal was large and there was the consolation that there would be no remorse in draining it dry. Suchdeer were plentiful, after all. This would simply be one less beast for the hunters to weed out.
    With a silent snarl, he sprang. The attack drove the deer to its knees. It was his. There would be nothing left for Sebastian to drain afterward. Jon fed, and having done, he retrieved his pocket pistol from the thistles and strode back to the cottage.

C HAPTER F IVE
    Dressed in her muslin nightshift, Cassandra was pacing before the bed when Jon entered. She flew into his arms. He had just fed; she could smell the blood on him, yet no trace of it remained, and his hair was wet, the rich mahogany waves slicked back from his handsome face.
    “There is a stream in the wood,” he said, answering the question in her eyes. “I washed afterward.” But there was another question she had, and he answered that also. “A deer,” he said.
    Something untoward had happened. She knew it—sensed it. She could smell it on him. She might not be as deeply infected as he, but her senses were alarmingly heightened. Leaning back, she searched his eyes. They shone like silver in the candlelight.
    “Was it . . .
him
?” she murmured.
    Jon stared down at her for a long moment without speaking. He seemed to be weighing what to tell her. Well, she wouldn’t settle for less than the truth. Not now, not ever. They were married. Although it was all so new,and in the worst possible circumstances, she would have the truth—even though she knew his motive was to spare her. They were in this together. When would he know she didn’t need to be spared? She needed to be trusted.
    He nodded, but turned away.
    “You cannot hide these things from me, Jon,” she said. “I knew it the moment you entered the room. Will you not trust me?”
    “It isn’t a matter of trust. I do not want to worry you.”
    “Well, I
am
worried. If there is danger, we both face it. There is strength in numbers—even in this number.”
    “Will you submit to a little test?” he said.
    “What sort of test?”
    “You have no fear of holy relics. I want to see how you react to holy water. It could be vital to us both, Cassandra.”
    “Very well,” she said. “Where shall we get some?”
    “I will make it,” he replied.
    Cassandra stared, slack-jawed. This was the last thing she’d expected him to say. “I . . . I don’t understand,” she murmured.
    Jon took her hands, led her to the bed, and sat her down on the edge. “As I feared, Sebastian followed my scent,” he said. “He was waiting outside. My pistol was useless against him. He disarmed me in a trice. Then, all at once, I remembered the holy water.”
    “What holy water? You aren’t making any sense.”
    “I’m making more sense than you know. One of the first changes that came upon me after Sebastian . . . fed upon me was that, when I put my fingers in a holy water font, the water boiled up around them—yet it did not burn me. I never even told this to Clive.”
    “Go on,” she murmured, hanging upon his every word.
    “Sebastian was stalking me in the wood outside when Icame upon the stream. All at once it occurred to me that if I could stand the touch of holy water, I might still be able to bless it. It worked. I repelled him, Cass. I want to see how you react to it. If you can bear it also—as I assume you can—it will make an excellent weapon for both of us against Sebastian, and against others like him until I can meet with the holy men of Moldovia and they can council me on