Free Jane Austen: Blood Persuasion by Janet Mullany Page B

It is the neighborly thing to do. Since I must hope and pray a metamorphosis never takes place I can be of little assistance.”
    He bent to throw a log onto the fire. They both watched as it settled in the embers, throwing off sparks, blue-gray smoke rising upward.
    “If you do not dine soon,” William said, “you will not have much strength as one of us, and it may well affect your strength and health as a mortal. You put your precious family in danger.”
    Tonight she had experienced the first stirrings of hunger. Time might be running out for her. He knew it as well as she.
    She placed her wineglass on the mantelpiece before she was tempted to throw it in his face. “Even though you barely let me into your mind, I note you have no compunction whatsoever for roaming freely through mine. I trust you enjoy yourself there.”
    William bowed. “I shall send for my steward.”
    “You will excuse me. I do not wish to dine.”
    “I was merely offering you an escort home.”
    “I am much obliged.” She turned away from him, mortified by her mistake and insulted that he did not offer to escort her himself. Doubtless he wished to return to the harlot upon whom he dined, whoever she might be.
    “Jane?”
    He merely held out her cloak, which she had tossed upon a chair on entering the room. She grabbed it and threw it around her shoulders, hearing, from the tinkle of breaking glass, that she had managed to dislodge her wineglass from the mantelpiece. She hoped William had not noticed the broken glass, but he was in conversation with someone outside the door.
    “This is Raphael, my steward. He will see you safely home,” William said.
    Jane nodded at the steward—she had a vague impression of a strong profile, black hair streaked with silver—and walked ahead of him out of the room and toward the front door. The steward stepped beside her to open the door and an intoxicating scent arose from him—healthy male sweat and his blood, oh heavens, she could smell his blood, and hear the sound of his pulse.
    “Steady there, ma’am!” He grasped her elbow.
    She must have lost her footing. His touch melted his thoughts to her . . . one of them? A handsome lady despite her anger . . .
    Snarling, she shook his arm away and marched ahead of him down the drive. Now she was apart from William, and unnerved by her violent reaction to the man who followed her, she wondered if she had made the right decision. She had no part in the quarrel between the Damned and les Sales; she had seen the contemptuous attitude of many of the Damned toward mortals, regarding them as convenient sources of pleasure, service, and sustenance. From thence, it could only be one small, wicked step to regard mortals as prey.
    But still it made no sense. For was not one of the delights of the Damned to give pleasure far beyond any mortal sensual experience? Did the pleasures of the hunt outweigh the luxury of a seduction? Memories of strength and power, the fierce joy of pursuit and capture, came back to her. However much she might justify her actions as a soldier might justify his killing during a war, she could not deny the pleasure of ripping into an enemy’s throat, the exultation of his blood and fear . . .
    “Ma’am, if you please.” She heard the crunch of gravel behind her.
    “Yes?”
    “Ma’am, my instructions are to stay close.” There was something, a hint of a foreign accent in his voice.
    “Very well.” She stood and listened. She could hear Raphael’s breath; beyond him, in the meadow at the side of the driveway, a scamper of small furred beings, the brush of an owl’s wing in the dark, the hectic rush of air as a bat turned and skittered . . . sounds no mortal could or should hear, and yet she still deluded herself that she was not one of the Damned! Further into the darkness, cattle stirred, made uneasy by her presence—or was it by the presence of another like herself? A breath of wind sent a faint scent to her nostrils,