glowing warrior angel.
“What in the name of God was it?” O’Leary’s charge toward the window yanked her attention from the gorgeous, shimmering vampire. For the first time Althea noticed O’Leary was shirtless but wore his breeches and boots. Four strapping male servants stood transfixed near the door, gaping in astonishment. Father’s coachman and groom, who knew Father hunted vampires, and two Inn footmen, who did not.
Suddenly her father’s weight lifted from her. The earl lifted him and carried him to his bed, bending to lay him gently onto the quilt. O’Leary herded the servants out of the room, as Crenshaw’s voice rose from the corridor. “Mr. O’Leary, what has happened?”
“O’Leary can take care of them. Now, who the bloody hell are you?” came her father’s faint querulous voice.
Despite Father’s obvious weakness, a warm relief flooded Althea. He couldn’t be too badly hurt if he was as crotchety as ever. The earl spoke in a low, murmuring voice, too low for her to hear.
“Brookshire, eh? One of the Demon Twins. So you’ve come after your brother, my lord?”
“As a consequence of hunting Zayan, yes.”
“You’ve decided to confront Zayan.”
“I want what you want, Sir Edmund. To see Zayan destroyed.”
Her father gave a short curt laugh, then a curse she’d never heard him say. “Won’t slay him without your brother.”
Althea moved forward as her father struggled to sit up. Her hands shook—she knew father had intended to use Sebastien de Wynter as bait to capture Brookshire. Imprisoned, de Wynter was the weaker vampire. Brookshire was strong, cunning, a dangerous foe.
To her astonishment, the earl flipped out his cape and planted himself on the edge of the bed. He took hold of her father’s shoulders, eased him back. “Lie down, please, Sir Edmund.
Let me find where you’ve been injured.”
“I can tell you that. Ribs below the heart. Right arm. Left leg. Some Hellhound came at me first and mistook me leg for his dinner. Then Zayan crushed me ribs and drove his finger into me chest. Burst into me flesh like a blade. His bloody finger! I got a shot off with the Blood Red by Sharon Page ©2006 Advance Reader Copy www.SharonPage.com 18
crossbow and caught him through the shoulder—”
Althea tumbled onto her knees on the bed, beside her father. She wrapped her hands around his. “Please Father, don’t exhaust yourself.” The sight of his face—drawn, pale, his lips blue and trembling, made her heart plummet.
“Drink, Sir Edmund.”
Startled, Althea turned as the earl lifted his wrist to his mouth. His fangs now curved over his lower lip and as she gasped, he sliced into his wrist. Dark blood bubbled along the cut.
Althea got up off the bed, stake in hand. “You can’t ask him to drink a vampire’s blood!”
“My blood heals.”
“It will transform him.”
“No, love, it won’t.”
“He’s right, lass. It won’t.” With a shudder her father held up a shaky hand. "Give it to me then, my lord. I’ve no other choice, do I?”
“I am afraid not, sir. Your heart is slowing now, laboring. It will not survive the strain.”
“I never expected to owe me bloody life to a vampire,” her father grumbled.
* * *
Althea sank onto her bed and buried her face in her hands. She should have stayed with her father.
Why had she allowed the earl to command her?
Because he appeared to be a hero. Because Father owed his life to him. Because she owed Father’s life to him.
The heated debate still rang in her head. With the help of the earl and Mick O’Leary, she had gotten her father into his bed, with his blankets pulled up tight. His pulse, which had been thready and weak, began to beat strong and fierce. Color soon infused her father’s lined cheeks and he was quickly filled with vigor. Father had fired question after question at the earl, who told Father to wait until he was recovered to have a discussion. Father had demanded his spectacles, then
“What in the name of God was it?” O’Leary’s charge toward the window yanked her attention from the gorgeous, shimmering vampire. For the first time Althea noticed O’Leary was shirtless but wore his breeches and boots. Four strapping male servants stood transfixed near the door, gaping in astonishment. Father’s coachman and groom, who knew Father hunted vampires, and two Inn footmen, who did not.
Suddenly her father’s weight lifted from her. The earl lifted him and carried him to his bed, bending to lay him gently onto the quilt. O’Leary herded the servants out of the room, as Crenshaw’s voice rose from the corridor. “Mr. O’Leary, what has happened?”
“O’Leary can take care of them. Now, who the bloody hell are you?” came her father’s faint querulous voice.
Despite Father’s obvious weakness, a warm relief flooded Althea. He couldn’t be too badly hurt if he was as crotchety as ever. The earl spoke in a low, murmuring voice, too low for her to hear.
“Brookshire, eh? One of the Demon Twins. So you’ve come after your brother, my lord?”
“As a consequence of hunting Zayan, yes.”
“You’ve decided to confront Zayan.”
“I want what you want, Sir Edmund. To see Zayan destroyed.”
Her father gave a short curt laugh, then a curse she’d never heard him say. “Won’t slay him without your brother.”
Althea moved forward as her father struggled to sit up. Her hands shook—she knew father had intended to use Sebastien de Wynter as bait to capture Brookshire. Imprisoned, de Wynter was the weaker vampire. Brookshire was strong, cunning, a dangerous foe.
To her astonishment, the earl flipped out his cape and planted himself on the edge of the bed. He took hold of her father’s shoulders, eased him back. “Lie down, please, Sir Edmund.
Let me find where you’ve been injured.”
“I can tell you that. Ribs below the heart. Right arm. Left leg. Some Hellhound came at me first and mistook me leg for his dinner. Then Zayan crushed me ribs and drove his finger into me chest. Burst into me flesh like a blade. His bloody finger! I got a shot off with the Blood Red by Sharon Page ©2006 Advance Reader Copy www.SharonPage.com 18
crossbow and caught him through the shoulder—”
Althea tumbled onto her knees on the bed, beside her father. She wrapped her hands around his. “Please Father, don’t exhaust yourself.” The sight of his face—drawn, pale, his lips blue and trembling, made her heart plummet.
“Drink, Sir Edmund.”
Startled, Althea turned as the earl lifted his wrist to his mouth. His fangs now curved over his lower lip and as she gasped, he sliced into his wrist. Dark blood bubbled along the cut.
Althea got up off the bed, stake in hand. “You can’t ask him to drink a vampire’s blood!”
“My blood heals.”
“It will transform him.”
“No, love, it won’t.”
“He’s right, lass. It won’t.” With a shudder her father held up a shaky hand. "Give it to me then, my lord. I’ve no other choice, do I?”
“I am afraid not, sir. Your heart is slowing now, laboring. It will not survive the strain.”
“I never expected to owe me bloody life to a vampire,” her father grumbled.
* * *
Althea sank onto her bed and buried her face in her hands. She should have stayed with her father.
Why had she allowed the earl to command her?
Because he appeared to be a hero. Because Father owed his life to him. Because she owed Father’s life to him.
The heated debate still rang in her head. With the help of the earl and Mick O’Leary, she had gotten her father into his bed, with his blankets pulled up tight. His pulse, which had been thready and weak, began to beat strong and fierce. Color soon infused her father’s lined cheeks and he was quickly filled with vigor. Father had fired question after question at the earl, who told Father to wait until he was recovered to have a discussion. Father had demanded his spectacles, then
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