Page 10 of The Vampire's Guide to Wooing a Curator
Felicity’s furious expression appeared in his mind. He couldn’t die having never tasted a hunter. She was worth suffering a while longer.
“Have you experienced any other symptoms?” Helena asked.
From the set of her shoulders, he suspected she would see through any attempt to lie. The last thing he wanted was for her to summon Seraphina, the only one of their siblings who could pry open a vampire’s mind and discern the truth against her victim’s will.
“Muscle aches,” he said shortly. “And I can’t run as fast as I used to.”
Helena looked at Cordon, and something seemed to pass between them, as if they were communicating without speaking.
Jonathan bristled. “Stop.”
Cordon’s eyebrows rose. “Stop what?”
“Closing me out. I am not a fledgling.”
“Are you sure?” Cordon crossed his arms. “Before Marguerite left, weren’t you still compelled to obey her?”
Jonathan flushed. “It is not the same. Ichoseto obey.” He pushed to his feet and looked down at his siblings, grateful thathis height allowed him that privilege. “The rest of you can do as you wish, but I will not bow to fate.”
“Don’t you want to experience the bond for yourself?” Cordon asked. Then, his pinched expression shifted into a smile. “Kitty wants you to know it is not as terrifying as it sounds.”
Jonathan brutally suppressed a spark of jealousy. That was the only aspect of mating that sounded appealing, to never be alone again. Once a pair of vampires bonded, the two could never be separated. If one died, the other would follow shortly after.
“No,” Jonathan said. “I’ve done as Marcus commanded for long enough. The exhibit is not a threat. After I take possession of Miss Sorrow’s artifacts, I intend to resume searching for our maker.”
Helena clenched the arms of her chair. “She’s dead, Jonathan. It is time you accepted that.”
Cordon rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You cannot still believe…” He shook his head. “What am I saying? Of course you do.” He joined Jonathan at the fireplace, poured himself a heavy glass of whiskey, and downed it. “Tell me about these artifacts.”
The change of subject was most welcome. Jonathan removed a shilling from his pocket and flipped it around his knuckles as he recounted each of the items he had seen. “A mirror, oval, with a gilded-gold wooden frame carved with a floral motif. Two crossbows, modern design, with silver-tipped arrows.”
Werewolf weapons, although they’d be equally effective against vampires. He assumed the hunters owned them because they employed werewolves in their hunts. It was a horrific practice, as the beasts were locked in cages several days a month when they were not being used for their tracking skills. Jonathan had always thought it was a myth that the hunters forced some of their number to be infected until Marcus had been attacked by a giant silver wolf in his own home.
Felicity’s uncle had done that, inflicted a painful, life-changing curse on his own nephew. The entire family followed barbaric traditions.
“What else?” Cordon asked.
Jonathan tilted his head and replayed his memories. Felicity stood in front of him, her eyes still bloodshot from the tears when the door had closed. He wrenched his attention from her face and focused on the items on the tables behind her.
“A crucifix. Wood and silver. Unknown age. A long sword with a carriage hilt.”
There was something else. A book she’d declared valuable. She’d waved it in front of his face, yet every time he tried to picture it, his mind supplied an image of softly parted lips or her fingers brushing a lock of hair over her ear. She was far too attractive to be a hunter.
“Anything else?” Cordon asked.
“Yes,” Jonathan said shortly. Then, the object appeared in his mind like a droplet of red paint landing on a white canvas. “An old book. No, not a book. An illuminated manuscript.”
The only reason he knew the difference was because he had once stolen several similar objects from a museum in Brussels. The scholar who had assisted him had repeatedly insisted they were not books butilluminated manuscripts, which were far more valuable.
“There was silver etching on the cover,” Jonathan continued. And there was something else. She had briefly opened it in front of him. “I saw a drawing of a flower with deep red petals and a black stem. Next to it was a list of names.”
Helena inhaled sharply. “What names?”
The cramped text was out of focus. He concentrated until the image in his mind sharpened. “Miss Petunia Brown, Mr. Fredrick DeLorenz, the Earl of Eastwick—”
“Vampires,” Cordon said. “I’ve met the earl and Mr. DeLorenz. I don’t know Miss Brown, but she is likely one of our kind as well.”
Helena’s mouth opened and closed several times. “It can’t be. I thought… the codex… It was lost.” She curled her hands into fists. “We must retrieve it at once.”
