Darkness Rises Page 2

  Not again.

  The searing pain didn’t come this time. An echo of the magic used did. It pulsed through his veins. Why was this happening? Had the Ancient missed something?

  Jonah’s nails bit into the flesh of his palms, and the wetness of blood trickled down into his shirt sleeves. He threw back his head and roared, furious that his body was being used against his will. The inhuman sound echoed off the walls.

  “Mr. McRae!”

  The clang of a tray falling to the hardwood floor drew his attention. Miss Jemmy stood near the stairs, wringing her hands. The discarded tea set lay in shattered pieces. He reached out to her and she screamed. Her fear seeped into his pores, feeding his hunger for more. He stood, against his own accord. The material of his clothes constricted around him, suffocating him. He tore at them; the rending of fabric was music to his ears, but the minute they were gone, his skin grew too tight, as if all the fluid in his body dried up, and his flesh shrank, sealing it to the bones.

  Jonah reached out to her with a gasp. Just as quickly as the sensation filled him, it released and he fell forward. The craving for blood overwhelmed him to the point he writhed on the floor. His stomach cramped. The only thing to quench the need was a human. Full blood. The scintillatingly sweet essence of life. Oh, how he could taste it on his tongue—like an orgasm churning low in his gut.

  He licked his lips and moaned.

  “Miss Jemmy,” he crooned. “Come back. I’m fine now.” Bloodlust raged within him, demanding he take his fill and continue. It made his prick hard, and his heart hammer. It’d been so long since he gave over to a thirst this strong. This…dangerous.

  “Someone has their cock out.” Andres appeared in front of him. “Get control of yourself, man. Can’t have you scaring all the staff away.” He glanced down at Jonah’s cock and smirked. “You are still one of the finest specimens I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

  Jonah shook his head. The haze seeped from his vision leaving him naked, aroused and befuddled. “What the bloody hell…?” He grabbed his head and groaned. “Not again.”

  “This has happened before?” A glass appeared in front of him. “Drink.” Andres took a seat at the help’s small table.

  He shoved the glass away. “I already drank.”

  Andres cocked one of his sculpted brows. “Have you? Did you get a little taste of the maid, prig?”

  He curled his lip in revulsion. “Nothing of the sort. I’ll thank you kindly for being here though.”

  “Want to tell me what happened?” Andres sat across from him. A dainty tea cup sat perched between his fingers.

  The dandy man. Always so coy. Always full of shite. On a good day, Jonah didn’t trust him. On a bad day, even less. “Did you not feel the energy last night?”

  “Horrible head rush.” He placed the cup on the table. “Skin tingled for a while.” Andres shrugged. “Nothing of consequence though.”

  “Then count yourself lucky.” He twisted the decanter in front of him. The red elixir slid down the sides to settle in the glass.

  “This whole show then?”

  “A new side effect of my affliction,” Jonah replied. “A disconcerting one.”

  “Does the good Doctor know?”

  He shook his head. “I was on my way to find all of you when—” He motioned to himself.

  “Ah.” Andres nodded. “Better get dressed before Mummy sees you in such a state.” The corner of his mouth tilted upward while the sparkle of tomfoolery glittered in his dark eyes.

  With a curt nod, Jonah stood. “Could I trouble you to talk with Miss Jemmy?”

  “I’ll make sure she’s right as rain.” The coquettish look he threw over his shoulder at Jonah hadn’t gone unnoticed.

  The man partook of anything with two legs and a willing hole. His adventures were outrageous. His sexual appetite was rather…vulgar.

  Pot meet kettle.

  Jonah took his time climbing the stairs. Returning to his room, he glanced at the tumbler on the bedside table. Empty. Thirty years he controlled the beast within him. One night, an awakening, and he lost his sanity. He grabbed the clothes he needed from his wardrobe and dressed. Surely Omer knew by now who tapped the lines.

  He slipped his arm into his top coat. The picture of a perfect, genteel gentleman. No hair out of place. No blood at the corner of his mouth. Stiff upper lip. He left his room and found Miss Jemmy cleaning up the shards of china and tea from the floor where she’d dropped it after he’d made a spectacle of himself.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  She glanced up at him. A hint of fear still shimmered in her blue eyes. “It’s all right, Mr. McRae.”

  He frowned while following her down the stairs to the main entry of the manor. No, it wasn’t all right. Wouldn’t be for some time he suspected. “Miss Jemmy.” He opened the door and followed Andres. “What did you say to her?”

  “I told her I could make her feel better later,” he answered. “She’ll scream. We’ll both have a good time.”

  “You twit,” he snapped. “She’s but a girl.”

  “She is a woman, Jonah. Even though you don’t see it.” Andres shrugged. “I explained how sorry you were, and then offered her a good time.”

  “Arsehole.”

  He flashed Jonah a wry grin. “These days I find titillation turns the women into wanton creatures.”

  “Have any clue where we can find Emmitt?” Jonah had to change the subject. He held onto his sanity by a thread.

  “I’m sure Lawson is with him at the theater. Jack is around as always. The bastard enjoys a rousing game of ‘find the invisible man’.”

  “Ezra is off doing his wolf things, I am more than sure,” Jonah added.

  “I’ve never seen the appeal. Day after day,” Andres bemoaned. “No spontaneity. No surprises.”

  “I suppose you wouldn’t.” They stepped through the back entryway of Dr. Jerome Brew’s laboratory and climbed the wrought iron spiral stair case. “If the doctor isn’t here, he’s with the Chinaman. Or our other friend is about.”

  “Should we make a wager?” Andres stopped on the stairs.

  “No. I’ll lose.” They stopped at the top of the stairway; the vast expanse of Jerome’s laboratory filled the open loft area. Various beakers, tubes and burners lay about. Written out on one of three chalkboards, a formula they were well versed in.

  “Mr. Tinnin.” Andres didn’t have to say it out loud, he could read.

  “Seems the good doctor hasn’t given up his pursuit of perfecting the formula.” A creak in the floor boards had Jonah putting his finger to his mouth. “Mr. Tinnin, you can come out now. Your parlor tricks don’t frighten us.”

  The beast did have a way with making Jonah’s skin crawl though.

  “Are you sure?” Andres cocked a brow.

  A flicker of movement out of the corner caught Jonah’s gaze. “Quite.”

  “I smell the fear of an Englishman.” The creature laughed and bent into the light. The soft glow from the kerosene lamp glinted off his shielded arm. Different types of metal pieces had been forged together to form a sort of trophy from those who’d met their ends with him. Cogs and wheels turned, while steam poured from the vents. It held no other purpose than to strike fear into the heart of his new victims.

  “You smell your own filth,” Jonah snarled. He wouldn’t admit the man challenged him, mentally. This fiend was a part of Dr. Brew—a physical and psychological break from reality. Yet, no matter how many times Jonah told himself such, the slide of fear filling his gut never subsided.

  “It would go so much easier if you weren’t so…” Andres motioned to the man stepping out of the shadows.

  Mr. Tinnin dipping his chin and stepped away from the rafters. They were like a fly on a horse’s arse, when his massive frame filled the room. “So I am to, what? Make you feel more at home?” He chuckled. The deep rumbling sound held a note of danger and inched down Jonah’s spine like a ball of ice. “Should I make you tea?” />
  Jonah clenched his hands at his side. The arsehole teased them. Played a cat and mouse game he had no business entertaining. “We need the doctor.”

  “And I need a good fucking. Since I won’t be getting what I want, why should I give you the doctor?” Mr. Tinnin loomed over them. The sardonic expression on his face enraged Jonah; however, they were forbidden to fight amongst each other.

  “I’ll take that tea. Two sugars.” Andres sat down on the stool beside the lab table. He unbuttoned his suit coat and smoothed out his trousers.

  “Of course, dandy, and a scone too, I assume.” The beast curtsied. “Anything else?”

  Jonah pinched the bridge of his nose; they were getting nowhere fast. “Did you feel the disturbance last night?”

  The big creature of a man shot him a look, then a smile took root on his impossibly big mouth. “We did. It invigorated us.”

  “Hence why the monster is here and not Jerome.”

  “We need you to come with us, Mr. Tinnin. It would have been easier with Dr. Brews, he’s more compliant.”

  “You mean a pansy.”

  “Omer is insisting,” he replied.

  That knocked the superior smug off his face. “What does he want?”

  “We are to track the disturbance and find out what is going on. Then report back to him.” Andres stood, and crossed the space to stand in front of the brute. “Afterwards, we do whatever he asks, because those are the terms of our contracts and you are still bound.”

  “Where is the dog?” Mr. Tinnin cut his gaze to Jonah.

  “Full moon.” He shrugged.

  “Fine. We go. But, only because I want to, not because you’re forcing me.” He swung his gaze between both men.

  “Perfect. After you, Mr. Tinnin.” Jonah motioned to the door as an ear-splitting scream rent the still night air.

  Andres ran to the warehouse window, and cursed. “We have trouble.”

  The big man and Jonah gazed out over the city beside Andres. There below marched a horde of…the risen dead. What in God’s name…. No, not in God’s name. It made sense now. All of it. As those beings, some with mechanical arms or wearing suits made for the ocean stumbled and dragged themselves down the lanes, the incantation filtered through Jonah’s mind. “Necromancer.”

  “Aye,” Mr. Tinnin agreed.

  “We have to get everyone together,” Andres muttered. “Now.”

  “Ready for an adventure, Mr. Tinnin?”

  2

  Annabelle Craig caught the naked woman as she stumbled out of the alley. Blood poured from the bite to her neck and already the grayish-blue pallor of death spread across her flesh. Vampire. Her wide, glassy stare darted from side to side as she took heaving gulps of air.

  “Listen to me, you’re going to die. Accept it.” Her grip on the woman’s shoulders tightened. “Who did this to you?”

  The girl continued to shake. Her lips thinned as she moaned.

  “You can’t fight this. It’s inevitable. It’s what happens when a vampire bites you.” Well, not necessarily. This particular bite had been torn open, as if the monster had meant to rend flesh as he or she fed. Only a vampire caught in bloodlust killed.

  “He…he seemed so nice.”

  “They all do.” She frowned. “I’m sorry.”

  The girl’s breathing turned to gasps as she crumpled over onto the wet ground. She curled into the fetal position as her blood continued to pour from her, mixing with the rain. The liquid pooled around her, then trickled down the road. They couldn’t leave her there. The stories of blood suckers were gaining traction among the drunkards, and brawlers. If someone found her body lying there, mass panic was almost certain. However, they also couldn’t take her with them. It would be too suspicious carrying a dead body through the middle of London.

  “Annabelle, we have to go.” Norah, compatriot and inventor extraordinaire came over to where she knelt by the body. “The Metropolitan will be here shortly and we’ll be implicated in her murder.”

  She frowned. “Damn vampires.”

  “We’ll get them another day.” Norah tugged at her shirt.

  Annabelle stood, and gave a fleeting glance to the girl lying in a pool of her own blood, hating herself for not being able to properly attend to the deceased. Something big had happened tonight, Clara, their resident witch, felt it and remained behind to research the anomaly. It’d been why they were out to begin with. The rush of magic juiced her friend, to the point that she’d wondered if perhaps Clara had used some of the concoctions offered at the local brothel.

  “Tell me one of you found something.” Annabelle put one foot in front of the other, heading for the steam carriage.

  “Amos is asking around now. However, no one is talking.” Norah slipped in beside Annabelle and primed the steam engine of the carriage Norah created before pushing the start button. It came to life like a locomotive; with each chug of the combustion engine the power increased.

  “Of course.” Annabelle scrubbed her forehead. As a classically trained monster hunter, she prided herself on being the best she could be—even if she stepped on people’s toes.

  Though she started out as a vampire hunter, the minute she realized there were other creatures out there who meant to do harm to humans, she started going after them too—unsuccessfully most times. It caused rifts with her teacher.

  “Clara is working on it, I’m sure of it. Hopefully, she’ll be able to tell us soon what happened,” Norah stated, climbing in beside Annabelle.

  “Don’t let her get too deep.” She grabbed the door as the carriage jerked and they pulled away.

  Norah laughed. “You can’t tell Clara anything.”

  What ended the relationship with her mentor was bringing Clara into the fold. The witch had proven herself over and over again to be loyal to Annabelle, yet no matter what proof she brought her teacher, Elijah, the man who'd spent his life teaching her to learn from her enemies before dispatching them, wouldn’t listen. In the last several years before she went her separate ways, Elijah had grown more bloody-minded, unwilling to hear her out. It caused Clara, her friend, to become the hunted. It seemed classic monster hunting skills wouldn’t work in these modern times.

  “Well she needs to listen this time.” Annabelle couldn’t get the image of the girl out of her mind. One more victim she couldn’t help. One more event caused by the monsters. The list was growing longer every day.

  They pulled up to the terrace house in Westminster, which had been left to her by her parents after a tragic dirigible accident, and got out. The team would be gone for another couple of hours. She needed to read up. Use the symptoms of what Clara felt and see if they could find out what they were dealing with.

  The door to the house opened and Clara stood there, clutching her automaton arm. Her pewter fist clenched while the audible clank of wheels and springs drew their attention. “Not good. Not good.”

  Annabelle hurried to her side as steam poured from the vent. “What happened?”

  Clara stared up at her, even as her shock glazed eyes seemed to see past her. “Ley lines. I traced the magic back.”

  “Shite.” She rushed the girl back into the house and sat her down. “Get Charlie. We need to fix her arm,” she called over her shoulder to Norah.

  She tried to retract it, but the springs in the joint were wound too tight, as the cogs continued to grind.

  “I heard him, Anna. I heard the man. I felt the energy. It’s wicked. Whatever this person has planned, it’s not good. The evil from him is strong. He will kill again. Tonight was the beginning. He is coming. He is going to destroy London.”

  Ominous. “Well, thankfully we’re here to protect the city.”

  “Unless he kills you too.” Clara’s eyes fluttered shut and she slumped into the chair where she sat. The tension in her arm released with a clatter as it dropped into her lap.

  Great. Not the way Annabelle thought she’d be spending the evening. She rubbed the back of her neck as Ch
arlie stepped into the room carrying his bag. The mechanical automaton crossed the room and stood before her friend. “What happened?”

  “Magic surge. I think she is okay now.”

  He tsked then bent in front of her. “I will check the arm. It will take some time.” The glow of the lanterns and lamps situated around them glinted off him, casting him in a golden halo.

  “I trust you, old friend.” She tapped his shoulder as he set to work. What a shite night.

  * * *

  Annabelle sat up with a start and pushed her long raven hair from her face. The night’s activities filled her dreams. Between the vampire and Clara’s reaction to the spell, she couldn’t find the peace she needed. She pushed the covers back and slid her feet to the floor.

  A cold chill had settled over the house. The crisp fall air filtered through her bare windows—a requirement she requested when she picked the space. A way to keep a watchful eye on those who might come and go through the night.

  When she’d been a young child, her parents became ill with what was thought of to be the plague, but as the days went by, and she didn’t show signs of the ailment, she sought out answers for her parents’ death.

  A brisk walk through the woods brought her to a campfire. Sitting there, armed with a crossbow and stakes, sat a man named Elijah Dapp. She ran to him for cover, not sure if she’d find safety, or whatever it was that caused her parents to die a slow, awful death. The man took one look at her and promised Annabelle answers. Then he agreed to teach her how to hunt.

  At first, she thought he lied about the vampires, but when Eli brought her back to her London manor, Annabelle believed. For years, she stuck by his side, and then one day her eyes had been opened to a new being. A witch. A woman who appeared so normal, so friendly and kind. She and Clara became fast friends. Annabelle realized the girl could help them fight the vampires and rid London of the foul creatures. She tried to tell Elijah about the girl, and her ability to help, but he wouldn’t pay attention.