She held her breath. They climbed higher and higher. She felt as if she could reach out and touch the moon. For one moment, she felt a twinge of fear—they were dizzyingly high—but it disappeared. She had nothing to be afraid of when she was with Ravenhunt.
Ophelia drew in a deep breath. Up here the air felt and smelled different—cooler, crisp, clean. Her arms were securely wrapped around his neck. His powerful muscles flexed and moved beneath her slim arms.
As they’d risen into the sky, she’d heard shouting down below them. Her captors must have discovered she had escaped.
She could not believe she was flying. And if he’d taken her power, why was he not dead? What had he meant that Guidon had told him there was a way out?
Beneath her, she saw the streets of London laid out, following the curves of the Thames. Powerful wingbeats took them closer to the buildings below them.
Her heart dipped and then soared downward, and beat frantically when he climbed again.
Now she knew what it was like to fly. Exhilarating. Amazing. Somehow it seemed even more miraculous to fly close to the buildings below, to just graze over them, to whirl around them. Below them were narrow, elegant buildings with bow windows and painted signs that shone with gilt.
Charing Cross. They were going to Guidon’s.
Ravenhunt slowly descended to the sidewalk outside the bookstore. He landed lightly on his feet, then crouched so she could safely slip off his back. It was dark—no light glowed in Guidon’s shop. She looked back to Ravenhunt and in the seconds she’d peered into the shop, he had transformed back to a man.
“Is he asleep?”
“He’s a vampire.”
A vampire? She’d never dreamed of that, though it explained why he had been working in his shop at night. “What about you?” she asked Ravenhunt. “It is cold and you have no clothing. You cannot go in to see Guidon this way. We must get you clothes so you do not catch pneumonia.”
“Love, vampires do not become sick. The Royal Society will have armed men watching my house, so we cannot return there. Guidon will help me acquire clothing. This is the safest place for you.” He touched her cheek. The warmth of his hand on her skin was enthralling. But she couldn’t do this yet.
“We must find out from Guidon if I’ve lost my power—” She could not make herself say, “and if you are going to be destroyed.”
Ravenhunt hauled open the door. It was unlocked, and they stepped into darkness. Ravenhunt slid a bolt in place to secure the door behind them, then he took her hand. He threaded his fingers through hers—she hadn’t held hands like this in forever. She had last done it with her sister Lydia—she hadn’t seen her sister in years, nor her younger brother, Harry. Not since her family understood her power and kept her away from them. She had not started her life by killing people—it had begun when she was thirteen. She had hurt servants by accident; she had made her family ill, she had almost killed the man she loved. Then she had been locked away.
Holding someone’s hand felt reassuring.
But it reminded her of what she’d done. Probably destroyed Ravenhunt.
“Guidon?” he called.
There was no answer, only silence, but Ravenhunt murmured. “He is in his garden.”
“His garden? It is the middle of the night. How do you know?”
“He told me by thought.”
She let him lead her through the crowded bookshop, in the narrow aisle between shelves, skirting stacks of books. At the back, they passed through Guidon’s kitchen, its kettle on a table. Ravenhunt opened a rear door, and Ophelia walked out first into a tiny, walled garden.
The gnome-like man—vampire, she now knew—was crouched in front of a hedge of flowers. It was late at night, the sky velvety black, yet the garden was alive with color. She gasped, surprised.
Guidon jumped up and faced her, a beaming smile on his strange-looking face. He looked very happy and proud, and she smiled at him, despite her fears.
“Lady Ophelia, it is delightful to see you.” He bowed.
“It is lovely to see you, Mr. Guidon,” she answered. He did not appear shocked that Ravenhunt had no clothing.
He waved toward his house. “My—Mr. Ravenhunt, you will find a robe upstairs, if you wish. While you dress, I will show Lady Ophelia my garden. Then we can speak of what has happened.”
“Do you know what has happened?” she asked, startled.
“I can imagine.”
Ravenhunt left for the house and she could not help but blurt, “I am able to touch him now. It means he has taken my power, doesn’t it? Does that not mean he is going to die?”
“Are you afraid of that?” Guidon asked.
She gaped, perplexed. “Of course. I don’t want him to sacrifice himself for me.”
“That is a good start.” He almost skipped over to a bevy of huge white flowers. They were the size of saucers. “This is a moon flower. They bloom in moonlight.”
“They are lovely. What do you mean by it is a good start?”
“What will save Ravenhunt is your love, Lady Ophelia. He is worthy of it, even if he believes he is not. However, it must be true love, deep and powerful, to save him. I do not know if you care for him quite enough yet. In my garden, though, you will see how beautiful things can be that live for the night. That bloom only in the night.”
“I know Ravenhunt is beautiful, and I believe I do love him.”
“You cannot completely love him, my lady. Not yet.” Guidon pointed out other flowers with a gnarled, ink-stained finger. He spoke like a proud father about his children. There were lance-shaped white flowers with a pinkish tint and hairy leaves that he called Nottingham catchfly. He had borders of pink and purple four o’clocks. A beautiful yellow flower that was as tall as her he called evening primrose, creamy yellow night gladiolus, and elegant Casablanca lilies, which were very exotic.
“One would think a vampire would be denied the pleasures of a garden, but it is not so,” he declared happily.
“It is one of the most beautiful gardens I’ve seen,” she said, honestly. “The flowers show how much you love it.”
Guidon waved toward the back door of his house. “We should go back inside.”
They stepped inside as Ravenhunt came downstairs in a robe that reached his knees. He had it belted at his waist, wrapped around him to hide his naked body.
Guidon insisted they sit and he made tea. She poured it for them all. Guidon addressed Ravenhunt, “Do you have the book, my lord?”
“No, it is at my home. I had to leave my house in a hurry.”
She swallowed. He’d had to run because he was going to bite her, and then because he had chased her outside. Then she realized what Guidon had said. “You called him ‘my lord.’ But he is not—”
“There are still secrets between you. That is why you have not entirely saved him yet, my lady.”
Guidon stood and took Ravenhunt’s cup. He held it so she could see in the bottom. There were leaves there, and they had filled one half of the cup, making a perfect straight line through the center.
“You have given some of your power to him. Right now you are both sharing the strength of your power. It is half with you and half with him, which is why you do not hurt him when you touch him. But once he takes all your power, unless he wins your love, he will be destroyed. Ravenhunt, she cannot love you without knowing the truth.”
“I thought love saved her,” Ravenhunt said.
“It saves you both,” Guidon answered.
“What more can I tell her?” Ravenhunt’s full lower lip thrust out. “She already knows the worst of me. My brutal past and the fact I am a vampire.”
“She needs to know everything.” Guidon turned to her. “What do you wish to ask him?”