THE AWAKENING by Kate Huntington Romance Author from the anthology His Immortal Embrace Hannah Howell

His Immortal Embrace (Zebra Historical Romance)

THE AWAKENING
by Kate Huntington
from the anthology His Immortal Embrace
Hannah Howell, Lynsay Sands, Sara Blayne, Kate Huntington
Trade Paperback: ISBN: 0758204752 ~ Mass Market Paperback: ISBN 0821775693

Orphaned Thalia Layton is stricken to hear that her beloved, eccentric Aunt Cordelia has taken ill. But upon her arrival at Cordelia's remote estate, Thalia discovers that her aunt has harbored dangerous secrets -- and that Thalia's own attraction to Adrian Lucerne, Cordelia's mysterious and oddly nocturnal companion may prove to be a sensual temptation that will cost her life.

Novellas by celebrated authors Hannah Howell, Lynsay Sands and Sara Blayne also included.

"Vampires are sexy -- look at TV's "Angel" and the popularity of Anne Rice's suave vampire heroes. This is Kensington's third volume of vampire novellas published to satisfy readers' unrelenting thirst for sensual men of the night. . . . Allow yourself to surrender to these marvelous heroes and their eternal love. SENSUAL. 4 stars."

-- Kathe Robin
Romantic Times BOOKclub

May Day, 1814 Lancashire

Lightning cracked across the sky as the antiquated coach lurched across the moors. Thalia Layton braced herself against the door to keep every bone in her body from rattling loose.

Above the cacophony of the storm she could hear the nervous screams of the horses every time the thunder rumbled, and the crack of the driver's whip as he forced them on.

If she had not been determined to reach her aunt as she lay ill, she might have heeded the coachman's warning to stay the night in the village during a storm of such power, when, according to the silly man, the devil himself was said to hunt the earth in search of Christian souls to consume.

Probably not, though.

Although Thalia had to admit the unleashed fury of nature on the landscape was most impressive, it did not have the power to intimidate her. There was nothing unnatural about a rainstorm in the spring, after all, although she could see how ignorant, fanciful persons might attribute supernatural powers to the mournful, wailing wind.

Soon, she promised herself, she would be dry and warm in Aunt Cordelia's house after her long journey from London. All that was wanted was a bit of fortitude. Aunt Cordelia would be amused by the highly colored tale of Thalia's adventures she was composing in her head to distract herself from the wild jolts of the carriage and bone-jarring cracks of lightning.

She wrinkled her nose at the musty odor that emanated from the ancient upholstery of the carriage. The village where she had been deposited at the end of her stagecoach journey had little to recommend it in the way of public conveyances, and it was only with the promise of a large fare that she was able to hire this one. It seemed every inhabitant of the village was afraid of the storm.

It was May Day. Perhaps they feared they might be taken away by fairies or trolls if they ventured forth.

Thalia allowed her lips to curve into a smile at such ignorance, but her amusement was short-lived. She heard a scream from the horses and an answering cry of horror from the coachman.

She looked out the window, and for a moment a burst of lightning illuminated the sky to show a scene out of nightmare.

A large figure on horseback bore down on them with frightening speed. The horse reared and slashed its hooves in the air just before it would have collided with the carriage, but the dark horseman kept his seat. The capes of his greatcoat flared out like the wings of a bat.

Then Thalia felt herself tumbling away from the window as if she had been thrown by a giant, angry child, and her world turned end for end. She screamed. She could not stop herself from doing so, even though adding to the coachman's shrieks of terror was neither dignified nor helpful. The violence of screeching metal and the jarring of her body against the unyielding walls of the coach seemed to go on endlessly.

She felt a burst of pain as her head connected with a hard object, and then her world came to rest with a resounding crash. She could see nothing in the darkness of the coach, but when she groped blindly for the door, she soon realized it was beneath her. The opposite door, then, must be above.

Thalia closed her eyes against the dizziness that threatened to deprive her of her senses and willed her trembling limbs to support her as she tried to stand. The coachman, she knew, would be worse than useless. She could hear the panic in his voice as he shouted over the storm.

"Stay back," he cried. "Stay away from me! Take her instead. Take the stranger!"

What was he blathering on about? The poor fellow must be deranged.

It was clear that no help could be expected from that quarter, Thalia thought with a sigh, so she must rely on herself. She managed to pull herself upright, but her fingertips just brushed the door above her. She could not quite reach the latch; pushing the door open would be an impossibility.

"Coachman!" she called out. "Are you there?"

At that, the door above abruptly opened, and the fury of the storm rang in her ears. Rain pelted through the opening, but Thalia could only give a sigh of relief.

"Take my hands," a man's voice said loudly, but calmly, from above.

The horseman, Thalia thought as she reached out blindly toward the voice.

Strong hands grasped hers and drew her up. Her knee connected smartly with the edge of the open door, and she stifled an unladylike curse at the pain. Then she was lifted free of the coach and set on her feet with a sickening squelch of mud that oozed around her sturdy new shoes.

She stumbled, and her rescuer, now standing behind her, closed his strong hands on her shoulders. A streak of lightning showed her the coachman's face with mouth agape. He was several paces away. Blood coursed down his cheek and arm only to be quickly washed away in the rain.

"Take her," he shouted again.

Thalia saw that he was fumbling to release the horses from their traces, and he mounted one when they were free. The whites of the coachman's eyes showed all around he whirled the horse around and started off, riding bareback, into the night. The other horse ran after him.

"Wait! You are hurt," Thalia cried out, then winced because the effort sent pain lancing through her head. The dizziness came again, and she fought for consciousness.

"Steady, there," the man behind her said as he tightened his grip on her shoulders.

She turned to peer into his face, but all she could see of him was the glitter of his eyes in the darkness and the sheen of his white teeth against the night.

He was smiling.

"Who do you think you are?" she demanded as she wrested herself out of his grasp and faced him down with her hands on her hips.

The smile faded, leaving his form in darkness.

Whether he would have answered, she did not know, for she was too angry to let him speak.

"What do you mean by bounding out of the night on that hellish horse of yours, scaring honest citizens on the road? One of us could have been killed! All of us could have been killed!"

He took a step back.

"Well, then," he said curtly. "Since you are uninjured . . . "

He made her a small courtly bow -- ridiculous under the circumstances -- and reached out for the reins of his horse.

"I bid you a good evening, miss," he said, and turned his back on her.

Good riddance, Thalia thought. Then she realized she would be all alone in the storm when he was gone.

"You cannot leave me here," she cried out.

He faced her over his broad shoulder. Or perhaps, Thalia thought cynically from the perception of her artist's eye, it was merely the flattering cut of his greatcoat that gave such impressive proportions to his physique. No one knew better than an artist how deceptive appearances could be. A flash of lightning revealed that he had one foot already in the stirrup, about to mount.

"So, you have condescended to accept my assistance after all," he said. She could not see his face at all clearly, but she could hear the smugness in his voice.

"Gloating ill becomes a gentleman," she said.

He laughed, a rich sound of amusement that made her long to hit him even though he was her only way off this lonely moor and out of the lashing rain. With virtually no vegetation to stop it, the wind swept across the moors, wailing like the hungry horde of banshees to which the backward, superstitious villagers no doubt attributed it.

"Many pardons," his voice said from above her. "Come along, then."

A crack of lightning revealed that he was already on horseback, leaning toward her with his hand extended.

Thalia blinked. He certainly moved quickly for one encumbered with a sodden greatcoat and wet boots. He had made no sound when he mounted, nor had the horse.

Without hesitation she stepped forward and took his hand. It was cold as ice where she had expected it, somewhat irrationally, to be warm.

Idiot, she scolded herself as she suppressed a superstitious thrill. Of course his hands were cold. Hers were as well.

She placed her foot over his booted one resting in the stirrup, and he pulled her up in front of him as if she weighed no more than a child.

Thalia refused to be impressed by this demonstration of strength. She was still too angry with him.

The exotic spice of his cologne surrounded her along with the mingled scents of wet wool and leather as he draped the tails of his greatcoat around her to shelter them both. Nestled against his hard chest and protected against the driving rain by the whipcord strength of his body, she drifted off to sleep.

"Where do you . . . live?" he asked. His voice trailed off on the last word because he realized that she was unconscious.

The blood was high in her. He could smell it. He could almost taste it.

That she was untouched, he knew from the warmth of her flesh, her smell, the sound of her voice. The young and unawakened reveal their innocence to his kind merely by being. By breathing. He held her closer with one hand and the warmth that emanated from her body would have brought tears to his eyes if he had been human.

He fought against the instinct to taste her.

He could consume her now, while she was unknowing. He could leave her lifeless body on the road. No animal would disturb what would be left. She would be buried quietly at the crossroads. The humans would drive a stake through her heart to keep her from walking, if he did not do so himself.

The humans would not seek justice on her behalf if it meant endangering their own lives.

Still, he fought against the hunger.

He no longer had a soul, but he still could not bring himself to destroy a creature that slept so trustingly in his arms.

The young one stirred, and her lashes fluttered once as she opened her eyes to peer up into his face. Green, the rich hue of an emerald rather than the more ordinary color of grass mingled with earth. He could see perfectly in the dark. His preternaturally keen sight feasted on the delicate, well-bred features, the firm, though surprisingly lush lips, the long, slender neck revealed as her head fell back against his arm and her puzzled eyes sought to make out his features. He could tell the thick mane of wet, dark hair would be a rich, vibrant auburn when dried.

"My aunt lives at Lucerne House. Do you know it?" she asked.

"Your aunt," he repeated. He sounded stunned.

Thalia frowned.

She hoped the fellow was not simple minded, although it would not surprise her after witnessing his reckless charge on horseback across the moors in the middle of a raging storm. The dark, heavy-browed eyes and strong, almost gaunt facial features revealed by the illumination of the lightning were handsome enough, but a handsome face was not necessarily a proof of any level of intelligence.

"Do try to pay attention," she said, not unkindly. It was best, when dealing with those whose mental facilities were undeveloped, to keep one's speech simple. "I wish to go to Lucerne House. Will you take me there?"

"Yes," he said. His lips parted in a wolfish grin she was at odds to interpret. "Yes. I will take you there."

On they pounded through the driving rain. At last the dark shape of the house loomed ahead. Suddenly the rains stopped, and the songs of the birds told Thalia that dawn was imminent.

The horseman dismounted first, and with relief Thalia permitted him to grasp her waist and swing her to the ground.

"This is Lucerne House," he said. His voice was barely a whisper.

"Wait!" she cried when he turned and quickly mounted again. He moved so fast, he seemed to do it in the blink of an eye. "My aunt will gladly give you shelter for the rest of the night."

"Unnecessary," he said.

He wheeled the horse about and sped off into the gloom without a backward look.

"How rude," she said to herself with a shrug as she stomped to the door of the manor house.

The birdsong grew louder as the darkness receded. And somewhere far off, she heard a terror-filled, animal cry that almost sounded human.

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