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Night of the Vampires
Heather Graham
Beneath evil and destruction lies truth… and eternal passion Soldier Cole Granger fights to restore peace to a world divided by war and evil. Enlisted for his extraordinary talents, nothing will stop him from preventing a horrific premonition from becoming reality…especially not a mysterious young woman claiming to be his comrade’s sister.Unsure if she’s enemy or ally, Cole knows only one thing for certain – he must keep her close. Very close. Megan’s quest to uncover a family secret leads her to the centre of vampire riots.She must join forces with Cole to find the answers, but they can’t disguise the potent attraction drawing them together. Yet trust doesn’t come easily for Cole and when Megan unearths the grim, dark truth, can she trust him to believe her?



Praise for the novels of New York Times bestselling author Heather Graham writing as Shannon Drake
“Drake constructs a well-drawn plot and provides plenty
of sexual tension and romantic encounters as well
as exotic scenery.”
—Publishers Weekly on The Pirate Bride
“Bestselling author Drake…keeps Ally’s relationship
with her aunts and godparents playful, forming an
intriguing contrast with the grim progress of the murder
probe, while satisfying romantic progress and rising
suspense keep the book running on all cylinders.”
—Publishers Weekly on Beguiled
“Drake is an expert storyteller who keeps the reader
enthralled with a fast-paced story peopled with
wonderful characters.”
—RT Book Reviews on Reckless
“[Shannon Drake] captures readers’ hearts with her own
special brand of magic.”
—Affaire de Coeur on No Other Woman
“Bringing back the terrific heroes and heroines from
her previous titles, Drake gives The Awakening an extra-special touch. Her expert craftsmanship and true mastery of the eerie shine through!” —RT Book Reviews
“Well-researched and thoroughly entertaining”
—Publishers Weekly on Knight Triumphant

Night of the Vampires

Heather Graham





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
With lots of love and all best wishes to an extraordinary group
of up and coming authors—Jodine Turner, Tabitha Bird,
Karisa Hatfield, Autumn Dawson, Lynn Brown, Sharon Duncan,
and Leslie Bard. My “girls” from New Orleans!

PROLOGUE
THERE WAS JUST something about the man.
Kim knew it from the moment she first laid eyes on him.
It was just turning from summer to fall, and the day was beginning to die. Dust dazzled in the streaks of color that still formed the sky as the sun sank, while, already, the bountiful full moon was starting to peek out and rise into what would become a velvet and star-studded night.
He was the most unusual man. Even motionless, he compelled attention—she had simply known he was there the minute he had come to stand beneath the gnarled oaks. His stature was impressive, his very stillness somehow provocative.
There was a sadness about him, a melancholy, really, that drew Kim Forrester in despite the amazing bounty of handsome, wealthy and eligible bachelors in the room. He was tall—certainly a plus—extremely fine in physical appearance and with the requisite broad shoulders offsetting a lean waist. His hair was smooth and dark, his face clean shaven. He wore an elegant gray evening frock coat with a crimson brocade vest and a fine, matching stovepipe hat.
Something undeniable informed his movement. Sleek, like a great cat. Fluid, as if he were filled with confidence. This was strange, because Kim did not know him, and she knew most of the young bucks here, the sons of the most affluent men in the affluent community of exceptionally fine houses along the battery of Charleston, South Carolina.
“I do declare!” Marybelle Claiborne said, whisking her fan a thousand miles an hour. “That gentleman, why, he is just scrumptious! So darkly dangerous, mysterious, and—downright alluring!”
“He’s not from here,” Alice Payne said, sniffing, her nose in the air. “I’ve heard there’s something quite scandalous and horrible in his past!”
Alice Payne was known for her darling and elegant button nose. In Kim’s silent opinion, it gave her the appearance of a little piglet. Adorable, but a piglet all the same.
Kim forced a smile. She’d promised there would be no scenes here. In her mind, the balls were mindless endeavors where parents tried to sell off their daughters like chattel, hoping for the highest prices and the very best family alliances. Ah, and alas, so much for the pride of America, the people who would not bow down before kings! Here, there was a new king, and it didn’t even have a soul: cotton. Sugar, of course, was in the royal court, and land meant everything. It provided a palace for the king.
“So seductive, yes, and scandalous. Why? We don’t know, do we? And that’s part of what makes him scandalous! They say that he’s from Texas, that he’s wealthy beyond measure,” Julia Lee chimed in. She winked. “He’s given the other fellows a run for their money. I believe he’s come here with Lieutenant Weston, and I believe that the lieutenant befriended him at a cattle sale. Business has brought him to Charleston. And we are, of course, my darlings, known for our Southern hospitality!” She rolled her large blue eyes.
As they watched the distant figure, Benton McTavish strode out to where the young ladies stood, sheltered by the leaves of a giant oak. He greeted them all with a swaggering bow and the tilt of his hat. “Afternoon, ladies. If you’re gathered here in number for fear of the newcomers amidst our group, let me assure you. We of your community—”
He meant social rank, Kim was certain!
“—will absolutely assure that no harm will come to the damsels of Charleston!”
Kim looked away, teeth gritting. Benton McTavish never lifted a finger to do an honest moment’s work. He rode to the hounds, drank brandy and smoked cigars and pretended to know about his father’s business. Proud as a peacock over his sexual prowess, it was rumored he had already sired several children with one of the beautiful young slaves on his father’s plantation. She wondered how the poor thing bore his attentions, but she knew as well that the woman had no choice. She hoped that at least she received lighter household duties in exchange for those she was forced to perform upon her back.
“Why, Benton, we’d never be afraid, not with big, strong fellows like you around,” Alice said, slipping her arm through his.
Kim turned around, pretending great interest in the golden color of an oak leaf, lest she look straight at Benton and gag.
“Shall we, ladies? A true pleasure to escort you all in! I do believe that our supper is about to be served.”
Kim hung back. She watched them go, wondering if, when they noticed that she wasn’t with them, they would then discuss her as freely and maliciously as they had the stranger. As hard as her mother might try—as successful as she’d been in seducing Kim’s very rich stepfather—Kim would never be among these elite. She was from the Caribbean, not Charleston, and her beauty seemed a curse, a cautionary tale about the seduction of good men, and nothing more.
It was thus that she was standing when the man came to her at last.
He smiled ruefully, and seemed to realize that she was here and yet far away, and among the crowd yet not of it.
“Miss, you seem at a loss. May I escort you in?”
His voice was rich, deep, cultured and bore an accent of the Deep South. The sound of it was like a sweep of honey into her bones. His eyes were darker than ebony and yet seemed to have a glow brighter than hell’s fire.
“Forgive me. My name is Fox. I’m here at the urging of a Lieutenant Weston. I don’t mean to be rude or impertinent in any way.”
Kim found herself smiling. Of course not—not with that accent. He had been born and bred to play the game.
Her smile faded, and she frowned. A chill, and then a rush of heat flashed through her.
Fear.
She knew.
She knew because of her mother. Her mother, who had been raised in the Caribbean, who had been the grandchild of—
To her surprise, the sensation that had overcome her disappeared just as quickly. Her smile returned to her features. There was something so tragically sad about his eyes.
Looking at her, he somehow knew that she knew. The melancholy air about him deepened. “I would never hurt you,” he said simply. He opened his mouth, as if there might be more explanation, but he repeated, “I would never hurt you.”
She nodded. She thought about her mother, and the change that had come over her after the death of her father—her increased obsession with wealth and social prominence. She thought about her high-and-mighty—and quickly acquired!—stepfather, and the less-than-honorable way he looked at her when her mother wasn’t watching.
She thought about the way her mother had spoken to her this very morning.
We will see you married off, young lady, betrothed today, and that is that. And if you don’t choose among those who are proper, I will choose for you, and you will do as you are told!
“Miss?”
“My name is Kimberly Forrester,” she told him. “Kim.”
“Miss Forrester.”
“Kim, please,” she whispered.
“Hardly proper.” And his crooked smile was beautiful; he made her feel as if she were melting into the earth.
“Neither is this.” She came closer to him.
Not proper at all. But her life was a sham of obedience, and she loathed the life she had been intended to lead. Women were well-groomed puppets. They followed ridiculous rules. They turned away while “men weremen” and lived with the shame and, in time—as she had seen too often—the bitterness and hatred.
She knew that she wanted something different.
She wanted life, passion, something real—if only for a moment.
“Careful,” he warned, looking down at her where she stood, so close. Those eyes of his were pure fire. “I’m not…I’m not the one to give you what you need.”
“You will never understand what I need, Mr. Fox,” she assured him.
“Escape,” he said flatly.
“And can you help me escape?” she whispered.
“That…but little else. You don’t understand—I can’t, I won’t, I haven’t ever been able to stay near those…those I have loved, or those who touch my soul.”
She lowered her head for a moment. Loved. Once upon a time, he had loved someone. And he knew what he was. Just like those playing this game here tonight, this game of charm, this charade of decency, he knew how to play the game he must.
She stared into his eyes. “I want you to help me. Take me away. Get me away from this awful place now.”
“It’s not so awful,” he told her. “There is a certain honor here, as well. There is loyalty, and many a man here is a good man.”
“Not one who might be intended for me,” she assured him. “Please. I’ll never look back. And I’ll expect nothing in return.”
He wanted to stop her. She thought that he might be nearly as seduced as she, perhaps by her appearance, more likely by her boldness.
Or maybe it was just bloodlust for a willing victim.
And still, he wanted to stop her.
“Before the barbecue?” he inquired, his tone light and teasing, and again, she felt that she was desperately in love with just the sound of his voice.
“Now.” Her voice trembled; so did she.
He stared back at her.
“Do you really know what it could mean?”
“Yes.”
They were alone. Alone in the late day when the sun had fallen completely at last and the moon was riding high in the sky, and the echo of words and laughter and conversation had faded away.
He took her suddenly by the shoulders, and his hands were powerful, almost rough.
“Do you really know what it means?” he demanded.
“Yes!” she cried.
He shook his head, angry with her, angry with himself.
“Don’t you understand? I can’t be there to pick up the pieces. I can’t…I can’t stay. I can never stay. I can never stay long in one place. Don’t ask me this—Go. Go into your ball and marry the proper young fellow and bear fine young sons and—”
“Live with a man who will despise me in time as I despise him, and fade into the woodwork behind the fabric of charade?” she demanded softly.
“But you would trade it all—”
“Yes.”
Now he wasn’t melancholy. He was tortured, angry…and still beautiful. He seemed to sigh, his eyes meeting hers. He touched her hair, stroking, cradled her skull in his hand and drew her to him. “You may trade your very life,” he told her.
His lips touched hers.
And she didn’t care.

CHAPTER ONE
Washington, D.C.
“LET’S DO IT—let’s do this thing now,” Cole Granger’s voice was low and filled with grim conviction as he spoke to his three comrades.
They had quietly skimmed the stone wall surrounding the prison yard. Earlier in the night, a perimeter had been formed by able-bodied soldiers in the blocks surrounding the area, troops badly needed elsewhere holding the streets around this fortress. But now there were no guards left to stop anyone from entering, those who had been on duty having fled inside amid bullets and blades.
Not that it would help them.
This wasn’t a holding cell for the hardened criminal awaiting execution, or even for a pack of murderous madmen. Those incarcerated were guilty only of bowing before a different, Southern power, and they were being held only until the war’s end.
For several seconds, Cole Granger, Cody Fox and Brendan Vincent remained frozen in place, listening. Strange noises, soft cries, sucking sounds, eerie laughter—punctuated by bone-chilling shrieks and screams—issued forth from within the massive brick facade they faced.
“Truly, the situation is only becoming worse by the second, gentlemen,” Cole noted.
Brendan Vincent, veteran of many a battle and even many a war, nodded severely, his handsome and distinguished face set like a rock.
“Yes. Time to move,” Cody agreed. Cody—who knew exactly what they were up against, who had brought Cole into this strange, other battle that had nothing to do with North or South, blue or gray.
“Indeed—now.” Cole couldn’t believe he was saying the words, or that they were entering the main prison, that he was holding his breath and about to go into action against a horde of bizarre demons.
Again.
Hell.
Victory, Texas. Things had been going well there—so damned well that maybe they’d let down their guard a bit. But this wasn’t Victory, and Cole still wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing here, except that he’d seen the results of what was commonly known as “the plague.” It had come to the West, and, back then, Cole hadn’t believed what he now knew to be true. There was one thing that caused the bizarre deaths, the madness, the murder and bloodlust of man tearing apart fellow man and woman.
One thing.
Vampires.
They’d come to his hometown and nearly annihilated the population, his people. They’d massacred almost everyone in Hollow Tree, too. But, thanks to the arrival of Cody Fox, they’d gotten things under control. So, improbably, now here he was, a Texas sheriff, called into the hallowed halls of a beleaguered nation, to help solve a plague again. A Texan, a Rebel, fighting monsters in the heart of the Union.
The key word in his strange situation was actually Texas. Out in the frontier of far west Texas, there were still folks who didn’t even know that a war was taking place. They were too busy trying to feed cattle and sheep or grow subsistence from a lot of dry and rocky land. Most such hardy folk got along with their neighbors, including the Indians, but it was also an area where the different Apache or Comanche clans might go on the warpath. Civil war was something happening far, far away, to someone else.
Cole himself had wanted no part of it. Hard to say who was right and who was wrong when the abolitionist John Brown had flat out murdered slave owners in Kansas, and when the guerilla retaliation had been flat out murder, as well. John Brown had hanged at Harpers Ferry, and Robert E. Lee, sent out to apprehend the man, was now head of the Confederate Army. It was a mess of tangled loyalties all around, and among men who used to be brothers.
It was death. The death of the youth of one country, torn asunder; and it was mothers crying over the loss of their sons, little more than babes, because war always killed the fit, just as it killed the beauty of youth. Confederates were ripping it up as amazing cavalrymen and sharpshooters, naturally, because they mostly lived off the land, while their Northern brethren were simply whopping down hard on the South because they had numbers—numbers of men, numbers of weapons, numbers of financiers, numbers all the damned way around.
So many dead now.
The war was over States’ Rights, and the main right that many of the states wanted had to do with slavery, while half the boys fighting on the Southern side couldn’t afford a good horse, much less a slave. They weren’t really fighting for themselves but someone richer. Always someone richer.
It was a mess to begin with. It was horrible; it was ugly, it was heartbreaking.
Death, horror and bloodshed.
Then throw in a few vampires.
But, then, you could go on forever and not even know about the vampires. Most didn’t. The creatures had to slake a bloodlust, but they worked around the whole killing and draining human being thing by feasting on cattle—just like man himself feasted on beef. Then again, Cole knew a few folks who didn’t eat much meat at all—they lived on the land, consuming mass quantities of vegetables and beans and the like.
There were no vegetarian vampires, he thought wryly. Not that he knew about, anyway, but some were better than others, some had to be.
Cody, for instance. Well, half of Cody.
“Cole, five o’clock!” Cody Fox whispered to him.
He turned; the shadow was just slipping up behind them. He saw it, and quickly assessed his supply of weapons. He wanted to keep it quiet—didn’t want the creature screaming and alerting others.
A stake.
Quick and hard, straight through the heart…his aim needed to be good—
The shadow pounced, becoming substance, the flesh and blood of something that had once been human. It started to snarl, gnashing its teeth, but Cole moved swiftly, his stake honed, his aim true. He rammed the creature through the heart, pinning it to the wooden door marked Warden. Unless it was the leader, an old vampire, it wouldn’t turn to ash. No, this one wouldn’t. It was wearing the tattered remnants of a uniform, butternut and gray—a recent soldier. The fellow had been a prisoner here. Already beaten and bested at war, he was now dying in truth, pinned by the stake. The thing’s eyes widened and seemed to dampen with sorrow; its jaw continued to work. It—he—looked at Cole with a split second of humanity, and there seemed to be gratitude in the eyes.
Cole felt his heart squeeze. The thing twitched and went still.
Brendan stepped forward, a bowie knife in hand. A second later, the head fell to the floor. Brendan jerked the stake from the creature, returning it to Cole with a nod.
Once the rush began, there wouldn’t be time for such thoroughness, neither in the killing nor in the covering up of their deeds. Brendan, a Unionist to the core, could manage the Union authorities and make their actions disappear if need be.
After all, it was Brendan who had gotten them here tonight. Cody Fox, who had come to Victory in a time of need and become a damned good friend. He had been military with Brendan, but Brendan had been in the service his whole life—right up to and into this War of Northern Aggression, as Texans called it. Not that that stopped him from coaxing Cody Fox out to Victory, Texas, to stop the infestation that had killed so many Southerners out there. Nonprejudicial infestation—the damned vampires didn’t care much if you were free, slave, white, black, red, yellow, old, young, man or woman.
The bastards and their plague could certainly get around—here they were now, in D.C.
Hell. Ah, hell.
Maybe a Texas sheriff shouldn’t be in Washington, D.C.
Maybe he was even a traitor, in a way. There was a sad irony to this. Here he was, a Texas sheriff, with a ragtag band in a Federal POW camp, having to put down not just the Union guards, but his Southern brethren, as well.
But Cole knew himself, when he’d heard about the madness, it wasn’t going to matter to him any if the new bloodshed was occurring in the North, the South or Timbuktu, he was in on stopping it. Humans were humans, and that was that. He’d seen what the vampires could do, and he’d fight them with his fellow man, no matter what label anybody wanted to put on anyone.
God knew where they’d really come from, the whole damned war was so crazy, brothers choosing different sides, Lincoln’s wife’s family all in the South, fathers finding their own sons dead on the battlefield.
And now—this. No matter who was what and what uniform went on what man, there was no going around this.
“They’re going to be coming en masse any second now,” Cody said quietly. He looked at the others; they nodded to one another and stepped forward.
“Best we can, let’s pick them off before the numbers flood in,” Cole said.
“Oh, yes, yessir. As quiet as can be until…” Brendan said.
They all knew what he meant.
It started slowly. A few of them sensing—or smelling—fresh blood. They came slinking out along the walls, unorganized, instinct and bloodlust guiding them. Cole picked off another two, and Cody caught a couple while Brendan kept his keen eyes out, giving the warnings.
Then Brendan shouted, “They’re coming in force!”
And they did. Confederate and Union soldier, prisoner and guard, old and young. They arrived without further warning.
The first wave were all young vampires, or so it seemed. They weren’t turning to mist, weren’t moving at the speed of lightning. They were awkward, untutored. They hadn’t been diseased slowly, properly; they had been taken in a frenzy and, in turn, they were more like a sad and ragtag pack of stumbling, hungry corpses than creatures of wit and malice and true evil.
Vampires thrived in times of war and chaos. They could gorge themselves, and no one would really know what was going on—nobody could distinguish what was part of the war and what was part of an evil hunger. Vampires could be very clever, naturally keeping their numbers down by disposing of their food properly. Unless they were attacking an isolated people and had some luxury of time—such as with Hollow Tree or Victory—most vampires refrained from turning others. Mostly because they couldn’t always control them, and they didn’t like the competition. They could be restrained and clever, sliding right into society.
But vampires could also be like rabbits. Throw in a reckless, vicious few who didn’t seem to care about competition, and suddenly they’d be coming out of the woodwork…and wild. The feeding here had been a careless one like that.
A Union guard staggered toward Cole, his head cast to the side. His face was gray, his throat a raw and bleeding mass where something had ripped it away. The three men were at a set distance from one another; they had learned how to watch one another’s backs. Cole moved straight forward, Brendan and Cody flanking him.
The creature went down easily with a single strong slash of Cole’s sword.
A boy came next. A drummer boy, perhaps. He couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen.
Some distant mother’s child, not dead by canon fire, or the enemy’s intent, but dead when he should have lived to go home one day, and tell his children and grandchildren tales of the great conflagration, and how it had ended in time, when people became reasonable again. What would come, he would never know.
There was no choice: the boy suddenly hurled himself at Brendan, fangs dripping, an eerie cry tearing from his throat.
Cole pinned him but inches from his companion’s face. Brendan shuddered and quickly flashed Cole a nod of acknowledgment and gratitude.
More.
Older soldiers.
Even younger soldiers.
Emaciated, but no longer needing the bandages that had covered their wounds, the splints that held together shattered bones.
They came.
And they went down.
At one point Cole grew particularly tense: at least ten of the maniacal beings flooded into the fray at once. There was so little room in the corridors and offices of the prison, and with this battle different from standard warfare in that the enemy must always be kept at arm’s length, at times he doubted they’d make it out alive.
In a fury of motion and intent, the three fought together, closing their circle at times, stepping out when it was necessary to repel the attacks before the creatures came too close. Cody could best withstand a slash of the fangs, but it was critical that even he be constantly aware of an assault from any direction.
It had been worse than this, though, Cole thought, back in Victory, Texas. His thoughts always returned to his decimated hometown. There, the vampires had risen and sheltered, had gained strength and learned how best to survive their new existence. They could be shadow and wings against the umber light of the moon, and they could suddenly be behind a man and everywhere around him with no warning.
And in Victory there had been those infected who could still be saved. Sometimes vampires retained a certain amount of humanity—call it a soul—that bred a desperate, choking kind of hope when one fought them.
This prison had been…this had been a massacre. A changing with no guidance. A certainty that all infected would become monsters.
Out of the corner of his eye, Cole saw a flash of darkness—a shadow, a form. Instantly, he knew that this being was older. Clever—bent on survival.
There was always a head, king or leader in a pack of vampires. Once he was taken down, the rest fell far more easily. An idiot in life was an idiot as a vampire. Pure and simple. Murdering idiots were easy to kill in life, and they were easy to kill off again in death.
Thing was, sometimes, once a leader was killed, another picked up the reins. Or those who survived an out-and-out fight with human counterparts moved on and subtly started up again until they had power once more. Power in numbers. The right numbers.
It was a slippery slope for a would-be king. You needed enough followers to perform all your dangerous dirty work, but not so many that people began to realize that a real plague had been unleashed.
He spun around, certain that the creature was coming to lunge upon his back and sink his fangs into Cole’s neck.
No. There was nothing there.
He spun around again, moving swiftly and with maximum speed.
“Cole!”
Cody shouted the warning. There was one to the front of him, one to the right. Think quick, double time on movement. Holy water to the left, his sword to the front with a massive slash.
Again, he felt it. Something…something at his rear. He could feel the hair rising at his nape.
Still there was that thing…behind him…no things! Two—
He spun as Brendan shouted a warning. There were two. They seemed to be in concentrated battle with each other. Cole snapped open a vial of the holy water and tossed it, then drew back with his sword, ready to strike.
The first of the creatures burst into dust, ash and a clattering of bones. The second turned—at his mercy.
He heard a shriek, a cry. There was a blur before his eyes and he spun again—it was in front of him.
“No!”
He slashed the air, and the form pitted downward, rolling to make an escape.
It registered in his mind that the voice was feminine.
Well, they held women prisoners here sometimes. Women they suspected of spying. The Union had always threatened that women would be executed for spying right along with their male counterparts, though that had yet to happen.
But this one…
Yes, she appeared to be a shadow form because she was wearing men’s black breeches and a black cotton shirt. She had blond hair that glistened in the light of the moon and the few torches that still burned in the yard.
He saw her face.
Aquiline, sculpted, the face of an angel. Huge eyes, which glittered like gold, stared up at him. In contrast, her skin was as delicate and pale as porcelain.
He couldn’t hesitate!
He strode forward, intending to finish her off. Straddling over her form, he raised his stake high in the air.
“Damn you, what are you, an idiot cowboy?” she demanded, scuttling a little away from him.
She was whole; she didn’t seem maddened, diseased, in any way.
He had to hesitate; she might be among the living. Untainted.
“Who the hell are you, and why the hell shouldn’t I kill you?” he demanded.
“Strike Cole, strike! It’s deception, it’s always deception!” Brendan cried.
He lifted his stake again.
“Please, for the love of God! I don’t want to hurt you!” she cried. She glanced toward the others, then back at him.
“What?”
“Cole!” Cody shouted in warning.
At his back!
He twisted, just in time to spear the man wearing a preacher’s collar who was about to rip apart his back. He didn’t dare take more than seconds to shake the fellow from his stake, not with the woman beneath his feet.
The body fell near her and she shuddered, but her eyes never left Cole’s.
“Cole!” Brendan warned—there were two of them circling him.
“Give me a reason not to kill you!” Cole shouted to the woman at his feet.
She continued staring straight up at him.
“Cole!” Cody shouted at him this time; he could see that Cody was involved in helping Brendan—there were three around him, and now one had gained a certain power and speed, probably one of the first to be infected in the prison.
It sickened him. It had always sickened him. Self-survival had allowed him to learn to kill the creatures, just as the need for law and order and justice had always helped him out when a firm hand was needed in Victory.
But too often this felt like…
Murder.
He didn’t want to do it; God help him, he didn’t want to do it. Neither did he want to be seduced into a dreaded death, granting mercy, and finding that a harpy suddenly flew from the face and shape of the angel, and dragged sharp, wicked fangs into his neck.
Tension riddled his frame.
Time. Time could be everything.
His fingers wound more tightly around the stake.
“Damn you! Prove it, prove you’re not one of them. For the love of God, then, give me a reason not to kill you!” he shouted above the fray to the woman beneath his feet.
She looked straight at Cole. “One can prove nothing in this world.”
He raised the stake with purpose.
“Wait, damn you,” she cried. “I’ll give you a very good reason not to kill me.”
“And that is?”
“Fool! I’ve been fighting with you, not against you.”
What?
“I’m Megan Fox. Don’t you understand, cowboy? I’m Megan Fox, Cody’s long-lost sister,” she said with a dry and weary drawl that shook him, even in the middle of the melee.

CHAPTER TWO
MRS. GRAYBOW’S ROOMING House on the edge of the mall was a pleasant place. Until the war it had just been the home of Mr. and Mrs. Arnold Graybow.
But Arnie Graybow had been among the first to die at Manassas, and so now Martha Graybow, a thirty-two-year-old widow with two little mouths to feed, ran a boardinghouse. Mrs. Graybow and her brood, Artie and Marni, twelve and seven respectively, resided in the carriage house in back and to the left of the main house, otherwise empty now with the carriage and horses having long ago been sold. The main house itself consisted of five bedrooms upstairs, a lovely dining room, parlor, kitchen, pantry and music room downstairs. It was a fine and private temporary residence for vampire hunters.
As fortune would have it, Megan Fox was friends with Martha Graybow. They both hailed from Richmond. Once upon a time, Martha would babysit her when her mother had business at the bank, or would sometimes allow her to “help out” at the boardinghouse, though she’d been too young to be of any real assistance.
But, of course, Martha had no idea what Megan was up to nowadays. Martha, bless her, thought that Megan was just a fiery young woman, the kind that didn’t swoon, that was happiest standing up against injustice. And indeed, Megan had faith, but she was pretty sure the world had a long way to go. One day there would be justice, and equality would exist. But not this way, not with the North decimating the South. Instead of shaming their brethren, the industrial North should have been figuring out ways to educate those in the South. But maybe she was wrong. Maybe half the planters were just greedy, and they didn’t see anything equal in their darker brothers. Nothing about the war—despite the bloodshed, death and devastation—was cut-and-dried, or black-and-white. It was all gray and red—the color of the blood of all the Americans dying in the war, Yankee, Rebel, black man, white man, yellow, pink, dark or tan.
But she knew that a different war was also being waged. One that most of the world knew little about. Sometimes, she really wanted the entire world to know about it. Maybe they would stop fighting one another and face the true threat if they knew, but the words she had spoken to Cole were true: it was hard to prove the existence of the evil creatures to a large, disorganized populace to a satisfactory degree. The world wasn’t ready to understand that the myths actually represented a very real part of the world.
And a part of her.
Cole Granger, the tall, sturdy, striking fellow who had nearly staked her, paced the room. His eyes were more than suspicious. He was thinking that he should have staked her.
Select—very select—Union troops had been called in for the cleanup of the prison fight. And so, now, there were four of them at the boardinghouse, and she sat on a chair in the center of the music room—the music room, rather than the parlor, which faced the street and afforded less privacy—seated very much as any prisoner of war might have been.
She was being questioned.
Cole kept pacing, trying to keep silent, and let Cody Fox take charge. She was attempting to explain to them all that she was Cody’s sister. And it was interesting, of course, because she knew that Cody would certainly have told them all that he’d grown up without a sister, which would have been, in his mind, correct. They didn’t know what she knew, of course, because she was Cody’s younger sister—and she knew everything that their father had told their mother long after Cody had left. Still, she hadn’t thought that it was going to be this difficult to explain.
But none of them had actually managed to sit quiet long enough for a nuanced discussion. She tried to remember the barrage of questions they had last voiced—in the order they had voiced them.
“No. Yes. No. And yes, and yes, I believe,” she said, staring from one man to the next. Brendan Vincent first, older than the other two men and straight as a ramrod—a military man, possibly retired. His eyes showed age and knowledge; the hollow structure of his face betrayed pain even as the mobility of his mouth hinted at a kindness remaining despite the lessons of the world. Then there was Cody Fox. Her brother. He should easily believe her—apparently, the wheaten color of their hair had been their father’s, along with the strange hazel-and-gold hue of their eyes. He had sharp eyes, ever watchful. And shouldn’t he be able to sense their mutually other nature? And Cole Granger. Rock solid, with piercing blue eyes of a shade deep and dark blue, enigmatic. In contrast to the others, his hair was almost jet-black. Each of his limbs seemed muscled and toned, as did the breadth of his chest. He was evidently a physical man, one accustomed to constant movement—the look of a frontiersman, someone who met every challenge. His mouth was grim and one that had apparently forgotten all about trust or kindness. Maybe that wasn’t true. He seemed to trust Cody Fox and Brendan Vincent.
“She’s got a sarcastic mouth on her, that’s for sure,” Cole said.
“Yeah. That could mean some proof that she’s Cody’s sister,” Brendan commented.
Cody’s gaze turned on Brendan, ever so slightly dry and indignant.
Cole Granger was suddenly hunched down in front of her. “Who are you really, and what were you doing there?” he demanded quietly. But even when his words were soft, they felt deep enough to fill any room.
She inhaled deeply, refusing to be intimidated by the man.
“I’m Cody Fox’s sister, Megan Fox. You can ask me a million times, and I will give you the same answer. There is none other to give,” she said, staring back at him.
“I don’t have a sister,” Cody said harshly.
“Well, yes, you do, and it’s me. Oh—and there might be others out there, too. Our father is out there, still, I believe. I know about you, and I’m sorry you know nothing about me. My mother actually looked for you for many years and discovered that you were in New Orleans. But you were gone by the time I managed to get there.”
Cody glanced at his friends, a glance that assured her that he might be starting to believe her.
“Anyone might have researched Cody Fox,” Cole Granger said. He was still directly in front of her, and his proximity was unnerving. The man seemed to have iron in his jaw, and she wasn’t sure that he’d yet blinked since the interrogation began. If she didn’t have a certain inner sense that she’d developed as a child, she might have thought he was one of…whatever she and Cody were.
A unique kind of “half-breed.”
“And you just happened to be at the prison tonight?” Brendan Vincent asked, his words filled with doubt.
“Nothing just happens. I knew Cody was there. And if a Texas sheriff can be found in Washington, D.C., right now, there’s obviously something going on. Of course, absent even those indicators, I knew already. I was sent by the government,” Megan explained.
Brendan Vincent snorted—very rudely—she thought. “We were sent by the government—I know that. And I know that you weren’t.”
She stared at him coldly. “There are two governments in this country right now, sir. I realize that you prefer not to recognize the second, but it does exist.”
She thought that he would pull his gun then and there. He refrained because Cody had lifted a hand. “Brendan, come on, we all know that we don’t take sides in this.”
“She’s taking a side!” Brendan protested.
Cole continued to stare at her.
The whole thing was bizarre. Cole Granger was a Texas sheriff. Her half brother had hailed from New Orleans. From the research she had done, she was pretty sure that Brendan Vincent hailed from Texas himself, though he was clearly U.S. military through and through. But, then again, Lincoln had asked the South’s major asset—General Robert E. Lee—to lead the Union troops. Lee had suffered long and hard while making his decision, but in the end he had thought himself a Virginian above all else. The war was a horrible tangle of loyalties, with half the boys on the bloody fields not sure of exactly what it was that they fought for.
With a pang, she remembered her mother’s words.
The war itself is wrong. Doesn’t matter, we’re all losers in this debacle. Time, talk and the legislature should have taken precedence over the use of arms, and now…well, we have dead boys everywhere.
She’d loved her mother. Loved her so much. Her look at the world around her, and her ability to discover the truth, no matter how many layers of opinion and variation were piled upon it.
“No. I’m not taking a side. Any more than you are,” Megan told Brendan.
“So, then…?”
Megan hesitated again. “All right. I’m from Virginia. I grew up in Richmond.”
“The capital of the Confederacy,” he said, nodding, as if that immediately meant she had fallen in from the skies.
“Brendan,” Cody protested. “I was in New Orleans, and you came after me. And you’re not even on active duty these days.”
Ah! So the man who seemed to think of himself as the Stars and Stripes wasn’t even official.
“Please, I don’t know who is right and who is wrong anymore, really,” Megan said. “And I can’t do a damned thing about the fact that the two sides are just going to continue to shred one another to pieces until the agony becomes too great and someone on high is brought down into the dust and realizes that it has to end. I am here with the…consult of a government, but it has nothing to do with which government has the right to which piece of land. And if I’m touchy on the subject, well, I am from Virginia. But I wasn’t asked to come here because of that—or because the South wishes to cause any harm to guards, prisoners, soldiers, nurses, visitors…. It’s not to stage a mass escape. It’s not for any reason of warfare.” She looked at the three men, and then softly added, “Accepted warfare, that is.”
Cole remained hunkered down in front of her.
“So, who sent you?” he asked.
She paused. She wasn’t at all sure he was going to believe her. “It doesn’t matter. I was sent by a Confederate general, one who’s seen what an outbreak can do,” she said at last.
“And how are you so familiar with outbreaks?” Cole asked.
She inhaled. “The Battle of Fredericksburg.”
“What about it? You were there? You’re in the army, of course,” Cole said drily.
She stood, angry, and glad to see that she nearly knocked him down. He was quick, though, and regained his balance to stand, as well. She turned away from him, talking to Cody Fox and Brendan Vincent. “There was a time when I was a conveyor of information.”
“A spy?” Cody asked.
She shrugged. “All of us are caught in this.”
“There was a time—no more?” Brendan asked. The older man was perplexed. A loyal Unionist, he had apparently come to terms with his need for Cody; he would come to terms with her as well, eventually.
She shook her head. “This is—this is something that goes beyond war.”
“Go on,” Cody said.
“The Battle of Fredericksburg was horrible, truly devastating—”
“A complete route of the Union,” Brendan interrupted. “And yet you say ‘horrible.’”
“A Southern soldier was so agonized by Union losses that he brought water to the wounded Federal soldiers on the field,” she said. “Sergeant Richard Kirkland, from South Carolina, didn’t even bother with a flag of truce—he had to alleviate the suffering. The men whispered that Lee, watching from the heights, commented, ‘It is well that war was so terrible, or we should grow too fond of it.’ The point I am making is that the battle itself and the aftermath were so strewn with blood, it was difficult to notice one man’s agony or death…. Or even that of several men.”
Cole, now with his arms crossed over his chest, was frowning and seemed to understand what was going on. Completely.
“When was the vampire attack?” he asked.
She didn’t mean to do so, but she shivered, remembering. “It was cold,” she began. “December, and cold. And the men on the field screamed and cried. Many of us then went out to see what we could do. I was with a fellow who’d had his leg destroyed by shrapnel. That’s when I heard the first scream—a scream so different…. I turned, and I saw the…the man. Darkness was falling, dusk was all around and at first I was confused. I thought it merely someone in a greatcoat who had come to help the wounded, as well. But that scream came again. More chilling than anything before…and I heard quick movement and then the sucking sound…and I looked around. One of our medics—a man who had not been wounded—
protested, demanding to know what was going on. And then one of them fell upon him, and he screamed….”
Megan paused. Cole’s expression had not changed during any of this. “I knew then. But there were several of them, and the men on the field weren’t really listening to me. I’m sure they thought I was crazy and that whenever they delivered pistol shots into the chest of one of the creatures, it would stay down. But I knew. And I was armed. I was able to take down three of the four I counted. But it was insane on the field! Those who witnessed the event and survived were certain that the opposing troops had somehow risen to fight one another again.”
“The Battle of Fredericksburg was a while back,” Cody said.
“We’ve been chasing this for a long time,” Megan said. “Through many battles. But the thing is—now it’s all come here. For me, Fredericksburg was the beginning. We think we have the situation under control, and then…there’s a new outbreak. Recently, after the Battle of the Wilderness, things grew worse.” She drew a deep breath. “There were dead and wounded from both Rebel and Union armies, and we know that some of ours were taken…and that a few of the officers were taken to the prisoner-of-war facility where we met tonight. I’d already been sent North when word came that there were ‘riots’ going on at the prison. And so I…I came. I’d heard as well, of course, that I might at last find my long-lost brother among those sent in.”
“How did you hear that?” Cody asked, frowning.
She laughed. “No major feat of intelligence. People are whispering about it on the streets. And, I believe, it will remain nothing more than whispering. Most people mock the idea of anything outside the ordinary. Cody, you’re simply known as an excellent man at taking down a horde of unruly men, and Cole Granger—” she paused, turning to stare at the man, hoping that she had all her dignity about her as she did so “—Cole Granger is famous, or infamous, for being the best man to maintain law in a wild frontier town. And, naturally, Brendan Vincent, it’s long known that you’re a staunch Unionist—despite being a Southerner from one of the Texas towns recently annihilated…by ‘outlaws,’ of course, they say.”
All three men were quiet, staring at her. She hadn’t really lied; people were whispering on the streets. She hadn’t explained just how far up in the Southern echelon it was known that something beyond the absolute horror of warfare was going on. She didn’t want to—certainly not now. She wasn’t trusted as it was. Cody was trusted; she was not. They surely knew what he was. And Cody had been with the Southern army—until his wounds had sent him home to New Orleans, held firmly in Union hands. All this, and still they trusted him but not her.
Cole set a hand on her upper arm, spinning her around to look at him, still the skeptic. She stared at the hand. He stared back at her; he didn’t let go.
“What?” she asked icily.
“Why didn’t you try to contact us first?”
A knock at the back door stalled any answer she might have been able to dream up.
“Keep her here—I’ll get it,” Cody said.
“Well?” Cole asked as Cody walked to the door.
“Well, what?”
“Why didn’t you contact us?” he asked. “Why did you chance going into that prison alone? How did you get into that prison alone?”
“I think Cody can answer that for you.”
“I think you should answer the question for me, right now.”
But before she could pretend to answer, she was suddenly swung about and pulled hard against his chest; he had a large, long-fingered hand clamped over her mouth.
She heard Martha Graybow speaking. “Cody, is everything all right? I saw you all come in, and then I noticed that you still have lights on. It’s so late, and you fellows never came for your supper, so I was worried.”
Martha. She should call out to Martha, and Martha could vouch for her. But then again, what good would that do? None—it could only do harm! Brendan Vincent was a diehard—if he knew that she knew Martha, he might decide that Martha was a Southern spy!
She held still and waited, tempted to bite Cole Granger’s hand.
She somehow refrained.
If she were to bite him…
“Everything is fine, Martha, thank you. We did have a late night—you heard about the trouble at the prison. Well, it’s all over now and we’re just sitting with a bit of whiskey and winding down,” Cody said.
“Oh, thank goodness. I do worry about you boys.”
Martha, beautiful, sweet Martha. She hadn’t wanted her husband to go off. She had known she would become a widow.
“Boys?” Cody said with a laugh. “I’ll have to tell Brendan. He’d appreciate that.”
“You young men!” Martha corrected.
“Thank you for your concern. We’re fine. And we won’t forget breakfast, Martha, I promise you.”
The door closed. Megan gave a good hard kick backward, getting Cole Granger in the shin. He tensed but didn’t let go.
“I don’t think I like your sister much, Cody,” he said, easing his hold then and pressing her firmly away.
She turned and stared at him, it was becoming increasingly difficult to remain calm in the face of this irritating man. “You don’t know how lucky you are that I’m a temperate and reasonable woman,” she said pleasantly.
“Oh, you can get worse than this?” Cole inquired.
Patience…
But her temper had flared. She drew back her lips and let out a hissing sound, displaying the fangs she could summon within seconds. She felt they were really quite beautiful…not that that was the effect she was going for here.
“Holy, Jesus!” Brendan Vincent cried, jumping back.
Cole Granger held his ground.
“Don’t make a move!” Cody warned.
She smiled sweetly, retracting her fangs. “If I’d wanted to hurt anyone here, Cody Fox, I could have bitten off the ever-so-charming Sheriff Granger’s fingers just moments ago. Don’t you get it? What is the matter with you? Why don’t you believe me? I’m your sister—your half sister, your father’s daughter!” she said, praying again for patience and control.
Brendan Vincent stared at Cody. “She could be any bloodsucking monster out there,” he cautioned. “She could have found out things about you. God knows—there is a war going on. She could be here to kill us all in our sleep. I say we stake her right now.”
“Now, now, hold up,” Cole said, arms crossed over his chest as he walked around her. “She did fight with us at the prison. And look close. She and Cody have the same eyes.”
“I’m not getting that close,” Brendan said.
Cole smiled at that. “She could have killed us a few times already, if that had been her intent. Well, maybe she couldn’t have killed Cody.”
“Well, maybe you should have just staked her at the prison,” Brendan muttered.
Cody had moved closer. Megan stood very still, watching him as he resurveyed her, head to toe. Admittedly, she wasn’t particularly well dressed. One didn’t pick one’s finest ball gown for a romp with ravenous killing machines in a prison yard. She wore a simple tailored blouse, vest, form-hugging, knee-length jacket, men’s breeches and boots.
But he wasn’t looking at her attire, she knew.
His gaze rose at last so that his eyes met hers. Fire and ice. They were the same hazel and green color of his own, a color that seemed like gold. She wore it well. Her eyes were fascinating, compelling—mesmerizing. Or so her admirers had told her.
Cody touched her hair, drawing his fingers through it. Suddenly, he smiled. “Let me see those fangs again.”
She flushed, looking at the others. “Cody, it makes your friends uncomfortable.”
“My friends know exactly what I am. They just want you to be the same, and nothing worse.”
She allowed her fangs to show once again.
Yes, she was half vampire. Go figure. Her father seemed to have a steady ability to propagate. It wasn’t like all the things that she’d read about vampires, but then again, who really knew anything about them?
“What else did your mother say about my father?” Cody asked.
“It’s really a long story….”
“A long story, Cody,” Cole Granger spoke up from behind her brother, coming forward. “I personally find long stories wonderfully intriguing.” To her astonishment, he paused, gripped her chin and looked into her mouth—at her receding fangs. He looked at her mouth and studied her teeth and fangs as if he were looking at the quality of a horse he was considering for purchase.
Oh, she was tempted to bite.
Oh, so tempted.
She restrained. He was pushing her. He knew that a bite wouldn’t turn him into an uncontrolled maniac. Nor would a single bite kill him.
He was trying to see if she would snap—if she was capable of control.
She pretended boredom. And strangely, surprisingly, she discovered that she liked something about him….
It was his scent, she realized. He smelled of leather and musky soap, of the night air and of something more subtle and deep and alluring. Horses, whiskey…and himself.
Bathed.
God, she loved the smell of a man who had bathed. These days, it didn’t seem there were many of those. God knew that many a man’s uniform, worn day in and day out as the war dragged on, reeked to high heaven. Well, this fellow wasn’t a soldier. He was a sheriff, in a town, with a house most likely.
“We are always ready to be entertained by a story, and yet I find myself wondering not about any story, but rather what thoughts are prowling through that little mind,” Cole said.
She blinked. There was certainly no chance she intended to have a deep and philosophical discussion with this man.
No matter how delicious he smelled.
She smiled. “I was actually thinking, sir, that you smell quite good.”
Cody burst out with a laugh.
Brendan even grinned. “Good thing you do enjoy lathering away in a tub, Cole.”
She couldn’t help herself. She allowed her smile to deepen. “Good enough to eat,” she said sweetly.
She was surprised when Cody came to her defense, though he spoke too coldly. “Give it up. You’re not going to bite anyone, rip anyone’s throat out or devour their blood. Gentlemen, please do say hello to my sister. Oh, and please do return the use of her jaw back to her.”
“How have you come to that determination?” Brendan asked. Cole hadn’t even looked at Cody. He’d released her jaw, of course, but he was still studying her with those eyes of his, pure blue ice.
She almost flinched when Cody reached out to touch her, lifting a small strand of hair away from her neck. She had a tiny mark there. Not dark, but rather a light, tiny, almost heart-shaped birthmark.
“I bear the same mark,” he said quietly.
“You do? Really? I never noticed it,” Brendan said, frowning. “But then, I’d not have noticed it on the young lady if you hadn’t pointed it out, and you wear your hair long around your ears, Cody, and—oh, my. Well. If you say you both have the same mark…” he finished lamely.
Cody had pulled his own hair back to prove the point.
Cole walked across the room, taking a seat at the piano bench. He folded his hands prayer fashion, in thought.
“Cole,” Brendan said. “It appears the young lady is telling the truth.”
“Yep.”
Cody turned to look at him. “That’s all?”
“Congratulations. You have a sister,” Cole said. “That really solves nothing at all.”
Cody grinned. “And that means…?”
“It means,” he said with his long, deep drawl, “that we know she’s your sister. Whether or not we can trust her? Well, that remains to be seen.”

CHAPTER THREE
COLE DIDN’T SLEEP well during the night. He lay down to rest with a stake in his hands and his bowie knife beneath his pillow.
He knew that Brendan Vincent would be doing the same in his room.
But morning arrived without incident, and when he came downstairs, he discovered that Cody’s newfound sister was in the kitchen with their hostess, Martha, setting out utensils for their breakfast, something Martha Graybow prepared wonderfully. Apparently Cody thought it a good idea to introduce them, lest Megan’s presence in their rooms seem somehow untoward.
He instantly wanted to protect the woman—stand between her and Megan Fox and make sure that the young half-breed vampire wasn’t about to pounce. Martha Graybow was a mature woman, but she had a beautiful, kind face, and Cody had a feeling that she wouldn’t be a widow long, once the war was over.
If there were any men left.
Martha had apparently loaned their surprise guest clothing; that morning, Megan Fox was wearing a demure cotton day dress that displayed the sleekness of her slender, shapely form to perfection. Actually, she’d worn men’s clothing well, too, but, this morning, she appeared as pure, sweet and innocent as a newborn angel. Her hair was quite gold, gold like her eyes.
So much like Cody’s.
And yet so different. So sultry, even when she was looking innocent. Somehow.
You smell good. Good enough to eat.
He found it hard to admit even to himself, but her fangs were equally stunning. He didn’t think he’d ever been able to say that before.
“Good morning, Sheriff,” Martha said, her voice bright, her smile sincere.
“I’m only a sheriff in Texas, ma’am,” he reminded her with a smile of his own. “Cole will do just fine, thank you.”
“Well, then, Cole it is,” Martha said, flushing. “And I’m Martha to my friends. We’ll be dispensing with the ‘Mrs. Graybow,’ when you speak to me, young man, if you please.”
“As you wish, Martha,” Cole said.
He was standing close enough to Megan to hear her mutter beneath her breath. “Charming. Oh, so, charming.”
He ignored her. Ignored her—while keeping a wary eye on her. Last night, Cody had suddenly seemed to embrace the young woman. Of course, Cody was happy. He had just married a beautiful woman, and now he was finding that he had a sister. He’d been alone in the world for years, and now he had a family.
Thing was, though it seemed Megan Fox was his sister, they had grown up far apart. She seemed like a loose cannon—an unknown quality in a world filled with many kinds of dangers.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked Martha.
“Everything is all set to go.” She used a handwoven pot holder to lift the heavy coffeepot from the stove and began to pour the brew into the cups at the table. Cole noted that there were settings for six, and he frowned. Martha always joined them, on the days when her children were off to school, at least, but he didn’t know who the sixth setting was for. Then he heard a commotion out in the drive and hurried out the back door.
Cody was already standing at the edge of the drive that led to the renovated old carriage house. A carriage had just arrived.
“Alex!” Cody cried out with pleasure. He opened the carriage door and held out his arms. His wife leaped into them and Cody spun her around for a minute before drawing her to him in a warm embrace. They kissed, and Cody let her slide down to put her feet on the ground. He went to pay the driver, but the man tipped his hat.
“Taken care of, sir!” the driver said, delivering Alex’s portmanteaus to the walk. “Where would you like these taken?”
“We’ll get them, my good fellow,” Cole said, stepping forward.
“Cole!”
Alex smiled with delight and came to give him an enveloping hug, as well. He’d known Alex long before Cody had. Somehow, strangely, he’d forgotten that Alexandra was due that day. Chalk that one up to vampire-sister.
“So!” she said happily. Her brows knit suddenly as she looked around. “So?” she said again, a question in her eyes.
He turned. Megan Fox was there.
He cocked his head to the side. “Oh. Ah, Alex. That’s Megan Fox. Your sister-in-law,” he said mundanely.
Stunned, Alex stared at the girl, and then at Cody.
“We’ve just met,” Cody said.
“Oh?” Alex inquired politely.
Cole bent slightly to whisper audibly to Alex, “Yes. She’s just like Cody.”
“I think we should go inside,” Cody said.
“Martha’s inside,” Cole said pleasantly, getting Alex’s bags. “But, by all means, let’s.”
He led the way, then carried Alex’s bags upstairs while she hugged the hostess. Alex knew Martha from when she’d lived in D.C., right at the outbreak of the war. She’d been engaged once before, prior to meeting Cody; her fiancé had perished at the first route at Manassas, a battle for which people had actually taken carriages out to the fields to witness the entertainment—until they had seen how bloody and devastating that entertainment would become.
When Cole came back downstairs, Brendan, Cody and Alex were at the table. Martha was still fussing over Alex, and Megan was busy setting large platters of fluffy scrambled eggs, bread and heated dried beef with gravy on the table.
“My journey was fine, and without incident,” Alex was saying as Cole took a seat on the other side of the table. “Long, of course, but you all know how long it can be. My papers were in order, and though we passed through different checkpoints, with soldiers on both sides stopping us for identification, I wasn’t detained at any point.”
“Dear, dear, it’s only going to get worse,” Martha said. “They say that Lee is planning another invasion into the North.”
“He’s the world’s finest general!” Megan said, her adoration for the man evident.
Cole himself admired Lee. Still, he’d never been sure that the general’s determination to invade the North had been a wise choice and he’d been right—the Battle of Gettysburg had been a massive boon to the North and a horror for the South. But he figured the general had been weary of the battles being fought on Southern soil. Every battle cost the people of a region—it devastated the land, and it meant feeding tens of thousands of soldiers with the South’s own stores, which couldn’t last forever.
He noted then that Martha looked at Megan and gave her a knowing nod.
It occurred to him then that their hostess had known their surprise guest even before Cody had brought them together. For the time he’d keep his silence—and a careful watch on both women. There had been as many young women swept up with the war effort as there had been young men, and he knew that loyalties in war could be passionate, sometimes out of control. But his team’s work wasn’t about the known war, and he didn’t want anyone’s loyalties getting in the way of what had to be done.
“You two are looking mighty suspicious,” Brendan said, voicing Cole’s thoughts out loud.
“Suspicious? Regarding breakfast?” Megan asked.
“You’re just looking mighty suspicious,” Brendan told her. “And it’s time to take heed to the truth of what has happened. The South will lose. General Lee was beaten back bad at Gettysburg, and the knots around the Confederacy are drawing tighter all the time.”
“But that hasn’t been the way of the entire war,” Megan pointed out. “The South has won many—”
“Antietam Creek cannot be considered a win by anyone,” Cole heard himself say, though he had meant to stay out of the argument. “Fifty-thousand Americans dead. That’s not a win for anyone in my book.”
Megan looked at him, quiet.
“Now, now, please!” Martha said, drawing out a chair to join them at last. Cole, Cody and Brendan stood quickly to assist her, but she raised a hand and slid into her own seat. “We’re trying to have a nice civil breakfast here, and there’s going to be no talk of the war, if you all don’t mind. Not one of us here can solve it, that’s the simple truth, and it’s the arguing that got us all into it from the get-go, so…My, my! Cole, have you been in Washington before? Can you see how it’s changed? My, my, from sleepy little place to giant industrial city in just a matter of a few years. And the construction going on! Why, President Lincoln has seen to it that the work on the Capitol Building continues. It will go up—he is determined.”
Brendan Vincent was quite taken with Martha Graybow. “Indeed, dear lady. The city grew by nearly sixty-thousand souls in just a few years, so it did. Imagine this marshland becoming such a cultural center.”
They were still in the process of finishing the meal when a knock sounded from the front door. Cody nodded at Cole and they both excused themselves, Cody holding back while Cole stepped to the door.
“Cole Granger, are you asking me in? Or leaving a lady on the steps?” said a mischievous voice on the other side.
And Lisette Annalise, actress by trade and newly minted agent of the Pinkerton National Detective Agency, had arrived.
Cole opened the door with a smile on his face. “Why, Miss Annalise, no man in his right mind would leave you waiting anywhere,” he replied, inviting her in with a flourish. Cole had met her briefly years earlier when she had been performing in Faint Heart Never Won Fair Ladies on the Western circuit. She was a young Jenny Lind, a stunning, petite woman with the voice of an angel. Lisette had most recently telegraphed Cole, having heard about the success his town of Victory, Texas, had in fighting off a ruthless gang of outlaws.
Some loathed her fellow “Pinks,” as they were called. Some thought that they were a viable private enterprise. But there was no denying that war changed everything, and the Pinkertons were becoming a true power. The Pinkerton National Detective Agency had been founded in Chicago by Allan Pinkerton as a private security agency for rich and important businessmen and their interests. As president-elect, Lincoln himself had hired them, which tended to mean that Lisette would mention, almost right from the beginning of any encounter, that she’d met the man and admired him greatly, both of them enjoying the theater.
Cole liked Lisette, and he admired her. But she sometimes frightened him, as well. Her passion verged on fanaticism, and he’d never met a fanatic who could think with a straight head.
Overjoyed to see his old friend, Cole stepped out and quickly caught up with her about Victory, some common acquaintances and their business in the capitol.
“This is our contact?” Cody asked, suddenly appearing in the doorway, barring the way to the rear of the house.
“Yes, I’m sorry, forgive me,” Cole said, making the introductions.
Cody and Lisette exchanged greetings cordially but with some tension about them. “Did you tell her about Megan?” Cody asked Cole.
“Not yet,” Cole said.
“Ah,” Cody said, expressing what seemed to be the key sentiment of the moment.
Lisette had dark brown eyes and auburn hair, and flyaway eyebrows that rose in question.
“Cody discovered a long-lost sister just last night,” Cole explained.
“Megan,” Cody said.
“A sister?” Lisette said, her lips pursing into a bow. “Does that mean…?”
“Yes,” Cole said simply.
“Come along in, we’ll be suspicious out here,” Cole said, and gestured all into the house.
“Oh, of course. But I’m suspicious of this sudden sister already,” Lisette said, which Cole couldn’t help but smile at.
In the kitchen, introductions and greetings went around again. Martha was thrilled to meet Lisette. She had seen her perform onstage long ago in Richmond. Lisette was charming and said that she’d be performing in Washington soon.
“I find it so difficult these days, with so many soldiers out dying on the fields,” Lisette said.
“Oh, but you entertain those left behind at home. You help them bear the hours while their loved ones are away!” Martha said enthusiastically.
“Just how is it that you know each other?” Megan asked sweetly. Her eyes glittered gold, though she smiled as she asked the question.
“Well, Cole and I go back a long way,” Lisette said. She cast Cole a warm glance and lingered over the words, inviting all types of speculation as to what that exactly meant. “He wrote that he’d be here. May I ask you the same, Miss Fox? I’m always surprised that so many Southerners are enjoying a Union capital.”
“I had word that Cody would be in Washington. I was anxious to meet my brother.”
“Ah, yes, nothing like a little teasing sibling rivalry!” Lisette said.
Maybe it was natural that Lisette should subtly suggest that Megan Fox wasn’t here with the noblest of intentions, to insinuate to those who understood the undertone that Megan might possibly hold an agenda that involved infesting the capital with the plague—and thus getting the Union to capitulate to the South.
To her credit, Megan was composed. “Rivalry? Oh, Miss Annalise, I wouldn’t dream of attempting any form of rivalry with my brother. I’ve been hoping to meet him for so long! No, miss, I assure you, I shall do nothing but follow in my brother’s wake, and hope to be so fine a—being.”
“How utterly charming,” Lisette said. She rose from her position at the table, smiling graciously. “Would you please forgive us? In these dreadful times of war, we never know when we will meet. Cole and I would like to take a bit of a walk.” She smiled at him, blinking, as if she were about to burst into tears—as if there were far more between them than there had ever been. She was the ultimate actress.
Megan quickly and awkwardly rose, as well. “How nice! How very lovely. Yes, yes, the two of you must up and away for a lovely stroll. Pity the streets are little but mud and the dust flying about is terrible, but I’m sure you’ll have a charming walk, so sweet when time is precious and two people are together.”
One woman wanted his company, another was evidently more than anxious to get rid of him. He needed to see the one, and he was afraid to take his eyes off the other.
Megan was Cody’s sister. And Cody certainly knew the score.
“Of course, Lisette,” Cole said. “The streets are not so bad here—the house is not on a direct march line for the troops coming and going into and out of town. Let’s do stroll.”
“You will excuse us?” Lisette asked Martha, her beautiful smile all encompassing as she looked around the room.
They left by way of the rear door, the carriage entrance.
When they came around the front, Cole saw a sad-looking young woman standing on the front walk, an envelope and a clipboard in her hands. He started toward her.
“Cole, just walk, she’ll come,” Lisette said, taking his arm.
“She’ll come? Who is she?”
“It’s just Trudy.”
“Who is just Trudy and why is she standing there?” he demanded.
Lisette sighed. “She’s my assistant. The agency seems to think I need one, but I loathe being followed around. Luckily, she’s a little mouse and stands wherever I tell her.”
“You had her just standing outside while you came into the house?” Cole asked.
“Well, outside and around the corner. I wanted some time alone with you. Besides, it’s her job. She serves me. And she’s paid to do it,” Lisette said, waving a hand dismissively in the air.
She might be a mouse—a paid mouse—but Cole didn’t intend to be that rude. He walked over to the woman, extending his hand. “How do you do, Trudy? I’m Cole Granger.”
The young woman flushed and nervously shook his hand. “I’m fine, thank you, sir. How do you do?”
“Well enough, thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Lisette slipped her arm through his. “Come. I have things to discuss with you.” She moved ahead. Trudy waited, then followed them at a distance.
Lisette didn’t speak at first as they walked from the house toward the mall, all manner of men and women moving past them, many of them soldiers. Though it had grown immensely and was a bevy of storage, manufacturing, industry and all things associated with war, there was still something inviting about the Union capital. The president spoke daily with his constituents—and his enemies—in the White House. He took his carriage out daily, often with his Mary, and despite the fact that there were those who despised him for the war, Lincoln was a man of the people. Cole had only seen him at a distance and heard him speak to crowds; Alexandra Fox knew him. She had been arrested for knowing what she shouldn’t have known once because Alex had her own special gift. Her dreams could be prophetic. And she had tried to stop a battle, which had meant that she had found herself arrested for espionage. Lincoln had stepped in. They were friends.
Alex was no form of monster, as Cody sometimes called himself. But she was a different person. She had those dreams, or dream-visions. Alex often said that it might just be intuition, her senses warning her of what was to come.
She had never—she had assured Cole once—ever seen what the war would become.
“This is extremely distressing,” Lisette said, when they had come to the Mall at last, looking to make sure that Trudy was still a good distance behind them. The great expanse divided the streets and had been designed as park area—though it was now most often muddy terrain where troops drilled—and it finally seemed to afford Lisette some sense that they were isolated enough to speak freely. They stood in front of the Castle, the first building of the Smithsonian Institution, where even now, in the midst of the war, the work of scientists went on. James Smithson had never set foot in the United States, but the country’s dream of democracy had appealed to him, and he’d bequeathed the funds to an ideal. While troops drilled, business went on, and so the museum and the Mall were dreams and ideals loved by the people, constants amid chaos.
“This?” Cole asked.
“Megan Fox,” Lisette said.
“We didn’t bring her. She found us last night at the prison.”
“Convenient. Are you certain that she hadn’t been in the prison?”
“She had several chances to inflict damage on us and she didn’t,” Cole said. “She seemed to be fighting with us.”
“Seemed!” Lisette said.
Cole listened to the sounds of the street, children still being children, playing on doorsteps and in patches of grass, carriage wheels running over potholes, line riders avoiding those potholes and even the rustle of fabric as ladies picked up their cumbersome skirts to cross the streets.
“Seemed?” Lisette repeated sharply.
“Look,” Cole said. “I’m here with Cody and Brendan on a mission. I’m not here as part of a war. Cody says that she’s his sister, and that’s that in my book. I don’t believe she’s here on a sinister quest to rid the country of Union forces by setting forth a league of vampires. Take the war out of this when you’re speaking to me, or I’m done.”
Lisette had her hands on her hips as she stared at him; no one would mistake them for lovers at that point.
“I forget. You’re one of them,” she said. “Texas!” She nearly spit out the word.
“Humanity,” he said flatly. “Look, are you going to tell me where we stand and what’s needed, or are you going to spout political rhetoric?”
“The South will lose!”
He lowered his head for a minute. “Yes. Eventually. The blockades grow tighter, and for every Federal killed, another steps off a ship from another country, barely speaking English, ready to die like a canary sent into the coal mine of freedom. I’m done talking, Lisette. Tell me what you want, but, please, make no more references to the evil of Texas and my brethren. Just tell me where we are with the trauma at hand.”
She pursed her lips with displeasure. “You did well last night. Extremely well. But we know that a number of the creatures escaped.”
“How?”
“Have you seen the paper this morning?”
He shook his head. “No.”
She reached into her bag and produced the morning’s newspaper, unfolding it so that he could see the headline—Murder on Florida Avenue.
He took it from her hands and read the article. A Joshua Brandt, his wife, mother and two servants had been found dead. The bodies, white as sheets, had been discovered strewn about the house.
BREAKFAST HAD LONG been cleared away. Martha had gone to be with her children. Alex had tactfully taken Brendan for a “constitutional” walk. And Megan sat with Cody in the parlor, sensing what was coming next.
“You knew about me all your life?” he asked her.
She shook her head. “No, not all my life. But I knew about my father. Well, when I was young, my mother would tell me that he’d been a wonderful man, but that he didn’t stay long in one place. That he…that he had a quest in life, and that his quest was important and undertaken for the sake of all humanity. I never saw our father. I was born in North Carolina, where my mother had friends. I would tell the children that I played with at parties and so on that my father was a great man, but when I was about six, I think, one of the older boys told me that my father was a drifter and I was a bastard. Shortly after, we moved to Richmond, my mother married a fine man named Andrew Jennison and my life went on from there.”
She had barely finished speaking when the door opened and Cole stepped in. The woman, Lisette Annalise, was not with him. Megan had to admit she was glad. She didn’t like Cole Granger and she liked him less alongside the actress who seemed to think she was the Army of the Potomac.
Cole looked at them then closed the door carefully. He walked over to Cody, placing a newspaper on his lap.
Cody groaned.
“What is it?” she asked.
“The plague at the prison might have been stopped, but we didn’t get them all,” he replied.
Megan stood and hurried over to Cody’s side, brushing past the solid granite that was Cole Granger, and looked down at the giant headline on the newspaper.
“At least it’s not—Battlefield at Antietam, at Gettysburg, the Wilderness…Tens of Thousands Dead,” she said weakly, looking for something positive to say.
“How many do you think made it out?” Cody asked Cole.
“Can’t be many. But even one is enough.”
Cody exhaled. “Well, hopefully, the ones who escaped were new, young vampires that will need rest by daylight. But where?” he asked softly, frowning.
“St. Paul’s, Rock Creek—Prospect Hill?” Megan suggested. The former, a Colonial church, had quite an impressive burial ground. The latter was a large expanse, fairly new, but with many plots sold. “Oak Hill Cemetery? And beyond. The law stipulated not so long ago that new interments had to be outside the city line…but there are crypts and vaults in the oldest churches, as well. Most likely new vampires would find rest in a cemetery—I don’t think they’d be able to endure the burn of trying to sleep within an actual house of worship.”
“My bet is on Prospect Hill,” Cody said. “It is all hallowed ground, but many who would have been buried there perished on battlefields far away, and their remains were never returned.”
“Though Prospect Hill is German-American,” Cole noted, “I remembered reading a small article on it the day it was consecrated.”
“Yes, but many bought plots there,” Megan said.
Cody stood and looked at them with determination. “We’ll flag down a carriage,” he said. “It’s not walking distance.” He was thoughtful and then shook his head wearily. “Oak Hill is possible, too—its natural landscape lends itself to many places where a vampire might find enclosures in which to rest.”
“And if one of the older, seasoned vampires survived, he might have a place already set up…anywhere,” Megan said.
“We’ll just keep searching. We’ll start with Prospect Hill, move on to Oak Hill…and go from there.”
Cole nodded in agreement. “The surviving attackers must be found, but we also must get into the hospital morgue where the remains of the deceased were taken. Quickly. I don’t want to wait for nightfall—better that we handle the situation now.”
“All right,” Cody began. “Brendan will come with me. We’ll start on the cemeteries. You can bring Megan—”
“What? Oh, no,” Cole said.
“You know, cowboy,” Megan said, irritated, “one day, you’ll be grateful to have me at your side, when your weakness is shown to be great next to those you choose to pursue.”
“I know my business. You ask your brother. I learned to hold my own the hard way,” Cole said. “Why, I nearly killed you last night.”
“Oh, no, you did not,” Megan corrected him. “I could have killed you, but instead, I saved your skin. You were with Cody. And then I offered you my services.”
“You were at my mercy,” Cole said softly.
“I—”
“All right, stop!” Cody said. “Cole, you come with me, and I’ll send Megan and Brendan—”
“No! I know she’s technically on our side, but you’re not going to risk Brendan going with her,” Cole said.
“It’s early enough,” Megan said. “And, Cody, you’re a trained medical doctor. It will make sense if we both go to the hospital. Then, we’ll go to the cemeteries together. We are talking vast tasks at each location. The hospitals are huge, and—”
“Even the morgue area will house many,” Cole interrupted quietly.
“I think, since resources are limited, the murdered family might be kept separately,” Megan concluded. “In the morgue area, but separate from those who have died of their battle wounds, or of disease.”
“All right. We go together. Cole—Megan is my sister,” Cody said.
“One you’ve known for less than twenty-four hours,” Cole pointed out.
Megan moved toward the door. “Sheriff Granger, we need to leave. You may come—or not. As you see fit. But I am going.”
She wasn’t sure what he said; it was beneath his breath. She didn’t think that it was good. She didn’t much care.
“I need my coat,” he said. “You’ll wait.”
“I’ll get Brendan and my medical bag,” Cody said.
Cole was heading to the rear, for the hooks by the kitchen door, to retrieve his railway frock coat.
It was a long coat. Megan thought that it was also probably well supplied—with stakes, a mallet and a number of sharp knives. With his height and the length of the coat, his heavy supply of armor might not be noted beneath its folds.
She made it out the door first, walking purposely for the street and seeking a carriage to hail. Cole was right behind her, towering over her and lifting his hand high as he hurried her along. Just as Cody and Brendan caught up to them, a carriage for hire pulled alongside them and Cole asked that they be delivered to the Lincoln General Hospital. The four of them climbed in, Brendan being the one to first appear the gentleman and hand her up the footstep so that she might take a seat.
In short time, they reached the hospital. It was immense, founded in 1862 because of the staggering number of war injuries and diseases that plagued the soldiers. When they set foot at the emergency arrivals area, it seemed that the place was nothing but chaos, which was good for their purposes. Cole had a letter of authority from the Pinkertons—who were ostensibly investigating the mysterious murders—and a grim medic, hurrying from one tent to another, directed them to the far rear of the encampment.
“Did we really need all four of us for such a task?” Brendan grumbled, wincing as they walked past a pile of amputated limbs. “My dear!” he added, pulling Megan close to him. “These are not sights really fit for a lady.”
“How kind, sir. But I’ve been on many a battlefield.”
“I’m sure you have,” Cole said.
“Where is your actress–Amazon warrior friend, Sheriff?” Megan asked sweetly. “Wouldn’t she have better directed us on this mission?”
“Miss Annalise is a superb actress and songstress, in the city to warm the hearts of the injured and those working on the home front, and even those just waiting, raising their children,” Cole said pleasantly. “She is otherwise occupied by her very important work.”
Megan tried to restrain from an unladylike snort. She did manage to suppress the sound to a barely audible sniff.
She didn’t like Lisette Annalise. She was sure that the woman would happily propel enough bombs to obliterate the entire South, heedless that it would kill countless innocents and take out half the Northern troops, all in her determination to exterminate her enemies. Did Cole realize that? she wondered. It hadn’t taken any great intellectual mind to realize that the woman was a Northern spy, working with the Pinkertons. Though Cody had not told her so directly during Cole’s absence, he hadn’t denied her query about the woman, either.
A soldier suddenly barred their way. “What business have you here?” the man demanded. “If you’re seeking the body of your kin, you’ve passed the tent where the latest casualties lie.”
“I’m here under a matter of government concern,” Cody said, and Cole produced their letter of authority.
The soldier nodded, looking a little white. “Dr. Mansfield examined the bodies earlier. I shall conduct you and remain with you throughout your own examination, sir.”
Megan knew that her part in the charade was at hand.
“Oh!” she whispered suddenly.
Making sure that she was far enough from the men, she brought the back of her hand to her eyes and pretended to waver.
“Miss!” the soldier cried, rushing forward to catch her before she could fall.
“Oh, thank you!” she cried, circling her arms around him. “I don’t know what’s come over me! I’ve nursed men on the fields…. I just need…perhaps a bit of water.”
“My poor dear sister!” Cody said, starting forward.
Cole caught him by the shoulder. “Dr. Fox, we’ve been asked to make a report as soon as possible on the condition of the poor family!”
“Indeed,” Cody said, distressed.
“I have the young lady,” the soldier said, now staring at Megan with something like puppy love in his eyes. “Be brief, please. I am ordered to watch over the corpses—God knows why. They are certainly not going to rise and fight the Union. And who would seek to steal a corpse—and besides there are thousands on the battlefields. There are sons in the family, but they are in the field. Oh, just hurry, sir, and do what examining it is that is necessary. I will see to the young lady. My officer’s tent is just there….” He pointed.
“Oh!” Megan said again, clinging to him.
“Dear girl! Dear girl!” he said. And barely aware of the others, he helped her as she leaned hard against him, and they walked to the officer’s tent. She glanced back over her shoulder just once, smiling at the trio of men. She noticed Cole looking back at her, appearing amused.
THE OBVIOUS FACTOR regarding the corpses was their color.
Or lack thereof.
“White” was the term used, and yet they weren’t really white at all. They appeared to be a pale, opaque shade of yellow-pearl, and they seemed hollow, as if they had never been human at all.
Cole noted immediately that in addition to the massive trauma apparent on their necks, their throats had been neatly slit as well, though long after the blood had been drained. The perpetrators had been savage, making no tiny pinprick point in the throats of their victims, but tearing at them like rabid dogs. Young vampires, yes. And maybe an older one, hastily trying to cover their tracks.
Cody looked at the victims, laid out on the ground, covered in poor, unbleached cotton sheets, bearing the muddy look of the ground where they lay.
Cots would have been saved for the living.
Joshua Brandt had been a man of perhaps fifty or sixty years; even in death, he had a furrowed brow. His wife was thin, probably pale in life as well, her face portraying the wrinkled countenance of a life that had been long lived. Brandt’s mother was long, excruciatingly thin, and probably soon for death even without the vampire’s kiss. The servant girl was young and had been pretty; her hands were callused. There had been a male servant as well, an older man, bearing signs of stooped shoulders from a long life of labor. The bodies had only received cursory inspections and thus remained fully clothed.
“The heads, or stakes?” Cole asked Cody with sadness in his voice.
“Stakes, beneath the shirts and bodices,” Cody said.
Cole hunkered down and reached into his coat for a long, narrow, honed stake and his mallet. He paused before looking down then discovered that he was poised above the body of the young servant girl. She looked peaceful, young and lovely.
To his surprise, her eyes opened. She looked at him and smiled, and he paused again. Then he saw that something in her eyes was registering cunning and evil intent.
He hammered the stake into her heart just as her lips drew back and saliva dripped off her fangs. He sat back, trembling slightly. She had changed quickly. And in daylight.
Cody had already dispatched Joshua Brandt and his mother; Brendan had made a quick, clean disposal of Mrs. Brandt. They both looked at him without words.
We all know that you never hesitate, their silent glances seemed to say.
And, yes, he knew. But he also knew that in Victory, Texas, they had let some of the changed retain their strange new existences. But they knew those they had allowed this for. It might have been possible that someone as young as this girl would awaken and search for a way to appease her hunger without attacking humans, but that would have been an amazing rarity.
He nodded, and though he felt tremendous pain again, he pulled down on the worn shirt of the older male servant and made quick work with his stake and mallet. A slight shudder seemed to escape the man.
There was no blood.
Cole pulled the man’s shirt back into position.
They had completed their task.
The three of them rose, carefully seeing that the dead were covered again in their poor shrouds, and left them in peace. They headed for the helpful officer’s tent. Orderlies, nurses, doctors and civilians who had come to see what comfort and aid they could possibly give patients were hurrying about in different directions bearing water, medical bags, alcohol, bandages and surgical instruments. As they walked, despite the stream of humanity, Cole heard someone crying out pathetically for help. He found himself pausing despite himself and the mission that still lay before them.
“Go on,” Cody said. “We’ll get Megan.”
He followed the sound of the cries. They were coming from a tent that must have held at least thirty cots. There were four nurses or attendants, but they were all moving as quickly as possible. Men lay about in bloody bandages. Some had stumps for legs. Some were covered with sheets that quickly soaked blood from wounds that refused to completely mend.
He heard the cry again and passed by a wounded soldier who did nothing but stare blankly ahead. And then he found the victim crying so pitiably.
He looked about for a makeshift camp table and found a pitcher of water and a glass, poured some from the first to the latter and came down on one knee by the soldier’s cot. He noted the man was still in uniform, a strange one at that.
“Where are you wounded, sir?” Cole asked, moving to lift the man’s head.
The fellow’s eyes took on a strange light. He smiled suddenly.
And opened his mouth.
Cole had never moved so quickly in his life, reaching into his coat, finding a stake. He couldn’t bother with the mallet but had to depend upon his own strength and positioning between the ribs.
He laid himself hard against the man, trying to hide his deed with the mass of his shoulders and back.
The man’s jaw locked in an open position. The eyes glazed slowly. The fangs retracted even more so.
Almost shaking, Cole withdrew slowly, secreting the stake back into the inner pockets of his coat. He realized he was still gripping the water in his free hand.
“Sir! What is happening there?” An orderly or doctor, standing behind him now, demanded.
He drew back, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I came too late, Doctor. This man is gone.”
Cole stood, rising to his full height, meeting the doctor’s gaze. For a moment, he was afraid the man might to challenge him.
But the doctor just shook his head. “Cover the poor boy then. God knows, we can’t save them all, try as we will.”
The doctor was too busy to tarry long. Cole hurried from the tent, scouring the faces and bodies of the others in the tent ward as he did so.
The “plague” here was bad.
Very bad.
No one else was crying out in the same way, though, and Cole moved on.
He should have known. He should have known from the sound of the cry that it had been a moan of an unnatural hunger.
He’d heard the cry often enough before.
And he had fallen for the plea of the hungry, thirsty, desperate new vampire despite all that he knew.
They needed to be doubly wary now.
He found Cody, Brendan and Megan still with the officer who had been charged to deal with the current, imminent danger.
He found himself looking at Megan, who was politely thanking the officer and apologizing for the time she had taken. The man was smitten, of course. The officer was young, and the war had probably taken him far from those he loved. Having a pretty young woman like Megan needing his attention was probably something he would remember and dream about in the long days and nights to come.
Poor boy. He didn’t know.
Megan turned to look at Cole as he arrived among them. He felt a slight trembling in his length, a heat, a tension in his body.
She was a stunning woman with her perfect face and mesmerizing golden eyes. And she, perhaps more so than even Lisette Annalise, was quite an amazing actress.
That, he told himself, was something he was going to have to remember at all times. Especially now that she seemed to be doing such a superb job of joining in with them.
Especially now that it seemed Cody had accepted her, and even Brendan seemed to be falling for the beauty and sweetness of her spirit and…
Facade.

CHAPTER FOUR
MEGAN STOOD IN the middle of the cemetery, feeling the faint stirring of the breeze and looking around, wondering where to begin. The cemetery was relatively new. And yet, it was new at a time when the death toll was staggering. Across the country—or both countries—women waited at railroad stations for the post to come in, to read the lists of newly fallen, and pray that their beloved husbands, sons and brothers were not on those lists.
Many injured returned home. And died.
Disease was rampant.
Prospect Hill had been created when the law had stated that new burials must take place beyond city boundaries for such reasons. Technically, it was owned by the Men’s Evangelical Society of Concordia Church; it had been consecrated in 1858, and it officially opened the following year. It wasn’t a soldier’s cemetery, but since Washington had been the staging ground for the First Battle of Bull Run, as the Union called it, the First Manassas, as the Confederates called it, many local sons had died very early on.
Now graves were dug in expectation, but those who had been destined to reside within them might never do so. Exigencies meant that far too many men had to be buried where they fell. Some remains would be retrieved at later dates; some would remain where they had fallen forever.
She was alone with Cole on the mission; the day was not long enough for their small party to cover the many places that came to mind after they had attended to the victims who had been murdered during the night. It had been Cole himself who finally realized that they needed to split up, and since it seemed most prudent that she and Cody be split—since they could easily endure the bite of a vampire and return to tell any tale—he had either begun to trust her, or he’d still rather risk himself than Brendan Vincent.
“Where do we begin,” Cole murmured at her side, looking out across the vast and lonely expanse of the grounds.
“I think we need to wait a moment. There are several families here—look, just behind that little hill. There are people at that grave.”
He nodded. “It’s very new. No marker as yet.” She was startled when he suddenly took her arm. “Let’s stroll. We’ll appear to be seeking the grave of a father or brother.”
She nodded, surprised to feel a sensation of quickening within her, and aware of the warmth in his form, the strength of his hold.
“So,” he said. “Not long ago, I wouldn’t have believed that I could ask such a thing, but…did you always know that you were a vampire?”
He asked the question lightly, as if it were casual conversation.
“To tell you the truth, I’m not sure exactly what we are, Cody and I,” she replied. “I can be injured, and I do age. I heal overnight when I am injured, that’s true. And I have survived when I should have died. But I have a heart that beats, I breathe.”
He paused, looking down at her, and she was surprised that he almost seemed to be smiling. “That’s—wonderful. But it’s not the answer to my question.”
She shrugged. “Well, I don’t remember my infancy. I remember that I was always extremely fond of a rare steak, and that my mother always had me drink a strange concoction. I suppose the day she actually talked to me was when I was very young and had been punished at school.”
“For what?”
“Samuel Reeves.”
“You were punished because…”
“Samuel was a bully. He was always teasing my friend Sally, who limped. She’d been born with one leg a bit shorter than the other. Samuel teased her horribly. And he was cruel to her. He’d walk by and make her drop her books. He’d trip her.”
“Ah. Not at all a gentleman,” Cole noted.
“One day he sat behind her. He didn’t just dip her hair in an inkwell—he managed to jump up and dump the entire thing all over her. He pretended it was all a massive mistake and he didn’t even get in trouble. So, when we were out playing and he started calling her Blue Face, I charged him. He and I started to fight and there were kids all around us, cheering for one or the other of us. He started to take a real swing at me and I ducked and then…”
“And then?”
“I bit him.”
“And what happened? Children do bite when they’re tussling on the school grounds.”
She shook her head, looking straight before her, and then meeting his eyes again.
“I liked it. I liked the flow of his blood into my mouth, and I didn’t want to let him go. Our teacher had to get help to drag me off him, and when my mother came for me…she was horrified and upset, and she sat me down that afternoon and told me about my father, but she said that he was a good man, and that…I had to use my powers for good, as well.”
“You believe that your father is a good man—still?”
“You don’t—do you? Nor does Cody. But I believe it with all my heart.”
“Why?”
“Because my mother was a good woman, and she wouldn’t have lied to me.”
Cole lifted her chin, and his touch was gentle. He stood there, studying her eyes.
“You believe in Cody, don’t you? I believed in him before I met him. When I read the articles in the papers about the outlaws in the West—I knew that Cody was the son my mother had told my father about.”
Cole laughed. “The name Cody Fox didn’t tell you that?”
“Fox is a common enough name,” she said.
Cole still seemed to be wearing a dry half smile. “What happened to Samuel Reeves?” he asked.
“Nothing. He stayed home from school for a few days—sick. I was punished for the rest of the year—I wasn’t allowed to play with the other children. But, Samuel never teased my friend Sally again. Ever.”
“And did you bite anyone else? Ever?”
“Only when I’ve had to—and only in self-defense, and only vampires.”
“They’re leaving,” Cole said, pointing ahead. Visitors who had been praying at graves were heading for the gates.
“We’ll have to split up and start walking fast,” Megan said. The ever-so-slightly-civil-almost-tender moment they had shared was gone. He had become all business. She could certainly do the same. “Look for disturbed earth.”
“I know what I’m doing. You head easterly, and I’ll go west. Try to keep visual contact with me.”
“Of course. I won’t let you get hurt,” she promised sweetly.
“You’re Cody’s sister. I’ll look after you,” he responded over his shoulder.
“As you like, cowboy,” she said lightly, aware that her teasing response was patronizing but unable to help herself from making the statement. She didn’t want anyone getting hurt looking after her; she was what she was.
She was alarmed to realize that the day was quickly waning. And it was disheartening to know that they had fought so hard the day before—and that at least one of the creatures had escaped.
She could see Cole at a distance, long strides taking him swiftly across the cemetery. She saw when he paused and reached into his coat for one of his slender honed stakes, then switched it backward to dig in the ground.
She waited to see if he had made a discovery.
He had.
She watched as he swiftly found the mallet in his inner coat pocket, and slammed the stake downward, honed side first. He drew out his bowie knife and she turned her head.
It seemed that he was quite competent at what he did. He was seeing to it that for certain the creature would not come back. If diseased men had died, they were vampires, or would be soon, and they couldn’t be given a chance to rise again.
There was a group of trees ahead of her and she continued walking toward them. As she neared the little copse, she felt her muscles suddenly stiffen, and it seemed that the breeze blew chill against her flesh.
She saw a shadow, something, like a wisp of movement through the trees, almost a trick of the eyes.
The sun had not yet fallen, though it was sinking low in the western sky. A sense of great unease filled her. She was suddenly certain that they hadn’t taken down even the majority of the vampires in the prison; in fact, she wondered if the prison had been nothing more than a prelude to a huge infection about to overrun the entire capital city.
Then she wondered if something hadn’t been acting on her to lure her into the trees….
She held her ground, dead still and waiting.
Shadows moved again.
She refused to be trapped. She wanted the creatures out in the open.
And so she stood. Dead still.
And waited.
And finally noticed the first of the shadows coming for her.
Young vampire. It approached as a shadow, slowly, but quickly turned. Her stomach became a knot. It was a young Rebel soldier. His uniform. His face. He barely had a beard. But he came at her, and she had no choice. She ducked and turned, grabbing him by the shoulders, and hitting his jugular—as he tried to do the same to her.
She had barely ripped at his throat before the next shadow fell upon her. She reached into her skirt pocket, then stabbed a stake into his heart. Before that one had even fallen, another was after her, this one in the uniform of a Union prison guard. She ripped the stake from the one body to strike into the heart of the other—
And saw more shadows and figures, bloody and gaunt, dressed well and in tatters, coming from the woods.
At least ten of them.
A chill at the back of her neck and she knew something was behind her. She spun to tend to the attack. Speed was everything; she had to be prepared to defend herself from those coming at her from the woods. She wanted to call for Cole, but with their speed and her breath seizing in rhythm with her movements, it was too much all at once.
The thing behind her was little but flesh and bone. He went down quickly, having used whatever fledgling strength it had to become shadow and slip behind her. She faced the trees again, with trepidation. There were so many of them. They had never imagined so many.
In a fleeting second, she saw that something more was in the copse of trees. A greater shadow, a darker shadow. Fear set a cold grip around her heart, and yet, even as she felt the terror, she realized that the shadow-thing, only noticeable because it was even darker than the rest of the blackening night sky—it was actually battling the creatures within the trees, preventing them from spilling out to assail her.
“Megan!”
She heard Cole’s cry as she met the Union sergeant running toward her.
Cole ran past her and into the fray precisely prepared. He held a stake in one hand, and a bottle of holy water in the other. When two of the beings fell upon her at once, she’d have to admit that only because one of them was stunned by the holy water did she survive. She struck out with her stake, and then struck again. Cole was moving expertly at her side. Despite the massive ebony wing of the giant shadow-thing in the trees, at least six more of the beings escaped the copse of trees and came at them.
But she wasn’t fighting alone anymore.
One by one, they went down.
She was fighting with Cole. And the black shadow had saved them from the full force of the mismatched army in the woods.
Suddenly, there was nothing.
She and Cole had set their backs to each other, and together, they had fended off every assault; they had actually been an awesome force.
They remained still, tense and waiting. She could hear the thunder of his heart, and the heave of his breath as they waited.
That, and nothing more.
When she looked to the trees, there was nothing.
“It’s over,” she whispered softly.
Around them lay a field of rotting dead. Blue uniforms, gray, butternut. They wore insignias that denoted them as militia, captains, privates, Army of the Potomac. The Southern boys were mostly in rags.
“Wait, keep an eye on the trees,” Cole warned.
“No. There is nothing more there.”
“How do you know that?”
She turned to look at him at last. “Because we weren’t alone, Cole. Someone was in among the creatures there, someone who helped us.”
He shook his head. His words sounded harsh. “No, Megan. Why do you think that Brendan Vincent went to find your brother in the first place? A staunch Federalist seeking the help of a Rebel doctor? You and Cody are anomalies. A vampire is a predator. A disease. A mass of infection. A parasite that must thieve blood to survive.”
“You’re wrong. Some can be…nearly human,” she said.
Cole paused, and she knew that she had struck a chord with him. She didn’t know what had really gone on in Victory, Texas, but she was pretty sure that Cole had seen infected people become decent vampires. He had to know it could happen.
“This thing could just have been some kind of a trick, or even a trick of your eyes,” he told her. “What exactly did you see?”
She wanted to explain, but when she opened her mouth, all she could think of to describe what she had seen was, “A shadow.”
“A shadow?”
She nodded.
“Megan, they come as shadows, they can move like the wind. You know that. You’ve done it, I’m sure.” She was surprised when he touched her arm, gently. “This is our battle,” he said. “It would be nice to think that others were helping, but it’s doubtful. And we’ve got to get moving here—we have a bit of a problem.”
She looked around at the fallen. The corpses were far too new to have dissolved to ash.
“Good point. How do we explain all these dead?”
“And how long do we dare stay here without…without reinforcements?” he asked. “The sun is falling. We have to make sure that we’ve completely dispatched all these men, and then we have to get out of here. I’ll find Lisette and have her see that the burial detail that cleaned up at the prison gets here, too. We’ve got to get back to Cody and Brendan and find out what they discovered today. Hopefully we got a fair number of the loose vampires here.”
She nodded. She didn’t know why, but she felt a sting of tears in her eyes. So many dead! It was war, and men were dying every day. But this…Her heart went out to the beings she had taken down. The Rebels that lay dead had endured battle and capture, but not this unnatural thing.
They shouldn’t have ended this way.
“Disease,” Cole said sadly, looking down at a soldier. “Ah, yes, Cody told me once that disease and infection killed far more men than bullets. I guess he’s right. The gangrene and the vampire diseases, both.”
Wincing, Megan silently agreed, and together they hurriedly made sure that the “diseased” could not come back to strike again.
The sun was almost completely down. They hurried from the cemetery, hitching a ride into the city on a medical supply wagon. They sat in the back, on a flatbed filled with crates, forced to nearly sit atop each other.
But it wasn’t a bad position, Megan thought. She was tired, and the afternoon had left her worried and confused. Her fears of a greater threat came to the fore again, and she considered mentioning something to Cole, weighing her combat-born fears against rational thoughts….
And was surprised when Cole once again took her hand from where it lay on her knee and squeezed it.
She was more surprised, at herself, when she leaned against his shoulder to rest.
He didn’t move away.
THEY ARRIVED AT THE BOARDINGHOUSE to find that the rest of their party had had an uneventful day. Cody and Brendan had scoured the churches with burial grounds, but had run out of daylight time to go on to the other cemeteries.
Brendan Vincent announced he would head to the small office of the Pinkerton agency, which dealt with many secret matters of state, so as to see that the cemetery was cleaned of the evidence of combat before morning.
Before letting Brendan go, Cody hunkered down by his wife and asked, “Alex, do you think that it’s safe?”
Megan was surprised by Cody, Alex and the question.
Alex hesitated before answering him. “Cody, you know that—that I can’t see things on command.”
He nodded. “I was hoping that you might have a sense.”
“I’m not feeling that it’s unsafe. I was worried when you all left this morning, but that was quite natural, don’t you think? I can’t conjure a vision of the cemetery, but…I don’t think we have a choice, do we?”
Cody looked at her awhile longer, smiled and nodded. “All right, Brendan. We don’t have much of a choice.”
“One of us should go with the crew,” Cole said. “Me, I suppose. I know where…I know where the corpses lie.”
“Well, that’s foolish. If we did miss any of the creatures,
you’ll be as vulnerable as any of the men,” Megan told him. “I can go.”
“You were falling asleep on the way back,” Cole said. “I’ll go. You must have realized by now that I do know exactly what I’m up against and how to fight this enemy.” He was irritated when he first started speaking, but she supposed, even if she did have a natural immunity, she ruffled his pride when she suggested that he wasn’t competent—or that he didn’t have the strength. He spoke more gently when he added, “You were fighting that bunch several minutes before I reached you. You have to be far more worn-out. I’ll go.”
Megan frowned, wanting to protest, but Cody put an end to that. “He knows what he’s doing, Megan. Let him handle the situation.”
Cody left with Brendan. Alex rose. “I have a plate of supper for you, Megan. I saved a plate for Cole, too, but…anyway. You need to have dinner. And sustenance.”
Sustenance appeared to be a steaming cup of tomato soup; she knew that it was not. But though Megan hadn’t thought that she was hungry, she was famished.
Cody went out while she was eating. Alex stood looking out the window in the boardinghouse kitchen; there was an actual kitchen building behind the house, but Martha had put in a sink with a water pump and a stove when she had begun letting out rooms. Megan knew that when she wasn’t cooking breakfast for a household of guests inside the house, she prepared food for her children and herself in the kitchen building out back.
Alex seemed anxious as she peered out.
Then she turned and smiled. “Cody is taking a few precautions. He’s setting up an alarm system, arranging
crosses, sprinkling holy water around Martha’s little carriage house, as well.”
“Thank God,” Megan said.
Alex smiled at her, a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. “You knew Martha before you were brought here, didn’t you?”
Caught off guard, Megan nodded. “I was afraid to say so. Brendan Vincent is so staunch a Unionist, I was afraid he would think that Martha was a Confederate spy if I let on that we knew each other.”
“Is she a spy?” Alex asked.
“No,” Megan said, with a stone-serious expression Alex could not misinterpret.
Alex smiled and took a seat at the table across from Megan.
“But you are.”
Megan shook her head. “I was a courier, and sometimes I carried information that fell into my lap. I was never actually a spy. And now…well, we’re all fighting a different war.” Megan looked at the woman, staring into her eyes. “Your turn, Alex, please. What was Cody talking about when he asked you if it was going to be safe for Brendan and Cole?”
Alex sat back. She was quiet for a minute. “I have dreams. I see things that happen, or may happen. When I can, I try to prevent them from happening. Actually, I was once brought in for being a spy, but—” she smiled “—I became friends with the U.S. government instead.”
“Who?” Megan demanded, wondering if highest government and military leaders in the land really understood the reality and seriousness of the vampire situation.
“We’re not totally sure we trust you yet, you know,” Alex replied.
“I am Cody’s sister.”
Alex smiled, curling her fingers around the cup of tea she had poured for herself. “I believe that biologically, yes, you’re his sister. But this country is currently full of brothers who grew up in the same house, loving the same two parents, going to war against one another. I’ve personally seen this travesty ripping apart the country. So, whether we all believe you’re Cody’s sister is rather a moot point. None of us knows you.”
“Martha knows me. And you know Martha, too, don’t you?”
Alex laughed. “Yes, I do. I know a lot of people in Washington.”
“Then ask Martha about me,” Megan suggested with both force and exasperation at this tension between them.
“I’ll probably do that.”
They sat in silence for some minutes, whatever had spiked up between them dissipating for the most part. Though questions still remained.
“And you do trust some vampires,” Megan said.
“Some,” Alex agreed, smiling. She hesitated for a moment. “Actually, I have good reason to believe in the goodness of some vampires—as do Cody, Cole and Brendan.” She stood. “You are looking a bit worse for wear. Why, actually, you look like you’ve been digging in a cemetery. I had the tub filled in the back kitchen. I’ll add some water and you can take a bath.”
“I’m not going to take your bath,” Megan protested.
“Oh, seriously, I insist. You look like you need it much more than I do!” Alex told her. “I’ll put more water on to boil.”
It would be good to take a long, hot bath.
Alex provided her with a nightdress and robe and a cake of her own soap; it smelled deliciously of lavender. It seemed such a luxury that night—she hadn’t seen decent soap in a long time. It was growing scarce in the South.
Cody was putting the final touches on a bell-and-wire alarm system on the carriage house where Martha slept with her children. Megan made a mental note to find time with Martha alone in the morning; she didn’t know what Martha knew about Cody and Alex Fox and their friends, Brendan Vincent and Cole Granger. She thought she’d be much better prepared for whatever might come if she studied up on her new associates.
She carried the water to the tub herself, determined not to let Alex tote it for her on top of the kindness she’d shown already. Once she was in the external kitchen, she bolted the door and noted the many windows she had never much paid attention to before. They were closed, the drapes drawn. It was nice. She was beginning to feel as if she was being watched far too easily.
She had never been afraid, not since she had bitten Samuel. Then her mother had sat her down to explain that she was a being of free choice, and that she must choose for herself, but that using her strength for good would certainly prove to be the best thing to do, at least in the long run. Once the war had begun, she hadn’t thought much about what she was; she had thought about little but the men on the field who needed help so desperately. The Minié ball and the other amazing rifle technology in the North had made it certain that many soldiers would be shot, and that most of those hit would die. She’d left Richmond with the Army of Northern Virginia, always on the lookout for the brother she knew had to be out there somewhere. She’d heard he was in New Orleans, and she’d planned to go there. But then a courier told her that he had gone out West, and that he was some kind of a hero in a town called Victory.
Impatient with herself, she dropped her lace-up boots and her muddied outfit to the floor and sank into the water. It wasn’t as warm as she would have liked it, but it was delicious anyway.
And the soap! The sweet scent of lavender was a true wonder.
She leaned back and simply enjoyed the scent and the feel of cleanliness, closing her eyes and letting the water ease around her.
Then she heard a knock at the door.
She stiffened, then relaxed. “Alex? Come on in.”
She had bolted the door, she remembered. “I’m coming. Hang on just a minute, please.”
She hesitated, though. There had been no response from whoever had knocked at the door. Someone tried to twist the door handle. She heard the sound. She saw it move. But it was bolted.
There was another noise.
Now at the side window.
Then…
At the rear window.
Megan scrambled to her feet. She hopped out of the tub just as she heard the shattering of glass.
And saw the figure of a man crawling heedlessly through the shards of the windowpane that clung to the frame.
He was wearing butternut and gray. A Confederate Uniform worn by the Virginia Regulars. His uniform was worn and frayed on his gaunt, tall frame. Creeping menacingly from beneath his hat, a straggly beard, green eyes and dusty brown hair.
She knew him.
He laughed, staring at her, and she realized she was still dripping wet, and naked. She grabbed the bright white towel and covered herself haphazardly.
When he spoke, his voice was strange.
“You! Ah, you, Megan Fox. Imagine. I smelled the intoxicating scent of blood…and it’s you! How delicious. Now, I know. And now, I have the strength, and the power—and the hunger!”

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