Reaching down, she tugged the blanket loose. William struggled, but it took only a moment before she had the cover off the bed and was meeting his sheepish gaze with a lift of her brows.

"Well, William, what do you have to say for yourself?"

He glanced down at the linen sheet littered with black kittens. "Cats."

"So I see." She cocked her head to one side. "How do you suppose they got into your bed?"

"Cats."

"William." She offered an indulgent smile. She found it difficult to scold him when he looked like a naughty schoolboy. "You know that the kittens belong to their box in the kitchen. It was very kind of Mr. St. Ives to allow them into the house at all. It is not proper for you to take advantage of his generosity."

His lower lip stuck out at the reprimand, but noting the firmness of her tone, he wisely did not press his luck.

"Bad, William."

"No, not bad," she swiftly corrected, gently replacing the blanket. "The kittens may remain tonight, but first thing in the morning I want them put back in the box where they belong. Is that understood?"

His eyes brightened. "Morning."

"That's right. Now go to sleep." Bending down, she brushed a kiss over his forehead watching as he snuggled into the mattress with his furry friends.

With a shake of her head, Amelia turned to quietly leave the room. She should perhaps have insisted that William return the kittens to the kitchen immediately, but there seemed little harm in allowing them to remain for one night. It had been difficult enough to keep her brother a virtual prisoner for the past weeks. He should be allowed a few indulgences every now and then.

Closing the door behind her, Amelia turned to make her way down the dark hall. Despite the lateness of the hour, she did not feel weary.

Indeed, an odd sense of restlessness had plagued her throughout the day. It was rather like the feeling before a thunderstorm struck.

Her smile faded as a shiver raced down her spine.

There was something in the air. Something that was raising the hair on her nape and making bumps prickle over her skin.

She unconsciously reached up to touch the amulet that seemed unnaturally warm against her damp skin.

The night promised to be long, indeed.

The screams echoed through the town house, bringing a thin smile to Drake's lips.

Opening the door to the hidden chamber, he regarded the two maidens who were chained to the wall. Most would no doubt be amazed that the ragged, desperate women had only days ago been gracing the most elegant ballrooms in London. The satin gowns were now covered in dust and blood, the arrogant faces marred by stark desperation. In truth they appeared no better than the lowest peasants that littered the stews.

Drake wrinkled his nose at the unpleasant scent that wafted from the chamber.

He had deliberately chosen the two maidens. Not for their beauty, or their charm. After all, a mortal was a mortal. Just another animal. His only interest had been in the fact that they possessed the dark hair and small body that resembled Miss Amelia Hadwell.

A flare of fury raced through his body. There had been a measure of pleasure in torturing the women. It had been quite easy to pretend that the screams that were wrenched from their throats belonged to the galling woman. That their pleas for mercy tumbled from the wench's lips. But the brief satisfaction was no longer enough.

His various ploys to lure Miss Hadwell to his home had come to naught. Because of the Medallion she was impervious to his powers of Compulsion. Furthermore, she refused to be charmed and she would not even be properly cowed.

It was clearly time to use more direct methods.

Tonight he would end this farce.

Moving forward, he halted before the first woman, who sank to her knees in horror.

"Please ..." she begged, straining against the heavy manacles that bound her wrists. "My father is very wealthy. He will pay you..."

With a casual cruelty, Drake grasped a handful of her raven hair and jerked her head backward.

"I have not given you permission to speak, creature," he snarled in disgust.

"No, please ..."

"Enough." Drake jerked her upward, annoyed with her tears. Mortals were so pathetically weak. "You have served your purpose. Now I fear I have need of your lovely accommodations. I have another maiden who I have awaited for far too long."

The dark eyes widened with fearful hope. "You will release me?"

"Oh, yes. You are about to be released," Drake mocked, his fangs lengthening in anticipation.

"Are you prepared?"

The hope remained in her eyes only long enough for her to witness the slow, relentless descent of his head.

"No! No!"

Her scream shuddered through the air as he sank his fangs deep into the firm skin of her neck.

Drake fed upon her pain as intensely as he fed upon her blood. The shrill agony fueled his lust, stoking his passions to a fever pitch. All too swiftly, however, her pitiable struggles lessened to mere twitches. He sank his fangs deeper, draining the last of her life.

Her body went limp and he tossed her aside. Slowly turning, he regarded the second captive with a glittering gaze. The woman was moaning, already sunk in fear so deep she was incapable of fighting. He paced to grasp her hair and force her upward. His features hardened with disgust as she continued to moan.

Worthless creature. No courage, no dignity. Simply another maggot that cluttered the streets of London.

Bending his head, he ruthlessly drained her of her life, taking little enjoyment in the kill. Soon, he silently promised himself. Soon he would have Amelia Hadwell in his clutches. He did not doubt for a moment that she would battle him to the bitter end. A sweet, fulfilling kill made all the sweeter by gaining command of the Medallion.

Tossing the woman aside like a piece of rubbish, Drake produced a snowy linen handkerchief to wipe the blood from his lips. Then, reaching out with his thoughts, he called to the minions who waited above.

Within moments he could hear the uneven scuffle of heavy boots upon the stairs. He moved toward the door as the two burly men entered. Only a few days before, the ruffians had been the undoubted rulers of the underworld. Brash, ill-tempered, with an ugly habit of killing those who opposed them, they had possessed little fear of the elegantly attired gentleman who had strolled into their dingy alley.

They had still been laughing when he had reached out his hand to crush their minds. Now, under the grim grasp of his Compulsion, they no longer laughed. The broad faces were slack, their eyes devoid of intelligence. They would stand in place until death unless he commanded them into motion.

"Take these bodies to the river," he ordered with a wave of his hand toward the dead maidens.

"Then re-tarn here. We have a very busy night ahead of us."

As if being jerked forward by invisible strings, the two henchmen crossed the cellar to obey his commands. Assured that his scheme was properly set into motion, Drake left the gruesome task to his servants.

He needed to change into something more formal, he decided with a cold smile. Tonight he would gain command of the Medallion, and crown himself the ruler of all vampires. It was only fitting that he appear suitably magnificent.

His soft laugh echoed eerily through the darkness.

The heat was unbearable.

Stripped to the waist, Sebastian left the closed con fines of his chambers. He was restless.

The house slumbered in darkness as he silently prowled through the halls, but there was a hint of disquiet in the thick air. It was that barely discernible unease that made it impossible for him to settle down for the night.

Perhaps he should seek out Drake, he thought as he pushed open the door to the library. If nothing else, he could reassure himself that the treacherous vampire was not plotting anything foul. Of course, that would mean leaving Amelia here alone. His heart gave a squeeze of alarm.

No. He would not leave her unprotected. Not on this night.

Stepping into the room showered in silvery moonlight, Sebastian moved toward the center before he came to a sudden halt.

Just for a moment he wondered if his brooding thoughts of Amelia had conjured up her image.

If so, they had managed to create a dangerously faultless illusion.

His breath was stolen as he regarded her standing next to the window. The silver light bathed her slender form with a soft glow and shimmered on the long hair that flowed like satin down her back. The flimsy silken gown easily revealed the enticing curves of her body. She might have been a creature of moonbeams. A delicate nymph made of iridescent shadows.

Then the warm, potent scent of her skin assaulted his senses and a shudder raced through him. No, this was no magical nymph, but a full-blooded woman who stirred his passions to a searing pitch.

Sebastian struggled to rein in the hunger that flowed through his blood. A hunger that was dangerously close to overwhelming his reason.

"Amelia," he called softly.

No doubt already aware of his presence, she slowly turned to face him, her expression troubled.

"Good evening, Sebastian."

Instantly on alert, he moved forward, not stopping until he was a mere breath from her.

"What is the matter, my dear?"

Her gaze rested briefly on his bare chest before reluctantly lifting. "Nothing. I could not sleep, so I thought perhaps a book ..."