His Dark Embrace by Amanda Ashley Read Free Book Online Page B

spacious dining room, the servants’ quarters downstairs, and all five bedrooms upstairs.
    From time to time, he had done some remodeling. What had once been a water closet had been made over into the master bathroom, with the latest fixtures and plumbing. He had replaced all the original windows, added screens, and heavy-duty locks on all the doors and windows. Only three of the rooms were furnished—the front parlor, the master bedroom, and the kitchen.
    The kitchen was located in a separate part of the house, connected to the dining room by a narrow hallway. When he’d bought the house, the kitchen had contained no modern appliances. The stove had burned wood, there had been no running water, no electricity.
    Nine years ago, he’d had the kitchen remodeled. He had replaced the old floor, built new cabinets, and installed a black granite sink top. Although he didn’t do much cooking, he liked to eat, and so he had purchased a refrigerator, a stove, and a microwave.
    The servants’ quarters, located on the third floor, had been accessible from the kitchen and also by a separate outside entrance. He had plastered over the outside entrance.
    He paused at the front window and stared at the house across the street. The police had been there earlier. He doubted they would find anything helpful. Desmarais was a past master at obliterating any and all evidence of his presence.
    Thorne drummed his fingertips on the sill. What was Sky doing now? Was she curled up in a chair, reading? It had been a pastime she had loved as a child. Watching TV, perhaps? Working in Paddy’s garden? Preparing lunch?
    Frustration rose within him as a hunger he had not felt in years—a hunger aroused by a single drop of Sky’s blood—stirred deep within him. He slammed his palm against the wall. He had to find that damn formula!
    Turning away from the window, he began to pace the floor. Desmarais had been in Paddy’s office, so Thorne had to assume that Desmarais had stolen the formula for the potion, but why? What effect did the concoction have on humans, if any?
    At one time, Girard Desmarais had been a hunter without equal. Fearless, merciless, tenacious, he claimed to have taken more than two hundred heads before he had quit hunting and taken refuge in a monastery after the death of his wife.
    It was rumored that Desmarais was a descendent of Abraham Van Helsing, the most famous slayer of them all. Generations of Van Helsings considered vampire hunting a sacred calling, sacrificing home, family, and livelihood to rid the world of the Undead. The monastery where Desmarais had taken refuge was believed to be a sanctuary for slayers who had grown too old to hunt, or who had lost their nerve.
    Thorne had tangled with Desmarais in France some thirty-odd years ago and considered himself lucky to be alive today. He had not heard anything of Desmarais in more than twenty years. Desmarais had been old when Thorne knew him. Like everyone else, he had assumed Desmarais had passed away years ago.
    One thing about Desmarais, old or young, the man knew how to carry a grudge. Desmarais held Thorne responsible for the death of his wife. It was true Thorne had killed Marie Desmarais, but hell, the woman hadn’t given him any other choice. She had been a hunter every bit as determined and ruthless as her husband. In the end, it had been her life or Thorne’s.
    “So, Desmarais, my old friend,” he muttered, “where the hell are you now?”
    He was still pondering that question later that night as he made his way down to the wine cellar.
    Unlocking the safe, he withdrew the blue bottle with its priceless contents. For a moment, he simply held it in his hands, reluctant to drink the last of the precious liquid. How long would this dose last? There was no telling. Even though he always drank the same amount, the results varied. Some doses lasted several months, some only a few weeks. Paddy had been at a loss to explain the variation in the doses and, try as