Blood Secrets - By Jeannie Holmes Page 0,44

were nowhere to be found once he’d reached the window, but he hadn’t expected to find them.

Ghosts left no visible tracks.

Turning from the rapidly darkening window, Peter breathed deeply, inhaling her lingering scent, and smiled. She had come to him, just as he’d predicted. He hadn’t counted on her father’s appearance, but it also didn’t surprise him. Bernard had always been her greatest protector, even surpassing Varik.

But it no longer mattered.

She had come. She had proven she wanted to be with him.

He paused by the replica doll she’d been admiring. Varik and Bernard would try to prevent her return, try to keep them apart.

They would fail and he knew precisely how to guarantee their failure.

He strode down the hall to the oversized print of Duchamp’s painting. His fingers swept along the side of the frame and found the dual triggers that released the lock. It clicked and he swung open the hidden door leading to the attic. The door closed soundlessly behind him as he jogged up the stairs.

His latest acquisition stared at him from across the spacious room. He picked up one of the scalpels he used for delicate sculpting work from his table as he passed.

She remained immobilized with his special restraint system but whimpered when he stroked her hair.

“Shh,” he cooed. “Everything’s fine.”

The scalpel flashed in the light and her breathing increased, as did her futile pitiful sniveling. Blood welled from the tiny cut he made along her shoulder. Her skin was soft beneath his tongue as he licked away the crimson beads. Images of her life darted before his eyes and he drank them in, coveting each as though it were a rare jewel.

Peter pressed close to her naked body. The need to find solace from the inner fire that burned his flesh and tortured his mind consumed him. He wanted to bury himself within her, plunge his fangs into the tenderness of her neck, and quench the fire with her blood.

It took all his strength to step away from her. He couldn’t seek the release he desperately wanted, that he’d denied himself for so long. He must save it for Alexandra. Once she was his and his alone, then he could satisfy his desires.

He returned to his worktable and picked up the newly completed doll’s head. Its porcelain face was a perfect copy of Alexandra’s as he’d seen her in the Hall of Records. Holding it delicately, he turned it so the neck revealed the cavity within the head—the perfect vessel to ensure his soul mate remained with him forever.

Turning back to the girl, he could see her fear. He stroked her new penny-colored hair. Tears rimmed her jade green eyes. As his eyes and hands admired the lines of her body, the smoothness of her unblemished skin, she trembled and sobbed.

“Shh,” he said and wiped her tears. “It will all be over soon. I’m going to release you.”

“You’re letting me go?” she croaked, the first words she’d spoken in days. A spark of hope flared deep in her eyes.

He smiled. The scalpel he’d tucked in his belt now pressed into the soft flesh of her neck. “I said I would release you. I said nothing of you leaving.”

With a practiced flick of his wrist, the scalpel flashed red in the light.

A dizzying kaleidoscope spun around Alex. Wind whistled past her ears and ripped away her scream as she fell. Vivid colors flashed, searing her eyes, until everything turned black seconds before she slammed into the ground.

Her eyes snapped open, and she bolted to her feet, only to immediately collapse, struggling for breath. Darkness enveloped her. She swatted at the hands that tried to pin her as voices shouted all around her. “Daddy!”

“Alex!” The scent of sandalwood and cinnamon cut through the chaos, easing the panic that consumed her. “It’s me, baby. Calm down. You’re safe now.”

“Varik?”

“Yes, baby. It’s me.”

She closed her eyes and melted in the warm safety of his arms. “It was him. He was chasing me. I was so scared. Where is he? Did he follow me?”

“What is she talking about?” a woman—Morgan, Alex remembered—asked.

“Baby, Bernard’s dead. If you saw him it was in the Shadowlands,” Varik said calmly.

Images flashed through her mind in a confused jumble. “No, not Daddy—the Dollmaker. Did he follow me?”

Varik’s hold tightened. “You saw the Dollmaker?”

She nodded, feeling the soft scrape of his shirt against her cheek. “I saw him and his house.”

“The Dollmaker’s been on our Most Wanted list for decades,” Morgan said. “If you saw