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assigned to dust library shelves, my lord,” she snapped. “And no, the information is not obvious—I had to piece it together from dozens of volumes.”
    “And you really believe vampires have a library beneath London?”
    “There are underground rivers, my lord. The tunnels carry the sewage to the Thames. Is it so impossible to believe that there would be more catacombs? That vampires would use them?”
    Jonathon had to concede that point. It was, in fact, very likely.
    If she was right, it would be the most amazing discovery made on vampires in centuries.
    He looked into her hopeful eyes and wanted to agree to this mad scheme. “Is there any other way to get in there?”
    Swift groaned. He was sliding a stake back up the sleeve of his coat. “Christ, Sommersby, we don’t have time for blasted dithering. We have vampires to hunt.”
    Miss Lark frowned again. “We can only get into those tunnels from the brothel. Unless you wish to travel up the Fleet River to do it—and the only way of getting in there is at its end, at the Thames, and that’s below water.”
    “The brothel, then.” Jonathon nodded to Swift. “Swift, bring the disguises in.” They’d left their capes and masks in the hallway—hindrances during battle.
    “I don’t fetch,” Swift snarled, but he turned on his heel and stalked out to the empty hallway.
    Miss Lark touched Jonathon’s arm. Her silvery-gray eyes flashed. “But aren’t all the gentlemen here vampires? Won’t it be obvious that you aren’t?”
    “How long will it take us to access the tunnels?”
    She smiled, obviously pleased to be the one holding the information. “We have to pass through the brothel, but it shouldn’t take more than minutes.”
    “Then we should be able to remain unnoticed for a few minutes.”
    Swift strolled back in wearing his mask and domino—a voluminous black silk cloak, the traditional masquerade of Venice. Silver moons and stars glittered on the ornate purple mask that covered Swift’s face from hairline to lip. True to his word, his partner had brought only his own Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 19

    disguise in from the corridor, where they’d discarded cloaks and masks to attack. Jonathon would have to retrieve his own.
    He took one last look into Serena Lark’s eyes before leaving her side. She met his gaze with an open expression that spoke of hope. She didn’t look afraid.
    Unease rode Jonathon as he left the room, and found his own mask and cloak. Had Miss Lark really pieced together information in plain sight in the Society’s books and discovered a secret no one else knew? Or was she leading them into a trap?
    He tied on his mask, knotting the cords. Swift was right—they needed to hunt down information on this master. Jonathon knew how valuable Serena Lark was. She was the first known vampire child. If this vampire Lukos knew…
    Hell.
    Jonathon swung his cloak around his shoulders, pausing on the threshold of the room. Drake Swift held Serena Lark’s hand, and she was smiling up into his partner’s eyes.
    Jonathon’s heart felt like ice. Since he’d first set eyes on her—on her glossy black hair, seductive gray eyes, sweet heart-shaped face—he’d been obsessed with Serena Lark. Even before Ashcroft told him to watch her. He was obsessed with her in his dreams. When he bathed. When he rode. When he toiled in his bloody laboratory. Damn, even when he hunted. Especially when he hunted. While he stalked the fog-laden London streets, he dreamed of being in Miss Lark’s bed, making love to her, and hearing her cry his name—
    Ashcroft wanted to let her change, wanted Jonathon to study the transformation of mortal to vampire. She was to change on her twenty-fifth birthday—All Hallow’s Eve. It was her destiny, Ashcroft insisted, and they would learn how to save vampires if they studied Serena Lark. Jonathon had to admit that was true. He hated letting her change, but he didn’t know how to stop