Bound By Sin (A Cin Craven Novel) Read online

  “Fire!” I screamed. “Fire!”

  The porter spun on his heel and raced back down the hall, pushing me aside as he rushed into the room. The other hotel guests began peering out of their rooms and then quickly exiting the floor when they realized it wasn’t a false alarm. Two more porters ran up the steps followed by a man I assumed to be Mr. Bennett’s daytime counterpart. Between them they managed to tear down the curtains and began trying to stomp out the flames. When they had it nearly under control I helped them out with a little push of magic.

  “Extinguish,” I whispered, and the flames died out.

  “Why didn’t you just do that in the first place?” Michael said softly into my ear as he placed his coat around my shoulders.

  I looked up at him. “Well, I would have if I’d accidentally started the blaze, but I do believe someone just tried to kill us. It seemed a good idea to have witnesses. Besides, running from the room and screaming ‘fire’ is what a human would do.”

  When the clerk and the porters dragged back the charred remains of the curtains they found a blackened glass bottle underneath. It appeared from their whispered conversation that someone had stuffed a rag in a bottle of white lightning, lit it, and tossed it through our second-floor window. Only the thick curtains had stopped it from flying into the room and lighting the whole place on fire.

  Quite a crowd had formed behind Michael and me, curious as to what had occurred. As soon as the clerk realized this (and the damage such an event might do to the reputation of his hotel) he quickly ushered us to another room at the opposite end of the hall. The porters dutifully followed with our trunks. As we passed the stairs I looked down into the lobby below—and came to an abrupt halt. Standing with his shoulder propped against a marble column near the front doors, fully protected in a circle of sunlight, was Adrien Boucher. He did not look pleased to see us unscathed. Michael tensed when he followed the direction of my gaze, and I firmly squeezed his hand in an effort to keep him from doing anything foolish.

  “I should kill that son of a bitch,” he swore.

  “There’s nothing you can do right now,” I pointed out. “Don’t give him the satisfaction of looking rattled.”

  Adrien glared at me and then tipped his hat patronizingly in my direction. A moment later a large potted palm fell over, nearly knocking him to the ground. It was a petty bit of magic but in the daylight, in the middle of a crowded hotel, it was the best I could do. I took Michael’s arm and propelled him down the hall to our new room, a devious plan forming in my head.

  “Put away your temper, darling,” I told him. “I’ve just thought of a way to get rid of Adrien Boucher without anyone having to resort to magic, or vampire powers. It’s a little more complicated than just dragging him out and tossing him in the ocean, but it’s going to be vastly more entertaining.”

  “That look on your face makes me nervous,” Michael said, grinning. “Whatever your plan is, I like it already.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Devlin had been right when he’d said that guns and gold were the only currency worth carrying in a war. Thanks to General Lawton, the commander of the Confederate forces in Savannah, the next night I strode into Adrien Boucher’s plantation house with Michael and ten Confederate soldiers at my back. If I live a thousand years I’ll never forget the expression on his face when Boucher came down the stairs and saw me there.

  “How did you get into my house?” he demanded. Then he noticed the soldiers and confusion and panic replaced the look of fear his face. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “Adrien Boucher,” Michael said, stepping forward. “You are hereby served notice that the mortgage on Devil’s Island and Kenneway Plantation has been sold to Cin Craven and she is calling in the debt. You can pay it, or you can pack your things and these fine gentlemen will escort you from the island.”

  “You can’t do that!” Boucher railed, as he snatched the deed out of Michael’s hand and read it over in astonishment. “You have to give me time to come up with the money!”

  I shook my head. “Actually, I don’t. And I assume by that statement that you don’t have it. Captain Fuller, would you please have two of your men escort Mr. Boucher upstairs and see that he and his family take only their personal belongings from my house?”

  The captain was an earnest young gentleman from Savannah and if he thought it was odd that Michael and I had insisted upon doing this at night, he didn’t say so. In fact, he seemed to relish the task. I had the distinct feeling that Captain Fuller didn’t think much of an able-bodied man like Boucher sitting here safely on his plantation, and not serving his country in uniform. The captain gladly complied with my request and motioned for two of his soldiers to carry out the task. The men had just reached the top of the stairs when Claire came out of one of the bedrooms to see what the commotion was about. Clutched firmly to her bosom was a bronze Grecian urn. Boucher’s eyes lit on it as if it were gold.

  “She comes with me,” he desperately announced. “She’s my ward.”

  Claire drew herself up and glared at him. “I am not. He kidnapped me in London and brought me here against my will.”

  The men on either side of Boucher narrowed their eyes and took a step closer to him.

  “She’s addled,” Boucher insisted. “She thinks she sees gods and ghosts and the walking dead. She belongs in an asylum, but I just can’t bring myself to commit her to such a place. I promised her dear, departed father I would take care of her.”

  “Oh, balderdash,” I spat and turned to Captain Fuller. “He abducted her from her bedroom in the middle of the night and I’ve come all the way from England, at great personal risk and expense, to retrieve her. She’s my cousin.”

  The captain looked at Claire, who nodded her assent to him, then he looked back at me. Since we’d arrived in Savannah I had been using a bit of glamour to make my naturally blood-red hair a more traditional copper. The family resemblance was well noted by Captain Fuller. He jerked his head toward the soldiers, who man-handled Boucher upstairs to his bedroom to pack his bags. With Boucher out of the way, Claire came rushing down the stairs. I wrapped my arms around her, so glad to finally have what I came for.

  “Are you all right?” I asked, anxiously.

  “I’m fine,” she replied. “He didn’t hurt me.”

  “Why wouldn’t you come with me last night?” I demanded. Now that I was satisfied that she was physically uninjured, I wanted to throttle her.

  Claire glanced around at the soldiers still lingering in the hall. “I can’t tell you now, but when they’re gone I’ll explain everything. Did you truly buy the whole island?” she asked incredulously.

  I shrugged. “I promised your mother I would bring you home. Since you wouldn’t cooperate, you left me little choice.”

  “I’d hoped you would find some way to get us away from him, but I never expected something like that. It must have cost a fortune.”

  “The money doesn’t matter,” I replied. “Wait, what do mean us? What the devil is going on here?”

  Her blue eyes searched my face. “I don’t know if you’ll believe me,” she said, and glanced once more at the soldiers.

  Since it was apparent I’d get nothing out of her until we were alone, I ushered her into the parlor. Michael followed us in, closing the doors firmly behind him.

  “Claire, I’m a vampire,” I reminded her. “Give me some credit for being able to believe things that most people wouldn’t, all right?”

  She nodded.

  “Good,” I said. “Now, I want you to tell me exactly what is happening here. What does Boucher want with you?”

  “Before I begin,” Claire said nervously, “what has my mother already told you?”

  I relayed the story that Raina had shared with us, from Claire’s disastrous marriage to her abduction.

  Claire pursed her lips. “Mother worries more about me than she needs to. After Alastair . . . died . . .” She paused and took a deep breath. “It wasn’t tha
t I was damaged, at least not beyond what he did to me physically, and that healed. I was just so angry with myself that I had allowed him to do that to me. He wasn’t always abusive. In fact, no one could be sweeter than Alastair Gordon when he wanted to be. But it seemed that the longer we were married the less of an effort he made to be kind to me. After his death I spent a lot of time trying to figure out how someone like me—and I do consider myself a very strong-willed woman—could let a man treat her that way and somehow convince herself that it was all right, or that perhaps she deserved it. I’m afraid my family took my mood of quiet reflection for melancholy. I assure you, though, that I am not some wounded baby bird.”

  “Oh, no,” I agreed. “I figured that out last night.”

  “Well,” Claire said, somewhat embarrassed, “there was a good reason for that, which I’ll get to in a minute. Mother told you about the young widow who gave me the urn. She didn’t just give it to me, she gave it into my keeping. She made me responsible for it.”

  “I still don’t understand,” Michael said. “Does it truly have that much value?”

  Claire shook her head. “It isn’t the urn itself, although I daresay that’s priceless in its own right. It’s what’s inside the urn that I have to protect.”

  “And what is that?” I asked.

  Claire looked from me to Michael. “This is the part where I’m afraid you’ll think I’ve lost my mind.”

  I tried to remain calm and simply said, “Why don’t you have a little faith in us. What’s inside it?”

  Claire looked down at the urn, her fingers tightening around it protectively. Then she turned her blue eyes back to us.

  “A god of war,” she said gravely.

  CHAPTER 21

  “I’m sorry,” I said, very certain I’d misunderstood her meaning. “What?”

  “Ares, the Greek god of war,” she repeated earnestly.

  “She’s lost her mind,” I mumbled.

  “You mean there are human remains in the urn that someone has attributed to the god Ares?” Michael asked.

  I nodded to him. That made sense.

  “Oh, no,” Claire replied sincerely. “I mean the actual god.”

  Michael and I stared at her for a moment and then I turned to my husband.

  “Would you please stay here with her?” I asked.

  Then I turned on my heel and exited the parlor, climbing the stairs with a determined stride. When I reached the door to Boucher’s room, I didn’t even bother to knock.

  “Gentlemen,” I said to the soldiers, “will you give us a few moments, please?”

  The soldiers looked hesitant at first but they must have seen something in my face that made them reluctant to force me to repeat the question.

  “We’ll be just outside if you need us, ma’am,” a private by the name of Riley assured me.

  When they’d closed the door I turned on Boucher, who was angrily stuffing clothes into a carpet bag.

  “What sort of game are you playing?” I demanded.

  “War is not a game, madam,” Boucher replied. “I promise you, I am deadly serious.”

  “You don’t actually believe that child is in possession of a war god, do you?”

  He looked up, his golden eyes glittering. “I not only believe it. I’ve seen it.”

  I shook my head. “Then you’re as touched as she is.”

  Boucher walked around the bed until he was standing mere inches from me. His whole body vibrated with something akin to madness.

  “No,” he insisted. “You don’t understand. I’m the only one who can save our whole way of life. With a god of war on our side, the South cannot help but destroy those damned Yankee aggressors. Once Ares is free, his thirst for blood will know no bounds. We will annihilate the entire Union army.”

  I shook my head. He honestly and fanatically believed what he was telling me. “Even if what you say is true, you do realize you’d be responsible for the wholesale slaughter of hundreds of thousands of men?”

  He smiled. “Yes, but they’ll all be Yankee dead.”

  “You’re mad,” I whispered.

  “What I am, madam, is destined for greatness . . . and that urn will bring it to me.”

  “What do you imagine?” I asked. “That you’re going to be a war hero, hailed triumphantly in the streets? Statues erected to your name?”

  “Something like that,” he replied smugly.

  “What you’re talking about doesn’t make you a hero, it makes you a butcher. And I won’t allow that to happen.”

  Boucher reached out and grabbed my upper arms, his fingers digging into my skin and crushing the delicate bronze satin of my gown. Even in his madness, though, he wouldn’t look me in the eye.

  “This will be mine,” he raved, “and mine alone. You will not stop me and neither will your cousin. I’ll have that urn or I will burn this plantation down around you all—and once you’re dead I’ll take it anyway. The choice is yours.”

  “Yes, you like fire, don’t you?” I asked before I pushed him away, my vampire strength sending him flying across the room to land against the wardrobe. He hit it hard enough to break one of the doors in two. Private Riley and his companion heard the crash and came rushing to my rescue.

  “Mr. Boucher has had a bit of an accident,” I said to them. Then I turned back to Adrien. “They’re more common than you think. Remember that if you ever come after me and mine again.”

  I sailed down the stairs just as Michael and Claire were coming out of the parlor to see what had happened. With everyone’s attention focused on me, we were all startled when the front door clanged open and Mr. McCready rushed in, his ruddy face dripping with perspiration. His gaze traveled quickly over us all until his greedy eyes lit on Claire. Remembering the way he’d dragged Claire into the foyer last night, his covetous eyes roving over her body, my temper flared.

  “He goes too,” I said firmly to Captain Fuller. “I want him off this island with Boucher tonight.”

  Mr. McCready’s eyes widened. “You can’t do that!” he shouted.

  “So everyone keeps telling me,” I said rather flippantly. “And yet the Merchants and Planters Bank of Savannah and the Confederate Army say differently.”

  Mr. McCready took a menacing step toward me. Eight Confederate soldiers moved forward but they were no match for the speed of a vampire. Michael was between me and McCready before the man could take another step. Such a move was unwise and drew several surprised looks from the soldiers, but I could hardly fault Michael for trying to protect me.

  “The lady has bought this plantation and if she says you go, you go,” Michael informed him stiffly. His voice then took on a taunting tone as he said, “But feel free to argue with me about it, if you’d like.”

  Even though I was standing behind Michael I knew exactly what Mr. McCready was seeing when he looked at him. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d seen Michael’s face lit up with that arrogant, feral grin. He was confident in his ability to come out the victor in any fight and it either drove a man to back down, or try to prove him wrong. For a moment I thought McCready would be the latter. He did have three times Michael’s girth and large, beefy fists that looked as though they’d seen their fair share of brawls. I watched his eyes, though, and I knew the instant he’d made his decision.

  “Have it your way,” McCready spat. “But I’d like to know how you’re gonna to run this plantation without an overseer.”

  “I’ll manage,” I assured him with more confidence than I felt, for truthfully I hadn’t thought of that until this moment.

  “And I suppose it don’t bother you none to be throwin’ a woman and children out onto the streets in the middle of the night?” McCready asked, gesturing behind him.

  A pretty blonde woman, who I assumed to be Mrs. McCready, was standing on the porch just outside the door. In one arm she held a baby with a mass of carrot-colored curls just like his father’s. Her other hand was wrapped around the shoulders of a young
girl, about eight or nine years old, with long golden braids. I glanced back at Mrs. McCready. For a woman who had just watched her husband being violently threatened by another man, she looked neither frightened nor angry. In point of fact, when she noticed me watching her she quickly wiped a rather pleased expression from her face.

  “No,” I said. “I would not throw a woman and children out in the middle of the night. You and your family are free to return to your quarters, Mr. McCready. For tonight, anyway.”

  McCready glanced at Michael triumphantly before he marched out the door, snapping at his wife to follow. The humans undoubtedly missed it, but my vampire hearing picked up his parting shot.

  “I hope the slaves rise up and kill you all in your beds,” he muttered.

  My stomach rolled at the thought and I turned to Michael and Claire.

  “I’ve not only bought a house. I’ve just bought slaves,” I said in horror.

  CHAPTER 22

  For the next half hour I wandered around the ground floor of the house, looking into all the rooms and fretting over what I was going to do about the slaves. Claire had been so afraid that Boucher would try to take her blasted urn that she had my stomach tied in knots. I’d finally told her to go back upstairs and wait in her room until he was gone.

  “Not as big as it looks from outside, is it?” Michael asked.

  That was true, but it was still a lovely house. Built in a square with porches and columns on all sides, the interior of both floors had a long hall that ran through the middle of the house, opening in the front and back with wide double doors. Off the hall on the ground floor was a parlor, a library, a dining room, an estate office, and a servant’s bedroom. From the number of doors I’d counted on the second floor, the house possessed four large bedrooms and one bathroom.

  “Where the bloody hell is the kitchen?” I asked Michael.

  Before he could answer a prickling sensation raced across my skin. I turned to see Pandora standing in the foyer, watching us. She was dressed as she had been the night before, only tonight her blouse and skirt were black, and the sash and turban were red. Dark magic rolled off her in waves, calling to my own. She smiled as if she sensed it and I had to make more of an effort than I had in a long time to tamp down the darkness that swirled inside me.