As Fierce as Flame: Victorian Vampires, #3

By Amanda DeWees

"DeWees is a Gothic voice for the modern age, where women are not hapless but heroic."

—Leanna Renee Hieber, award-winning author of Strangely Beautiful and The Spectral City

 

In book 3 of the Victorian Vampires series, the characters you've come to love join together for a new adventure. Jilted by her fiancée, Ned Alter, impetuous Rosamond Cargrave takes the drastic action of becoming a vampire. To her exasperation, Ned—now revealed to be a dhampir, or daywalker—demands that she join him and his glamorous vampire mistress, Bianca, on their journey to London to meet up with Wulfgar, a vampire of great power.

 

Wulfgar is gathering his kindred in London with an ambitious plan in mind. Among those ready to help him in his endeavor are Vasile, Baron Dalca, newly arrived from his castle in Romania, and his recently turned bride, Michael Cargrave. Michael is adjusting poorly to being a vampire, and she has no idea her little sister has also made the transformation recently.

 

Together with Bianca's former lover, the mysterious Berengar, and vampire scholar Ignatius Crow, all will encounter the unexpected when they are thrown together.

Book 3 of the Victorian Vampires series unites the main characters of the first two novellas and introduces some new faces—and some new adversaries. If you enjoyed As Vital as Blood and As Strong as Earth, you won't want to miss As Fierce as Flame!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amanda DeWees
• Release date: Feb 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201788179

Amanda DeWees

Amanda DeWees received her PhD in English literature from the University of Georgia and likes to startle people by announcing that her dissertation topic was vampire literature. Amanda's books include the widely praised historical gothic romance "Sea of Secrets," a finalist in the 2013 Maggie Award for Excellence historical category, and the Ash Grove Chronicles, a captivating young adult "paranormal lite" romance series set in modern-day North Carolina. Besides writing, Amanda's passions include theater, classic film, Ioan Gruffudd, costume design, and the preservation of apostrophes in their natural habitat. Visit her at www.amandadewees.com to explore book extras and more delightful diversions.

Book preview

Chapter I

London, England. October 1881

Even as midnight neared , the London streets teemed with life. Michael, watching from a dark alleyway with her husband, was almost overwhelmed by the noise and motion, the percussion of horseshoes and iron-clad carriage wheels on the wooden paving blocks, the bright gowns of the women and the brighter light of the gas streetlamps, the voices and music and cries of the street vendors, active even at this hour. A theater was letting out, and the people who came pouring through the doors were flashing with jewels and fragrant with perfumes.

Whom shall we choose? Vasile asked.

Her heart, though it no longer beat, seemed to give a thud of apprehension. This was why they were there, of course, but she dreaded it.

Someone without a companion, she reasoned. Someone who will not be followed or missed.

He smiled down at her. Marriage had done nothing to change her conviction that Vasile, Baron Dalca, was the most fascinating of men. His aristocratic pallor might not be human, but the sight of his elegantly sculpted face and especially his deep-set amber eyes reminded her every moment that she was the luckiest of women.

Except for the necessity of errands like this one.

Unaware of the direction of her thoughts, he gave an approving nod. "Very good, dragă mea," he said, his accent making the Romanian endearment into something exotic and special. What do you think of that gentleman?

He indicated a fair-haired young man emerging from the theater without a companion. He looked barely old enough to have grown the slender moustache that he had waxed so as to curl at the ends. His expression was amiable, his gait relaxed; he would almost certainly pose no challenge for Vasile to overpower—or for Michael to feed upon.

He will do as well as any other, she said, unable to keep the reluctance from her voice, and her husband gave her a look in which compassion was mixed with regret before leaving the alley to catch up with their quarry.

Her eyes were not yet attuned to how quickly Vasile could move—far more quickly than she, a vampire of mere weeks. Now it seemed no more than a moment before Vasile fell into step with the stranger and linked arms with him. When the latter turned a surprised face to his unasked-for companion, Vasile drew him to a stop, looking him full in the eyes. At once all confusion and irritation dropped away from the man’s face. Like one in a trance he let Vasile draw him into the alley—and up to Michael.

Do not be frightened, my darling. You know what to do.

Yes, she knew what to do. But in their weeks together since their marriage and her unanticipated transformation, she had not yet been able to do it. It was the foolish squeamishness of a mortal, she told herself. She could not disappoint Vasile again. She must force herself to feed.

Her husband had been patient with her, understanding. Even now there was nothing but kindness and concern in his voice.

Under his intent gaze she willed herself to be brave. She had come so far—she must not give in to weakness now. She reached for the young man’s arm and brought his wrist close to her mouth.

Human odors assailed her. Sweat, soap, skin oils. The sheep-smelling wool of his evening coat, the starch in his shirt, the harsh scents of shoe polish and bay rum and macassar oil. When she pushed his sleeve up to bare his wrist she could see the pores of his skin and the faint tracery of veins beneath, and felt the living heat emanating from him.

None of this meant nourishment to her. Her stomach lurched.

I...I can’t. She stepped away, dropping the man’s wrist, and it fell bonelessly away without disturbing his trance.

Fret not, my Michael. There are other ways.

Ashamed of her weakness, she watched with half averted eyes as he leaned over the young man’s throat and bit it swiftly, unhesitatingly. From the recesses of his overcoat he drew a small glass, a concession for her sake. Moments later he stepped back, still supporting the stranger, and held the glass out to her, freshly filled with blood.

Here, my love. Drink.

She drew close and took the glass, but when she raised it to her lips the blood scent struck her forcibly, making her stomach twist with nausea even as the hunger made her tremble. She squeezed her eyes shut, taking a deep breath to steady herself—a human habit she had not yet unlearned, even though her lungs no longer needed air.

Her husband’s voice was gently insistent. "Just a drop, dragă. After that, instinct will do the rest."

He did not sound entirely certain, though, and that frightened her even more.

Opening her eyes, she once again raised the glass to her lips. She must find the strength to do this. With a desperate determination she tipped the glass up and gulped.

But the blood came back up again, tasting of onion and mutton, of sour beer, and salt and copper. The glass fell from her fingers as she dropped to her knees and retched, sobbed, retched again.

In an instant Vasile was kneeling beside her, stroking her hair. Michael, my love.

I am so sorry, Vasile. She hid her face in her hands, hating herself for failing yet again. I thought I could—I tried—

Hush now. Do not distress yourself. His voice was soothing, almost hypnotic, and she could feel herself grow calmer as he spoke on. It will happen in its own time.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, wondering if the stranger’s blood smeared her face. He stood docile, his head tilted as if politely inviting his predators, still under the sway of Vasile’s powers of mental control. The wound on his throat still released a red trickle, and she looked away hastily.

Have you ever known it to take so long? she asked. How do you know there isn’t something wrong with me?

At that, he drew her to her feet and took her in his arms. There is nothing wrong with you except that you are unaccustomed to feeding like a jackal. After all your years as a mortal, your nature rebels against feeding on human beings and drinking blood. He smiled then, and the love in his golden eyes made her heart contract. You would not be my own Michael if you were like any other vampire—or any other woman.

His gaze and low, silken voice were almost as effective on her as on mortals in their power to soothe and tranquilize. The effect on her was not supernatural but by virtue of how completely she loved him. But at the same time that love made her failure all the more bitter to herself.

Please don’t give up on me, she whispered.

Never. He brushed cool lips across her forehead. Just give me a few minutes with our friend, and we may return home.

She nodded but looked away as he released her. Her skirt was dirty and damp where she had knelt on it, and while a few discreet sounds told her that Vasile was feeding, she kept herself occupied brushing the black silk faille as clean as she could. She was able to make herself decent enough not to cause notice during their brief walk home, she judged, but she knew she would have to ask their housekeeper to get her dress really clean.

A sudden memory from her mortal life intruded in her mind. Her younger sister Rosamond, just thirteen, had spilled ink on her white organdy dress, and Michael, who at ten years older was considered the woman of the house after their mother’s death, had promised to remove it before it came to the notice of their father. While he was not a stern disciplinarian, as a bookseller he had to keep a close watch on the household’s finances. If Rosamond had had to ask him for another new dress before the last one was a month old, his reproaches would have been painful to bear.

Fortunately Michael remembered a trick the laundress had taught her. She sent Rosamond after a bowl of milk and soaked the stain, then blotted it patiently until it finally vanished. Rosamond, in her gratitude, had impulsively thrown her arms around her, knocking the bowl to the floor, but a broken earthenware bowl was nothing compared to what a new dress would have cost. And Mr. Cargrave was none the wiser.

The memory made her heart constrict. She still grieved for her father, and she had not seen Rosamond for many weeks, not since seeing her off with Cousin Catherine for her Season in society. Michael had then taken passage to the Carpathian Mountains to catalogue the library of one Baron Vasile Dalca, now her husband. She had not heard from her younger sister since the letter in which Rosamond had jubilantly announced her engagement to one Captain Ned Alter, but of course she and Vasile had left his home in the kingdom of Romania soon after, so it was possible that further letters from Rosamond were even now following them back to England, delayed by their long detour.

Michael knew from that letter that Rosamond’s fiancé was an upstanding young man who came from a fine old family and had recently left the army. There was no reason to worry. But at the most inconvenient times, she was stricken with loneliness for her sister and concern that the younger girl might still need the older sister who had been almost a mother to her.

It is done, came Vasile’s voice behind her, and she looked around to see the stranger totter away from them, out of the alley and back onto the bright commotion of the street. He would have no memory of his abduction, and Vasile would have taken only enough blood to make him