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Somewhat mollified, he dared to ask, “And your primary reason?”

She reached out and caressed his scarred cheek, her eyes moist and luminous. “I love you just the way you are. To me, your scars represent strength. They mark you as a survivor.”

“You truly believe so?” He seized her hand, speaking past a lump in his throat.

“I do.” Proving her words, she covered every inch of his scars with light kisses.

His eyes burned with unshed tears. “Dios, Querida, you are a treasure.”

As he pulled her into his arms, he prayed to every god he’d ever heard of that she’d survive to see tomorrow’s dawn.

Thirty-one

5 November 1823, Guy Fawkes Night

Cassandra’s heart pounded in anxiety the moment she awoke. Nightfall had come far too soon, and with it, a war between more than a hundred vampires for control of London.

Rafe pulled her into his arms for a devouring kiss, as if he wished to brand her memory with his touch. “I must prepare my people for battle, Querida. Elizabeth will be in soon to attend you.”

The moment Rafe left the bedchamber, Elizabeth marched in with a man’s shirt and trousers.

“You cannot run in a lady’s finery,” she explained in a tone that brooked no argument.

After Cassandra dressed, they met Lydia downstairs. Also garbed in trousers, Lady Deveril gave them a cheerful wave while perusing an array of pistols, swords, and rapiers spread out on the dining room table as she sorted through a case of holsters.

At the sight of the weapons Cassandra’s stomach churned with fresh anxiety. What if she fumbled in loading her gun and it misfired? What if she accidentally shot someone on their side? She gnawed her lower lip.

If she could even hit one of the enemy vampires she’d be lucky. She’d seen how fast vampires could move. A pistol was a pitiful weapon compared to their sharp fangs, lightning speed, and brute strength. Added to the futility was the fact that if she didn’t shoot a vampire in the heart, little damage would be done.

“Here.” Lydia held out a belt and holstered pistol. “This one should fit you.”

After they were armed, Cassandra barely had time to force down a quick breakfast and pack her supplies while the vampires took turns leaving the house to feed.

The journey to the meeting place passed in a blur of mounting panic. Cassandra could do nothing except huddle in Rafe’s arms and pray for his safety.

When they met with his people and allies, she was tucked safely on the sidelines as Rafe roared out commands in rapid fire. Battle cries reverberated through the stone chamber.

Before they filed outside, Rafe pulled her in his arms and addressed his people. “This woman is not only the most miraculous healer to walk the earth, but also the love of my life. Do everything in your power to see that she remains unharmed.”

Cassandra held her chin high, refusing to show fear as she walked between the four vampires Rafe had chosen to be her honor guard.

Lydia stalked quietly at her right, pistol held securely at her hip. Anthony strode at her left, equally armed and ready to fire. The vampires leading and flanking her were unfamiliar, though trusted by Rafe. They certainly appeared formidable.

Biting her lip, she grasped the butt of her own pistol strapped to her hip, her palms sweating despite the chilly November air. She wasn’t made for killing, much less wounding.

Her other hand patted the satchel containing her medical supplies. The bandages, lancets, syringes, and scalpel were light enough. The ice-packed vials of vampire blood, donated by every vampire who stood with Rafe, contributed to most of the heaviness. However, the satchel was a comforting weight, far lighter on her conscience than the heft of the gun. She prayed she wouldn’t need to use it.

Her purpose was to heal, not to harm.

No matter how this battle ended, the wounded would need tending. Rafe had told her that very few would die…at least during the fighting, yet many would be injured. Already, her physician’s mind railed at the waste of it all.

Her gaze moved up the line to take in Rafe, marching in the vanguard with Vincent and Elizabeth. All three carried swords as well as pistols. The Lord of Blackpool joined them, along with the Lord of Rochester and their respective retinues.

Gradually, other vampires swelled their ranks as they neared the Wilderness region of Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens. Two vampires pulled a wagon clanking with the weight of iron chains intended for the inevitable prisoners.

However, Cassandra knew that if Rafe’s side won, Clayton would not be taken alive.

Fireworks lit the night far to the east, echoed by faint jubilant shouts as the mortal populace celebrated Guy Fawkes Night, oblivious to the battle that would occur within a stone’s throw of their revels.