Silken Rapture (Princes of the Underground 2)

“We are more than vampires, Miss. That is a term that comes from folklore. We crave vitessence and need it to survive.”

“And vitessence is in the blood,” Isabel said slowly, recalling her earlier conversation with Margaret.

“It can be found in bodily fluids most associated with human emotion—sweat, tears—” Jessie flushed again when he noticed her narrowed eyelids. “You spoke of the life force earlier, Miss. Humans are energy beings. We need that energy to survive.”

“And this energy can be found in its most concentrated form in the blood?” Isabel murmured as understanding dawned. Somehow it made intuitive sense to her.

Jessie nodded. “We do not take enough to harm the mortal, Miss. We are not like Morshiel and his revenants. They take pleasure from draining a human’s vitessence until death. They drink the very soul. Such taking is considered taboo by us. Lord Delraven has taught us to control our hunger.”

Isabel straightened, staring at Delraven’s painted crest, her curiosity for the leader of such a strange, powerful group of creatures mounting by the second. “Delraven said Morshiel was his clone. How did the two come into existence, Jessie?”

“I don’t know, Miss. None of us knows, save perhaps Delraven himself, and if he does know, he doesn’t share that secret with us. Perhaps he does with Aubrey Cane. They are as close as brothers. We only know how much Delraven strives to control Morshiel, and we share in his mission. Morshiel is cruel beyond belief. He murders Londoners regularly, and some—a small percentage of his victims—turn Scourge and strengthen Morshiel’s army. If you knew a tiny fraction of Morshiel’s crimes over the centuries, you would also have sympathy for Lord Delraven’s cause.”

“Are you saying I would consider Delraven a hero?” she asked with a small smile.

“The greatest,” Jessie said without hesitation, her sarcasm going unnoticed. “He is a fierce fighter. He was our maker, and is the strongest of all the Literati. None can best Lord Delraven, save Morshiel—and that is only half the time, and because fate has made the balance between good and evil such a close thing.”

Well that was an odd thing to say, Isabel thought as she studied Jessie’s earnest expression. It’d sounded like someone quoting from scripture or something.

“And how did Delraven acquire his title?” she mused, striving to strike a note between casual interest and dawning respect—an attitude to which she sensed Jessie would respond.

“He has done service to several members of the royal family throughout the centuries,” Jessie said proudly. “Of course, each new monarch doesn’t realize he’s the same man, believing instead he is another Delraven ancestor. Once, Lord Delraven saved an Italian princess from kidnap by agents of the Spanish crown. His service in that matter was what earned him his title. The Spaniards thought an alliance between an English prince and an Italian princess, Elysse de Gennere, might prove a threat to the Spaniards.”

“What happened?”

“Lord Delraven rescued Elysse from her captors, who had actually come under the influence of Morshiel. It had become a personal matter for Delraven.”

“Hmmm, very romantic. And did the princess end up marrying the English prince?” Isabel asked, her smile turning wistful. “Or did she instead fall in love with the hero who had saved her from her kidnappers?”

“She did—both,” Jessie glanced away, a troubled expression on his youthful-seeming countenance. “There is little doubt she was in love with Lord Delraven, but Elysse de Gennere did her duty and married the crowned prince. She killed herself soon after the royal marriage.”

Isabel’s small smile faded. It’d been as if they were discussing a charming fairytale until she fully took in Jessie’s crestfallen expression. It wasn’t a story. Jessie clearly was remembering the untimely death of someone he had known, admired…liked.

You don’t know much of anything. Not about his world, you don’t.

Isabel blinked, recalling Margaret Turrow’s words. Maybe she had a point.

She edged toward the corridor with the Delraven crest above it, drawn to it for some reason. She started back in surprise when Jessie moved with preternatural speed, blocking her path.

“Ever played sports, Jessie? Basketball, maybe? You’d be a natural for track,” she said, her wry tone disguising her shock at the evidence of this paranormal ability. Jessie didn’t appear interested in her banter, however.

“I’m sorry. Lord Delraven’s quarters are off limits.”

“Of course,” she said lightly, waving to the corridor to the left of them. “What wonders shall we witness next in Sanctuary, Jessie? Flying pixies? Talking beasts, perhaps?”

Jessie’s small smile disappeared and he twisted around. His nostrils flared. Isabel had the distinct impression he was seeing something besides the shadows cast from the flickering torches that lined the hall. She knew she was right a moment later when she caught the dim glimmer of a human aura. A woman’s figure resolved out of the darkness. The female who approached them wore only a satin robe and thin slippers. She was obviously naked beneath the thin fabric. She ran a cool, hard look over Isabel.

“Don’t waste your time. He’s in a mood. Doesn’t want female company, he was clear about that.”

“He must be a great fool, then.”

Isabel let out a small squeak of shock at the deep, seductive male voice that came from just behind her right shoulder. Aubrey Cane’s gray eyes were directly on her when she turned, although he had obviously been responding to the woman in the skimpy robe. He smiled. Isabel gave a sigh of relief when she saw his teeth were straight and even, the incisors she’d witnessed earlier nowhere in evidence.

His smile widened, as though he’d perfectly read her thoughts.

“My Lord,” Jessie said, clearly almost as surprised as Isabel had been by Aubrey’s unexpected presence. “I had not realized…that is…I thought you were organizing the patrols for this evening in the detail room.”

“I was. Tunnel patrols are off,” Aubr