Wicked Lord: Part One

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  Trinity guided his black stallion to a halt beside Church's pure white stallion. "I wasn't asking for help yet." Trinity's voice was low as his yellow-rimmed, blue eyes flashed toward Church. His voice was modulated so perhaps his brothers, Christian and Baptiste, wouldn't hear as they settled their horses a bit behind them.

  "I'd not keep those two on a leash long and let you have all the fun," Church replied, his voice level as he nodded toward their two siblings. Yet Church's voice, even devoid of inflection, held a multitude of command. Perhaps it was because he knew Church so well, Trinity thought, releasing his irritation as a lost cause. He simply didn't care for his brothers miring themselves in foulness when they'd already lived through such malevolence at their Sire's hands. He wanted it to be his mantel to now take on and leave them free. Trinity shifted in his saddle. In the end, it might be an idiotic desire he had for his brothers, who were vampires after all, yet he couldn't rid himself of it.

  "I've no problem sending them back." His voice was gravelly as he sneered and held his stomping stallion steady.

  "It's brothers Blacknall, not brother Blacknall." Church glared at him with a stubborn tilt to his masculine face; a face most humans would call menacing even through its compelling handsomeness.

  Trinity sighed, looking out into the pitchy woods in front of them. He wondered why he trained so hard to take on most of these burdens, and then Church refused to allow him his head in these matters.

  "There's no blood-scent," Baptiste advised them.

  "I don't detect a thing," Christian added.

  "Not even the smell of the hunt," Church finished.

  Then, Trinity saw all three of his brothers' gazes turning toward him.

  "I feel her," he spoke softly, looking to the west.

  "Her?" All three brothers spoke as one, in varying degrees of acerbic puzzlement.

  Trinity's eyes narrowed into slits and he nearly let out a foul snarl. Let them wonder, he thought. He wondered. But he'd felt her the moment her terror had ripened.

  "West," he snapped, turning his stallion into a sudden gallop. Let them wonder and keep up. He had no time for their questions. Questions he couldn't answer.

  A hard gallop later, Trinity knew they all now smelled the blood of a fresh kill as he halted his stallion and swung down from his saddle. The moment his boots touched the ground he began to sprint forward.

  "Trinity, where are you going? Wait!"

  Trinity looked over his shoulder at Baptiste, giving him a sharp growl, but not stopping his forward run. He knew the woods were a swatch of forest behind a long cobble-stoned lane of noble-owned mansions on Kings Row. The tract of woods was wide and eventually yielded into a large park by the Rothberry Road.

  His thick, dark-blond hair whipped about his head and upper shoulders as he ran. He could track straight for the fresh blood, or he could race toward the terrified woman, who was still alive.

  Chapter Four