“Mark my words, I will use something much, much stronger than smelling salts,” came a growl in Miss Tarabotti’s left ear. The voice was low and tinged with a hint of Scotland. It would have caused Alexia to shiver and think primal monkey thoughts about moons and running far and fast, if she’d had a soul. Instead it caused her to sigh in exasperation and sit up.
“And a good evening to you, too, Lord Maccon. Lovely weather we are having for this time of year, is it not?” She patted at her hair, which was threatening to fall down without the hair stick in its proper place. Surreptitiously, she looked about for Lord Conall Maccon’s second in command, Professor Lyall. Lord Maccon tended to maintain a much calmer temper when his Beta was present. But, then, as Alexia had come to comprehend, that appeared to be the main role of a Beta—especially one attached to Lord Maccon.
“Ah, Professor Lyall, how nice to see you again.” She smiled in relief.
Professor Lyall, the Beta in question, was a slight, sandy-haired gentleman of indeterminate age and pleasant disposition, as agreeable, in fact, as his Alpha was sour. He grinned at her and doffed his hat, which was of first-class design and sensible material. His cravat was similarly subtle, for, while it was tied expertly, the knot was a humble one.
“Miss Tarabotti, how delicious to find ourselves in your company once more.” His voice was soft and mild-mannered.
“Stop humoring her, Randolph,” barked Lord Maccon. The fourth Earl of Woolsey was much larger than Professor Lyall and in possession of a near-permanent frown. Or at least he always seemed to be frowning when he was in the presence of Miss Alexia Tarabotti, ever since the hedgehog incident (which really, honestly, had not been her fault). He also had unreasonably pretty tawny eyes, mahogany-colored hair, and a particularly nice nose. The eyes were currently glaring at Alexia from a shockingly intimate distance.
“Why is it, Miss Tarabotti, every time I have to clean up a mess in a library, you just happen to be in the middle of it?”
introducing
If you enjoyed
PURE BLOODED
look out for
GOD SAVE THE QUEEN
The Immortal Empire: Book 1
by Kate Locke
Queen Victoria rules with an immortal fist.
The undead matriarch of a Britain where the aristocracy is made up of werewolves and vampires, where goblins live underground and mothers know better than to let their children out after dark. A world where being nobility means being infected with the plague (side effects include undeath), hysteria is the popular affliction of the day, and leeches are considered a delicacy. And a world where technology lives side by side with magic. The year is 2012.
Xandra Vardan is a member of the elite Royal Guard, and it is her duty to protect the aristocracy. But when her sister goes missing, Xandra will set out on a path that undermines everything she believed in and will uncover a conspiracy that threatens to topple the empire. And she is the key—the prize in a very dangerous struggle.
CHAPTER 1
Pomegranates Full and Fine
London, 175 years into the reign of Her Ensanguined Majesty Queen Victoria
I hate goblins.
And when I say hate, I mean they bloody terrify me. I’d rather French-kiss a human with a mouth full of silver fillings than pick my way through the debris and rubble that used to be Down Street station, searching for the entrance to the plague den.
It was eerily quiet underground. The bustle of cobbleside was little more than a distant clatter down here. The roll of carriages, the clack of horse hooves from the Mayfair traffic was faint, occasionally completely drowned out by the roar of ancient locomotives raging through the subterranean tunnels carrying a barrage of smells in their bone-jangling wake.
Dirt. Decay. Stone. Blood.
I picked my way around a discarded shopping trolley, and tried to avoid looking at a large paw print in the dust. One of them had been here recently–the drops of blood surrounding the print were still fresh enough for me to smell the coppery tang. Human.
As I descended the stairs to platform level, my palms skimmed over the remaining chipped and pitted cream and maroon tiles that covered the walls–a grim reminder that this… mausoleum was once a thriving hub of urban transportation.
The light of my torch caught an entire set of paw prints, and the jagged pits at the end where claws had dug into the steps. I swallowed, throat dry.
Of course they ventured up this far–the busted sconces were proof. They couldn’t always sit around and wait for some stupid human to come to them–they had to hunt. Still, the sight of those prints and the lingering scent of human blood made my chest tight.