Blood Rose. Sharon Page

leaned into the doorway, his silver-blond hair wild around his face.

      Serena almost fell back against the books as Sommersby pulled away from her.

      She grabbed at the shelf—a few volumes tumbled to the floor around her feet. She glanced down—one book had fallen open over her slipper. On the cover was one embossed word. Lukos.

      She bent and grabbed it.

      “Hell.” Sommersby scooped his arm around her waist and hauled her up. He lifted her over the fallen books.

      Struggling, she tried to break free of his grip. “I can’t go. Not yet! There might be something here.”

      But Sommersby carried her back to the anteroom—their only way out.

      A vampire was climbing out of the small tunnel. Serena saw the vampire’s face, the mouth open wide, fangs pale white. The vampire and Drake Swift met in a crash—Swift’s arm plunged as the vampire’s teeth latched to his already-wounded neck. With an unearthly shriek, the black-clad vampire dropped to the ground.

      “There’s more coming,” Swift yelled. “And we’ve got no way out of here.”

      “There is a way,” Serena cried. “The first door leads to the tunnel, but it goes to the Thames—”

      Swift raced to the door. “Blast! Forgot there’s numbers.” But the lock opened in his hand as he dragged his fingers away. “It’s unlocked.”

      Unlocked? Someone had gone through before them, but Serena raced headlong after Mr. Swift into the room, not caring what she found. Lord Sommersby, on her heels, grasped her shoulder. “Stay at my side, Miss Lark.” As he propelled her forward, she held tight to the book in her hand, her fingernails driving into the leather cover. Mr. Swift ran out ahead, his candle throwing a glow on the masonry walls, on the damp floor. “Where do we go from here?” he called back. “The Thames?”

      Serena’s lungs dragged in air as they ran. Her feet slapped painfully on the wet, rough floor. “T-there’s no other way.”

      “Is there any fork in the tunnels at all? Even a dead end?”

      Serena managed an astonished stare at Lord Sommersby. “There might be…. There is a church above with…with some catacombs.” She panted the words out. If it weren’t for Sommersby’s grip on her arm she would have fallen into the muck. Her knees ached from the crawl. Her slippers slid sloppily on her feet as she tried to keep running.

      “Can you find the catacombs?” his lordship demanded.

      “But then what?”

      “We double back, Miss Lark,” he answered. “And go back through the brothel.”