Rosetta had followed him everywhere since. She even kept the cast on her leg long after it healed in case he spotted her. The more she watched him, the deeper he crawled into her heart. His compassionate care for his patients fascinated her as well. He seemed to be too good to be a real person. Indeed, the man had a passion and capability for love that eclipsed that of the usual mortal man.
John Polidori never lacked bed partners, male and female, and he treated all with tenderness and regard from the beginning to the end of his affairs. Before she became fully aware of the fact, Rosetta found herself longing to be one of those who came into his arms. Unfortunately, his current lover was the tempestuous poet, Lord Byron. And when the arrogant bastard sent her dearest John fleeing back to London to nurse his broken heart, Rosetta’s urge to kill the poet was terrifying in its viciousness. But it was forbidden to kill a mortal in these times when modern science threatened to reveal her kind.
So she contented herself with watching over John like a dark guardian angel, aching with desire to comfort him as he plunged himself deeper and deeper into debt with his drinking and gambling, trying to drown his sorrow. While he slept, she’d slip into his room to stand over him and watch the lines of worry smooth from his handsome face. Every night she whispered words of love and encouragement to him, urging him to continue to write and support himself. After awhile, her will seemed to affect him, for he had pulled out his parchment at last. But this time, John did not pen another poem but a story—a story about a vampire.
Her heart thudded in her breast as she spied the story’s title page. Could he know? She gave his slumbering form a worried glance before scooping up his pages and fleeing to her lair to discover what secrets he’d gleaned of her kind.
Rosetta devoured Polidori’s tale in less than an hour. As she read, her terror dissolved into gales of surprised laughter. This wasn’t a story about her kind at all! The work was a satire, albeit a morbid sort of parody. The so-called “vampyre” was in truth a symbol for Lord Byron’s dissolute and sometimes perverse nature.
She hugged the pages to her chest, shoulders still shaking in mirth. Why, “The Vampyre” was a work of genius! And best of all, it was the perfect way for John to thumb his nose at Lord Byron. All of England would be laughing at the man who broke Polidori’s heart if they read the tale. The local vampires would have a good chuckle as well. Rosetta returned the story to John and whispered to him that he should publish it at once. Unfortunately, he heeded her words. And that was only the first thing to go wrong.
When Polidori anonymously published his story, vampires became Europe’s favorite trend. Nobody seemed to realize that the story was a satire. The local populace of blood drinkers were irritated, especially the Lord of London. He thought the story was about him! And to Rosetta’s everlasting fury, the tale was mistakenly accredited to Lord Byron. However, when the Duke of Burnrath made a trip to Italy to make discreet inquiries about the man, Rosetta was relieved, for he would be looking in the wrong direction. Though the Lord of London seemed more annoyed than enraged about the story, she was worried that it had attracted his notice at all.
Her heart clenched in agony with the knowledge that she wasn’t old enough to have the power to Mark the man she loved. If she were able, he would belong to her and all others of her kind would know that to harm him would incur her undying wrath. He could be her mortal companion and eventually she could petition her lord to Change John. Then they could be together forever, and her love would be safe. But after what she’d done, her hope for such an easy solution lay in tatters.
Her worries bore fruit when Lord Burnrath convened with all of his vampires one night. Not only had he discovered the identity of the author of “The Vampyre,” but he was furious about the story’s growing popularity and the suspicions it created regarding his identity. Since he mingled with the mortals of the haut ton as the Duke of Burnrath, his reputation was in danger. Rosetta fought back feelings of guilt. In truth, he was a fair, if not kind, Lord Vampire.
“I want you all to search for this Dr. Polidori,” the duke had commanded, his powerful strides circling them all. “When you find him, bring to me alive. Until this matter is resolved, all petitions to change territories will be held in abeyance. I need all of you with me now.”