Capturing the Devil (Stalking Jack the Ripper #4)(106)

Bloodlust. If it was his drug of choice, it would become mine. Tenfold.

The Ripper might have been practicing his dark arts these last few months, but so had I. I hadn’t sat idly by, waiting for him to sink his talons into someone else. While he honed his deadly seduction, I’d done the very same. He was a tool

for murder, but I’d mastered ways to hunt monsters. I was no longer the na?ve, lonely girl who’d snuck about the London streets those many months ago. I now knew monsters were never satisfied. Thomas had been right all along—one taste of warm blood was never enough.

Every case that had come before this was practice—lessons in confronting the ultimate villain and defeating him. I’d lost my innocence and refusal to see the truth of people during the first Ripper investigation. Studying in Dracula’s castle taught me to trust in myself, no matter how hard it was to see through distractions. While sailing on that cursed ocean liner, I’d played a role that convinced everyone, even Thomas, that my affections had shifted. I’d mastered emotional manipulation; I’d become a living sleight of hand.

Once upon a time, I’d sworn I’d be something better. That I’d never kill. That my work was only meant to help keep people alive. Now I’d seen enough of the world to know sometimes in order to fight darkness, you had to become a blade forged of heavenly fire.

The devil was a monster, but I would become his nightmare.

“If it’s a war you crave,” I whispered to the demon I couldn’t see, “I’ll bring the battle to you.”

Part of me worried I’d lose my nerve. One ounce of fear or show of mercy would cost me more than my own life. It would damn those I loved most. I’d lost my brother to this depraved creature; I’d set up a queendom in Hell if he dared to touch Thomas or Uncle again.

Now was the time to confront my own demons.

I searched my heart for weakness, finding none. I was going to end this. I’d be the one who’d stick a blade into the Ripper’s flesh, twisting until my hands were covered in his sins.

Thomas tossed back and forth, disturbed and feverish even in sleep. No matter how much I wanted him with me while I confronted Satan himself, I loved Thomas too much to involve him in this most treacherous pursuit. I was hunting the devil, and when I found him, I’d cut out his blackened heart.

“W-Wads—W-Wadsworth…”

I pressed my lips to his forehead, frowning at the dampness I found. His fever had finally broken. I pushed a few strands of hair back from his face, wishing I didn’t have to leave him in such a state. His eyes fluttered open. It took him a moment, but he slowly reached for me, a slight tremor going through his arm.

He was still so terribly pale. I swallowed a wave of emotion down. It would only make him worry if he read the fear in my face.

“Wadsworth? Are you really here?” He dropped his hand, his head rolling to the side. “I dreamed…”

“Shhh.” I smoothed his hair back. “I’m right here, Thomas.”

His chest rose and fell, his breaths jagged and uneven. I moved my hand down to his wrist, subtly checking his pulse. It was still too weak for my liking, though it was slightly improved. But not by much. Thomas was not free from death’s grasp yet.

“I dreamed you were trapped in a castle,” he said, his shallow breaths coming faster, “belowground. There were bodies and bats. Monsters. I saw… I saw the devil, Audrey Rose.”

I pressed my lips to his temple; his skin felt like flames. It ignited the blaze I needed to consume lingering fears. I would murder the man who’d harmed my family. I would not be merciful. “It’s only a memory, Thomas. An awful memory. We’re not in Bran Castle anymore. We’re in Chicago. Do you remember taking the train here? Or the Etruria?”

“Don’t leave me.” He felt around for my hand, unable to open his eyes.

“Please. Promise you won’t leave me.”

“Never.” I stared at the cloth and bottle of chloroform I’d uncorked and set on the nightstand an hour earlier. He was too weak for me to use it on him now. I wanted him to sleep, not die by my own wretched hand. He thrashed around, his nightshirt soaked through. I added another blanket to the bed, tucking him in as tightly as I could manage.

“Wadsworth. Wadsworth. You must promise. Don’t leave me.”

“Only in death.” I stroked his hair until his breathing calmed. “Even then I will not leave your side. I hope you don’t mind being haunted.”

His lips twitched, but a smile never fully formed on his troublesome mouth. I waited a few moments, not wanting to stop running my fingers through his soft hair.

“But there is something I must do,” I whispered as the slow, steady, rhythmic sounds of sleep drifted through the room, “and I have to leave you here. There’s one journey I must take on my own. When I return, I promise we will never be apart again. Not if God wills it.”

I waited a few more beats, watching and listening to his breathing. His sleep was deep now, and I doubted he’d wake until midday tomorrow. I memorized the shape of his face, the bone structure I’d been taken with from the moment I’d first set my attention on him.

In Uncle’s class, I’d thought he reminded me of a painting or sculpture done



by da Vinci. All angles and lines; strong and sharp enough to carve a person’s heart out if they ventured too close. A smile started at the edges of my lips. I’d fought so hard against falling for him, never realizing I’d already been laid out on the ground, staring up into my future.