Covet the Night, page 11
A mild noise of alarm gurgled from Brit’s throat as she eyed William warily.
“Britannia,” Liv exclaimed, reaching over Becca to clasp one of Brit’s hands. “Are you all right? You look ill, ma chérie.”
Brit shook her head. “It’s just so hot down here.” She waved a hand briskly in front of her face and chest to create a breeze. “Also”—Brit side-eyed William—“that answer was a bit much, don’t you think, mate? You’re the thing that goes bump in the night for supernaturals? For monsters? You might want to get off that pedestal you’ve put yourself on. Who knows what the drop will do to your head when you fall off.”
A startled gasp erupted from Liv. Her hand clenched Brit’s in rebuke as her glossy gray eyes hardened. “Mind your manners. William is under no obligation to answer our questions. Don’t be so rude.”
Brit’s upper lip curled. “You call those answers?”
Liv’s mouth dropped open, and she snatched her hand back like she’d been scalded.
“What Liv is trying to say is stop being a bitch.” Clearly channeling her inner Madame Roux, Antonia delivered her remark with a wintry chill. “Perhaps you should go to bed. The night’s festivities have caught up with you.”
“I’m fine,” Brit responded, the slight catch in her voice lending a desperate, unattractive edge to her assurance. Gwen shared a concerned frown with Becca that did not go unnoticed by Brit. “I’m fine,” she stated more firmly, tossing her hair over her shoulders and standing taller. She gripped the table. “It’s the champagne and the heat and all that fucking noise.”
Brit glared over her shoulder at the mayhem.
A sorcerer in deep purple robes and a couple of vampyrés were trying to mitigate the conflict. One of them was the handsome gentleman from the bar. He wore a placid expression as one of the sorceresses argued her point to him with a flurry of hand movements that ended in a damning pointed finger at the shifters. Whatever response was given did little to calm the ruby sorceress. The air grew heavier with conflict. It pressed in from all sides, begging for someone to enact a firmer type of resolution before it was too late.
A firmer resolution or bloodshed, whichever came first.
Gwen startled at the soft graze of fingertips running up and down her spine. She spun wide eyes toward William in askance. He gazed down at her somberly, fingers continuing their mindless pursuit. He considered the scene, then turned back to Gwen. His eyes lingered on her lips unwittingly.
"Don't worry," he said. "They're not stupid enough to let their squabble boil over. The Cellar is neutral ground."
Brit scoffed, but the other women, Gwen included, sagged with relief.
William increased the pressure of his fingers and began to rub small circles over the knots he found. He could scarcely believe he was being allowed such intimacies—especially since the young woman at the back of the booth was glaring daggers at him. He wouldn't be surprised if she yanked Gwen away from him.
Gwen arched her back with a little moan, leaning against his touch. The sound made his mouth water, and his pants tighten uncomfortably. It must be something in the air, he decided, nostrils flaring at the finer hints of spice and magic coiling together in the tucked-away bar. Whatever it was, he hoped it lasted longer. Or at least long enough to get his soulmark alone.
Somewhere in her more rational state, Gwen knew these little liberties would be hard to walk back. Her compliance now was the definition of mixed signals, especially since she planned to go back to despising William tomorrow. But for now… for now, she would allow his touch to anchor her away from the stirring chaos.
"So, William." Antonia's smile was brittle, her words brisk and businesslike. "When were you turned?"
"In 1869. I was thirty-two."
Antonia hummed, her smile turning bittersweet with an emphasis on the bitter. "I'll be eternally twenty," she said with a bat of her eyelashes.
Gwen shifted uncomfortably under her icy regard, slipping forward in an attempt to distance herself from William's hand without success.
"That's quite young to be deciding the rest of your life, undead or otherwise, don't you think?"
"I would have happily died and been reborn at sixteen."
"I see," William murmured only loud enough for Gwen to hear. "And what of the rest of you?" He swung his gaze to Liv.
"A lady never tells."
William bit back a grin and dragged his eyes to Becca without a word.
"Twenty-three."
"You're twenty-three?" Gwen blinked in surprise. "You look older—but only by a year or two."
Becca smiled tightly back.
"I'd ask your friend, but she seems preoccupied," William said, bypassing Brit, who was engrossed in the goings-on of the argument still happening. He looked down at Gwen. "How about you, then? If you give me anything less than twenty-five, I'll have myself a heart attack."
A blush rose to her cheeks despite her attempt to stay cool and collected. She blamed the champagne. "Twenty-eight."
"So old," Antonia commented under her breath.
A sting of hurt and anger pierced Gwen.
"So juvenile."
Antonia colored at the quick snap of Gwen's retort, her lips pressing into a thin line.
"I see that sharp tongue of yours doesn't dull with alcohol." The amusement present in William's voice tickled Gwen's ear as he ducked his head to whisper his confession. His palm fell flush against her skin, falling lower to sit at the curve of her back.
Antonia and Liv's scrutiny was scalding. Gwen scooted over and sent William a pointed glare of rebuke. His hand vanished from her back with a self-satisfied grin, and he leaned back against the booth, stretching his arms out confidently over its top.
A small explosion jolted the bar.
"Dear God, what was that?" Becca cried.
"Mon coeur!"
Heart racing and senses on high alert, Gwen took in the scene. One of the sorcerers in the citrine robes' wand was pointed at a random sorcerer decked out in dazzling sapphire robes. A gaping hole smoldered before his feet. The sorcerer looked as shocked as the rest of the room before morphing into anger. Without a word, a staff came hurtling from its seat against the wall and into his waiting palm. The room was eerily silent, save for the parakeets, who shrieked in fright.
"We should leave, non?" Liv tried valiantly to catch anyone's eye.
"Give 'em a minute to sort it out. Drunk sorcerers aren't exactly known for their stamina when it comes to performing magic," William said.
Gwen's eyes were glued to the scene as a frisson of thrill eclipsed her nerves. The room itself waited with bated breath for their next move, eager to watch the sorcerers’ fight play out.
"And what about sober?" Gwen asked, counting the sorcerers and sorceresses in the room. Three. Six. Eight. Eleven.
"Depends on skill level and patron. There have been some fights that went on for days."
"Days?"
Their eyes met. The room's mounting tension lingered in the space between them, translating into a different kind of heat. Desire flashed through Gwen. She saw it mirrored in William's heavy-lidded copper regard. Something tickled her, fanning the flames of a perverse desire to be taken across the table as the world around them devolved into chaos and bloodshed. She shivered coarsely as the image played out in her mind, focusing not on their depraved passion but on the ferocious fight to take place around them, fought by tooth, nail, and claw.
Screams would echo all around them.
Blood would douse their naked bodies.
The bar would burn down. Everything would burn down.
Gwen shuddered an exhalation as she shook herself from her strange lust for violence. What has gotten into me? Is this the sorcerer's magic, or did the Dark Court cast its own spell?
She didn't realize she'd placed her hand on William until his own covered hers. The thirst for the fight had dimmed from his eyes as well.
"We should go," Gwen said against her innate desire to stay.
William frowned but nodded.
"Aye, something’s not right here. I can feel it in my gut. The sorcerer's magic is warping our emotions somehow. I know their kind likes to be the center of attention, but this is a bit much. Even for me."
"Let's get out of here." The firm set of Gwen's voice garnered no reaction from the other initiates.
William's growl did, at least for the majority.
"We're leaving. Can't have you girls going back to the Roux with a scratch on you, or they'll have my head."
Liv nodded dumbly back at William. She looked as if she was having a difficult time shaking the effects of whatever magic permeated the room. Becca as well; her chest was breaking out in hives. Liv cursed as she caught sight of the bodily reaction and hugged Becca to her.
"Come on. We’re leaving this place." Liv began to usher Becca out of the booth, tossing an anxious frown over her shoulder at Antonia. "Are you coming?"
Gwen glanced at Antonia. She was panting with her eyes shut tight. Gwen reached out to her, even as William tugged on her arm to depart. When Antonia opened her eyes, Gwen was prepared to see the same lust for conflict she'd witnessed in William's, not fear. Her eyes were dilated in undeniable dread.
"We're leaving," Gwen said and held out her hand to Antonia.
Swallowing roughly, the younger woman clasped Gwen's hand.
And then the lights went out.
VII
"I
t's okay," Gwen breathed, even though everything certainly was not.
Antonia's hand clamped down harder on Gwen's.
"Everything is not all right. We shouldn't have come here. I can't believe you dragged us all here."
"Seriously?"
Gwen dimly registered the emergence of candlelight sprouting up more than a dozen spaces around the bar to offer illumination. All she felt was ire and anger as Antonia came back into view. The woman's face was pale but mounting with the same fury Gwen felt in blotchy patches of red all over her own face. She squeezed Antonia's hand just as tightly until the other woman gasped in outrage. She wanted to—
No.
Antonia whimpered, and Gwen released her immediately at the sound. "I'm sorry," she apologized with undue haste. "I'm so sorry. The magic…. I didn't mean to."
"Are you insane?" Antonia demanded. "Move!"
But she couldn't. William blocked her path at the very edge of the bench.
"We need to leave," Gwen shouted, pushing on his back as the voices in the room reached a fever pitch. There was a strange smoke billowing across the floor like dry ice. The plume of white was obscuring everything from view from the knee down. A streak of green sparks shot through the air, shattering a decorative vase to the right of their group.
A bawdy cheer arose, followed by a frantic scream. It was the scream's piercing quality that at once changed the tenor of the room. The lust for fighting and bloodshed gave way in one fell swoop to fear.
"William!"
Gwen's hands fastened on one of William's thick biceps, trying to twist him around. He didn't budge an inch.
Wood snapped and splintered directly beside her. With a shriek of terror, Gwen jerked back, using her forearm to shield herself from the small chunks of wood that flew in every direction. Antonia's scream rang out next as they discovered the source of their table's partial destruction. It was Brit.
Her head was ducked, her chest heaving. The wreckage of their table was held in her bleeding hands.
"Dear God," Antonia quavered and scrambled to the back of the booth.
Gwen was frozen in fear.
The world around her was downshifting over and over again, pulling the sudden surge of violence around her into hyper focus. Voices pitched over one another, shouting directions and cursing all as one. Growls and cries of pain broke through the vehement outcries, pulling her eyes this way and that to track the carnage. Punches were thrown. Fangs carved into unprotected flesh. Gwen smelled blood and fire and the pungent sweetness of ether.
She clapped a hand over the lower half of her face as a rush of light-headedness hit her. What are we going to do? William was rooted to the spot, his back facing her as his body shook uncontrollably. Antonia was huddled in the back seat, blocking her only other means of escape. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Becca and Liv scramble out of the booth. They clung to each other as they avoided the worst of the fighting.
"Oh God," Becca moaned.
Amid the spiraling commotion, Gwen returned her regard to Brit. Her stomach plummeted at the sight. Head still bowed, Brit's chest rose and fell rapidly, but more concerning was the lambent spot of orangish red growing over her heart. Gwen desperately hoped it was just her eyes playing tricks on her.
"We aren't leaving," Brit said calmly. Somehow her voice carried clearly amid the storm. Throat bobbing, Gwen reached out once more to William. His shaking came to an abrupt halt at her hesitant touch. "The party's just started."
There was little time to react to what came next.
What started off as a deranged cackle pivoted to a lunge at her person. Gwen screamed, her fright torn between the impending assault and the black abyss which had taken over Brit's eyes. Flight, fight, or freeze—Gwen was hopelessly stuck in the latter, unable to drag her eyes away from the raw hunger on Brit's face.
Death raced to meet her, but it was no match for William.
Faster than Brit could ever be, William caught her around the waist and threw her to the ground. It took several seconds for Gwen to process the action. The noise of the cellar was thunderous. Flashes of light seared her irises. And William… he'd spun around, at last, to face them with eyes consumed by vampyric silver.
He held out a hand to Gwen. "I won't hurt ya, sweet. Come on, take my hand." When she hesitated, he let out a plaintive whine. "It's the blood and magic. Nothing more. I won't hurt you; I swear. I'll never hurt you, Gwendolyn."
Something in his fevered declaration made her heart skip a beat. It cut through the stifling heat pressing in on her from all sides. Gwen took his hand, but not before twisting to grab Antonia.
"Let's go!"
A yelp shot out of Gwen's throat as she was roughly pulled out of the booth with Antonia's weight hanging on her hand. Gwen would have collapsed into William's chest if she'd not been unceremoniously yanked back. She yelped again, but it was overtaken by Antonia's bone-chilling scream as she was ripped from her grasp.
Nearly tripping over her skirts and heels, Gwen twisted to see Antonia pinned against the table. Brit's hands were wrapped around her throat. Fight, flight, or freeze? Gwen's body made the decision for her, launching itself from William's hold to tackle Brit. Her arms locked around Brit’s waist, and Gwen let her momentum take them down.
They hit the ground with a thud. Gwen groaned as the air rushed out of her. Her arms loosened as pain reverberated through her body. Lying on the ground with the strange smoke rolling over them, the chaos of above was muffled. Gwen's panic only heightened as Brit shoved against her. With her feet caught up in the torrent of skirts between them, Gwen lost all leverage. Brit escaped and delivered a kick to Gwen's stomach.
Gwen choked on her cry. The layer of smoke was thick, and her lungs ached as she curled into a ball. She could barely see, and with her other senses muffled as well, she was quickly becoming disoriented. What’s happening above? What’s happening beneath the smoke?
A bolt of panic seized her as a pained groan rumbled through the fog, followed by a thud that sounded close by—too close. Something hot and slick accumulated on the floor, coating Gwen's side and seeping through her clothes.
Her mind refused to acknowledge what that something was because the real threat was staring at her in the form of a handsome face and blackened eyes.
It was the man from the bar, the vampyré who’d shared a drink with Brit. The smoke fell off him in undulating waves.
She needed to move. Now.
The liquid warmth collecting under and around her was growing. It made the ground slick, and she fell, limbs sprawled out in all directions. Move, move, move! Her feet found purchase, and with a shove from her elbow, she was halfway up when he pounced. Gwen's scream was muted by an ice-cold hand. Frostbitten breath swept over her ear and neck, followed shortly by the shadow touch of lips and a nose.
"You smell like heaven."
Gwen shuddered, and the vampyré went still in response.
Bad idea. Very bad idea, she decided as fingers dug into her cheek. She whimpered at the vampyré’s intense focus. Tears fell down her cheeks in rapid succession, even as the deranged vampyré was ripped from atop her.
"William!"
"Put your arms around my neck, sweet—that's a good girl. Now, hold on tight." William grunted as he picked her up and dodged bodies and flashes of light to get through the crowd. The blood was heavier in the air above the smoke's domain, as was the magic. It pricked at Gwen's skin, making her acutely aware of her vulnerability and mortality. She hated it.
"Hurry up!" William yelled over his shoulder.
Tipping her gaze behind them, she glimpsed a few of the other initiates. Gwen sobbed her relief, ducking her head against William's shoulder as she tried and failed to catch her breath.
"Where are we going?" Gwen asked.
He peered down. She'd managed to make herself as small as possible in his arms. The sight made his gut tighten. He held her closer.
"We're leaving."
Gwen paused. "But the elevator—"
"There's a couple of private exits and entrances to this place," William explained as he swiped away broken glass and debris from the bar top before setting Gwen on it. "Off you go. Get behind—duck!"
His body covered her in the span of a blink, then jerked at whatever misfire hit him. William released a growl as he gently nudged her over to the other side of the bar.
