Covet the Night, page 15
The younger demon hissed at them as they filed out, but it was Kat, the Grecian demoness, who acted. As Liv brought up the rear and trailed up the steps last with a cocky swing of her hips, Kat grabbed her upper arm. Liv's throat bobbed precariously, but any other tell of her nerves was imperceptible as she stopped.
"You're still human," Kat said, her voice reminiscent of an incoming storm, low and ominous. "Don't forget."
"We're heirs to the Roux."
Kat scoffed, the all-encompassing darkness to her eyes seeping away until only sweet honey-brown remained. She let her gaze travel up and down Liv. "You honestly think you're better than us, don't you?"
"It's not a matter of thinking," Liv mused and yanked her arm out of the demoness's hold. "It's knowing."
Without another word, Liv strode away and led them back to the changing room with haste. None spoke as they dried and dressed, though Gwen ached to say something—anything—to relieve the strain featured on their faces. But rather than words of comfort, her curiosity won out.
Gwen cleared her throat. "I thought their eyes were always supposed to be black."
"Nothing is as it seems here," Liv responded, glancing over her shoulder at Gwen before peering back into her empty locker. Her back was hunched, and she clutched the door with white knuckles. "I shouldn't have said that. I've placed a target on our backs and made an enemy for the sisterhood. Forgive me."
"There's nothing to forgive," Becca said, righting the straps of her dress before closing her locker. "You were incredible."
"She certainly was." Becca spun around and found Cassia leaning against the row of lockers. "You all did marvelously. Well, most of you. I expected more from you, Gwendolyn. Has one scolding from Madame already doused your fire?" Cassia tsked. "Finish up, and I'll escort you back."
"Just you?"
Cassia let the silence stretch out uncomfortably at Antonia's question. "Of course," she murmured, barely batting an eye. "No one in this court would dare approach me with hostility. They know my legacy far too well to dare trifle with me." Antonia flushed at the subtle dig. "Now, let's get you back home, my darlings."
Gwen was thankful the journey was made in relative peace. She wasn't certain she had the capacity to hold a conversation, her body aching so badly.
By the time they reached the promenade of the Grand Salon, Gwen had questioned whether her discomfort was from the waning effects of the tincture or the demoness’s pervasive magic. Either way, she hoped Laurel had something to ease the unnatural ache weighing in her bones or something to soften the headache blossoming at the back of her skull—something preferably human-made.
Cassia stopped. The initiates did the same.
Cutting through the main alley of the promenade was a family of seven. The man leading the V-formation was one familiar to Gwen: Jakob Vrana. His blond hair was slicked back and showed off the angry set of his jaw. As the family made a beeline for the staircase heading down, the whispers around the room ticked up in volume.
"Do you think it was Jax?" someone from nearby asked their friend with a scandalized gasp.
"Of course not, Sylvie. Jax has been away from court for ages now. The Vranas are probably being made to act as intermediaries for the other supernaturals. You know how mixed their family is."
"Mixed, muddled, spoiled." A cattish giggle sounded. "They're certainly something."
"Come, girls." Cassia snapped her fingers and stepped into the center alley as the Vrana family reached them. She nodded at Jakob. He paused at the acknowledgment and gave a passing bow, his icy blue irises rimmed in silver, quickly passing over the initiates. Bowing once more, he continued on his warpath.
Cassia gave no inclination that the encounter was anything but normal and glided forward in the opposite direction.
Along the way, more conversations caught Gwen's ear.
"I heard they oppose the new laws."
"Those girls don't stand a chance."
"The Vranas have risen so quickly. Let's see how long it takes for them to fall!"
"No one should have that much power. Especially a vampyré family with two hybrids."
"Do you think we can snack on them before they're turned?"
The comments made Gwen stand taller as the whispers chased after them. Her tongue longed to lash back at the more pointed ones in their direction, but she curbed the urge with her tightly clamped jaw. They'd made enough new enemies that evening and didn't need any more.
IX
A
spirin, Gwen had recently decided, was a godsend. After the mixing magics had taken a toll on her body the previous evening, Laurel had smuggled in a small bottle of aspirin for Gwen the following dusk. Laurel worried whether the human medicine would react negatively with the tincture, but Gwen didn't care. She only wanted the ache in her body to go away, even if relief lasted only a little while.
Within an hour of popping two pills, it had. With no side effects showing after the second hour, Laurel's stress had evaporated and turned into giddy excitement for the night's agenda: the fight of the century.
Twenty years ago, the Mubarks, a Major Household of the Dark Court, had been exiled and executed for treason, and the Royal Households confiscated their small collection of sunlight rings. After several months of debate, they decreed a fighting tournament would be held every five years. The rings were set as the ultimate prize. All the houseless courtiers could apply, but only one member from the Minor and Major Households was allowed entry to fight for their household.
And tonight, the last ring was up for grabs.
It was Gwen's first time in the famed Pits of the Dark Court, and she was greedily taking in the atmosphere and sights. Three large dugouts dominated the room, each placed in its own corner and framed with steep grandstands. The largest among the dugouts would host the night's fights, and every seat was taken.
Shifters, sorcerers, and vampyrés packed the grandstands. She even spotted a few obsidian eyes among those standing in the wings. Her gaze did not dare linger. Blood, new and old, filled the air, but the collective anticipation was even thicker.
Gwen's gaze swung to the ceiling, where owls, ravens, and an array of falcons clambered for space on the rafters. The avian spectators pointedly avoided the beams sporting meat hooks unfettered by fleshly adornments. She swallowed uncomfortably. The wicked instruments looked medieval next to the gaudy candlelit chandeliers, but they weren't the gaudiest.
The Habsburgs resembled peacocks in their shades of gleaming blue and evergreen. Though they managed to ditch their outdated ballroom attire for more modern pantsuits and A-line dresses, an antiquated touch still lingered about them. Vampyrés were notably pale, but not that pale. They’d powdered their faces like it was the 17th or 18th century. Gwen thought the Pulzins, in their navy crushed velvet jackets and coiffed beards, a bit gauche as well, for the vampyré family of all men. But what weight did her opinions hold with a family of vampyrés that wore red religiously and renamed themselves after flowers?
"I was hoping we'd get to sit in the box." Becca's shoulder brushed against Gwen's as she leaned forward and looked to one of three private boxes at the far end of the room. They were new additions to the pits and could hold only a handful of people each.
"They take turns." Gwen grinned and shook her head. "You know that. They're not going to let us jump ahead in line when we aren't even vampyrés yet."
"Wishful thinking," Becca muttered but mirrored Gwen's grin. The other American was growing on her. Becca was smart and had a sharp sense of humor. Plus, her brand of confidence was in stark contrast to Liv's showy nature and Antonia's over-domineering one, making her easy to talk to.
Becca hummed softly as she narrowed her eyes on a couple in the Roux box. Gwen didn't have to follow her line of sight to know who she was staring at. Danica stood arm in arm with Hans at the box's banister, peering down at the masses with blank expressions. Upon first sighting them herself, Gwen had noticed their color coordination of matching black and signature red embellishment: a silken ruby pocket square for Hans and a sparkling sequined hourglass print along Danica's torso to accentuate her curves.
Gwen muttered their names with a shake of her head.
"Does your sister line have anything to say about them?" Becca queried.
A smirk tugged at the corner of Gwen's mouth. "Does yours?"
"Cassia is centuries old. She always has something to say." Becca purposefully bumped shoulders with Gwen as they kept their sights strictly on the duo. "Come on, I asked first."
"I know that their ongoing relationship is a bit too close for comfort for some of our soon-to-be sisters."
"Danica and Hans have been together for years. It's quite uncommon for a Roux to keep a prominent lover for that long. Then again, Orchid's sister line is rather known for its tragic love stories. 'Black widows.'" Becca used air quotes around the term with an eye roll. "Except for Danica. That's where William got the term, you know?"
Gwen played it cool and nodded along. He'd called them bloodthirsty sirens and black widows.
Hans placed a kiss on Danica's temple. The strawberry blonde beamed for the entire court to see. Off to the side, the sisters who shared the box with the lovesick couple sent not-so-subtle glares at the pair.
"They say it was his persistence that won her over. She went on a trip above ground a few years ago, and he followed her."
"How did he get in the Dark Court?"
Becca tossed both shoulders up. "No idea. Sold his soul? Spent every last dollar to his name? They've been together ever since. Talk about channeling your inner siren to bewitch a man so thoroughly. He willingly puts himself at the bottom of the food chain for you. Danica might be a fool in love, but her seduction technique is clearly top-notch."
Gwen held back a laugh at Becca's admiring yet clinical tone.
As Becca caught her eye, Gwen's amusement let loose in a short chuckle. She shook her head and said playfully, "I don't think the length of their relationship is the problem." Gwen didn't elaborate further, though Becca's sidelong glance begged for an explanation.
Gwen's mind drew back to a few short hours ago when Lily had ranted about the scandal of Hans in the Roux box. For a household known for its intense devotion to one another, the invitation to Hans would surely make a statement about where one Roux member's loyalties lay. Lily had only calmed after Poppy had spoken with her privately.
A phantom wind rustled the hem of Gwen's pants. The skin at her ankles puckered as it blew past and extinguished several of the candlelit chandeliers, save the largest above the main fighting pit. She sat straighter to see past the many heads and shoulders in her line of view. A vibrant cheer scored the crowd. Gwen scanned the arena to see what all the fuss was about. A man walked confidently to the fighting pit’s edge in leather pants and a billowy white shirt adorned with a large fleur-de-lis. Behind his snowy white beard, a wide smile greeted the crowd that shone all the way to his eyes, which were lined thick with vampyric silver.
Count Delacroix.
He'd quoted Lord Byron to her the night of the initiates ball and made several passes at Cassia despite Madame Roux’s interventions to redirect his admiration her way.
"Welcome, all," he called once the cheering lessened. "Tonight, the battle for daylight comes to an epic conclusion with Hugo de Armas facing off against William 'the Beast' Gunwyn!"
Gwen was struck breathless as the grandstand shook with the crowd's glee. She clutched the end of her seat as she fought to inhale and exhale calmly.
"Hey, are you okay?" Gwen nodded hastily and graced Becca with her most sincere smile. Becca's forehead wrinkled. "Um… I think you might be—"
"Oh." Gwen ducked her head and swiped discreetly at her nose. Her finger came away wet, and she sniffed back the small amount of blood, trying to make its way out.
"Are you sure—"
"I'm totally fine!" Gwen said even as she continued to sniffle and pinch the soft part of her nose. "There's just something in the air down here, you know. It's my second nosebleed since arriving."
Becca blinked back at her, but when Gwen finally sat up, she rushed to offer a comforting smile. "I totally get it. The air can be a bit musty, right? Especially on the lower levels." Gwen's returning smile was shaky at best, and Becca leaned in close. "Don't worry; I totally get freaking out a bit." She pulled a face that made her neck go taut and lips stretch painfully back. "Blood. Vampyrés. But at least it looks like you got it to stop."
"Thanks," Gwen said, straightening self-consciously. The crowd's cheering had only just died down again, and those around the pair remained happily oblivious to the matter, probably because blood perfumed the air already.
She forced herself to relax. Nosebleeds were a relatively common symptom of her AML. So was the breathlessness she was experiencing. Hadn't Laurel said the effects would wane by night seven? Wasn't it only night five of her tincture?
Gwen flattened her palms against her lap and took a calming breath. It was fine. Everything was fine.
She sniffed again, dabbing lightly at her nose with the back of her hand and discreetly double-checking for bloodstains. Nothing. She let out a sigh of relief. Everything is fine, she repeated to herself. She just hadn't known he would be fighting.
All her soon-to-be sisters had spoken of was Hugo, the houseless courtier who'd defied all odds to make it to the final round. They'd barely given two words about his opponent, gossiping on and on instead about Hugo’s sweet, eternal love for his partner, Jasmine. They'd raved over her skin's perfectly dewy and olive complexion in death and their open affection for one another.
The fighting pits weren't just for settling disputes or gaining status in court but a means of entertainment for the masses and their darker appetites. Hugo's opponent had been described as a bore who refused to put on a good show, with his only saving grace being his exemplary fighting technique and nothing more.
"… But before our main event starts, what say you to a prelude?" The crowd gave its hearty consent. Count Delacroix laughed. "Very well, very well! Stand for the noblest grizzly to grace the Dark Court, Edward of the Polaris Tribe, and the defending champion of the shifter fighters, the cunning wolverine, Morpheus!"
Gwen joined the enthusiastic welcome and laughed as Becca gave a distinctly American “Whoop!” that drew several sets of eyes their way.
As the two sank back into their seats, Gwen couldn't help but overhear the conversation happening behind her.
"Cunning is hardly the word to describe Morpheus. Conniving is more like it."
"You're too judgmental, Nova."
"He fights dirty."
A soft feminine laugh chased after Nova's candid remark. "Everyone fights dirty here."
"Not me."
Whatever words were said next between the two women were lost beneath the ferocious roar of the grizzly bear that entered the pit. A hideous gnarled growl followed directly after, making the hair on Gwen's arms rise; it was the wolverine.
Once the pair stood across from each other, Count Delacroix thrust a hand skyward.
"Begin!"
The shifters clashed in a torrent of fangs and claws that moved unnaturally fast. Gwen watched the wolverine skirt around the massive grizzly with astonishing dexterity as it swiped for its opponent and missed.
"What's that thing around the wolverine's chest?"
Gwen strained to hear Becca's hollered words and followed her pointed finger, both leaning forward in their seats to catch a glimpse of what Becca spoke of. It wasn't until the wolverine reared back on its hind legs that Gwen saw it. The shifter wore some kind of chest strap with a black amulet at its nexus.
"I have no idea." She shrugged for emphasis.
As the pair relaxed back, a head popped up between them. Becca yelped in fright, and Gwen jerked sideways, staring wide-eyed at the interloping vampyré who was not a Roux.
"It's an amulet of dexterity," the stranger said cheerfully. Her inky black hair was kept off her face by a thick headband that showed off her round cheeks and a smile that shone all the way to her upturned eyes. "Shifters often wear some amulet or talisman with them in the pit to give them some edge, especially if they're daring enough to go up against someone outside their kind."
Gwen blinked. Becca had mentioned something about shifters being paid in magical trinkets in the Cellar. She hadn't realized they could use them in a fight, and by the look on Becca's face, she hadn't either.
"Isn't that cheating?" Gwen asked, her mind wandering to her tincture followed by a wave of guilt that hit her hard. She shoved the emotion away as the vampyré shook her head, the short ends of her hair swaying. "But the bear isn't wearing one," she pointed out.
"You heard the count. He's noble. Edward is a purist of sorts. He abhors when shifters use magic to boost their supernatural prowess. He thinks it's a snub to their natural gifts." The vampyré held out a hand. "I'm Ruby, by the way, from the Vrana Household. Jakob's second childe—and very clearly his favorite."
"Only you think you're his favorite." Gwen turned and caught the female vampyré beside Ruby snort and roll her eyes. Gwen looked back at Ruby.
"It's not a matter of thinking it, Nova," Ruby purred, maintaining eye contact with Gwen even though her words were directed at her companion. "It's a matter of knowing."
Gwen's heart raced to hear Liv's words shot back at her but otherwise kept a neutral expression sewn on. Ruby's smile turned serene as she waited for Gwen to say something. When she didn't, the vampyré let loose an exaggerated sigh. The crowd went wild around them, accompanying a beastly roar from the pit.
"I'm only teasing, you know," Ruby reassured Gwen as she tilted out of their personal space. Becca's eyes were stony as she regarded the Asian vampyré. "I was just curious who among your little group of initiates actually had the balls to speak that way to a wrath and despair demoness. It's all anyone's talking about—"
