Covet the Night, page 2
Whatever worry or distress Gwen harbored earlier faded at the sincere declaration.
"I won't disappoint you," she replied, ignoring the cracked quality of her words.
A knock sounded on the door to the sister line's private parlor and boudoir. Laurel and Gwen looked to it expectantly.
"Enter," Laurel called.
Lily's cherry-red curls popped into view. Excitement flushed her cheeks lightly.
"It's time."
A nervous flutter erupted in Gwen's stomach as Lily dipped out.
"Ready?"
Gwen attempted to smother her grin without success as she stood and answered. "Semper Paratus." Always ready.
Laurel released a pleased laugh. "Oh yes, you'll do just fine."
Gwen stood alongside four other women, her palms damp and stomach still aflutter. Around them stood the Roux sisters in the cleared common room. While Gwen and her counterparts were dressed in Grecian gowns in shades that ranged from soft cream to angel white, those of the sisterhood donned black—black satin, black silk, black velvet—and held candlesticks.
There were twenty-two vampyré sisters in total and five initiates. A tremor of excitement chased up Gwen's spine as the current head of their household, Peony, stepped forward. She retained the honorific of Madame Roux, and per Laurel's schooling, her authority was on somewhat tremulous ground after centuries of holding power, hence the initiation. Peony sought to strengthen her position and appease the sisterhood by bringing in new blood. Laurel didn't know whether the move would work or not, but the palpable thrum of excitement from everyone in the room left Gwen to think her plot had succeeded.
Madame Roux's dark red hair was slicked back and fell down her back in one sleek sheet. Her eyes, lined in kohl and dominated by the vampyric signature silver ring, drew over each of them, inch by inch. She was eager to commence and test the women's cunning, fortitude, and, above all else, loyalty.
"Welcome," Madame Roux said, stepping closer to the circle's middle and the women who occupied it. "No doubt your soon-to-be sires have told you much of our family's esteemed history and have gone on in great detail and pride of their own sister lines. But allow me the pleasure of telling you of Coral. The first of our household and namesake of the Roux.
"Centuries ago, only men knew the gift of eternity, and they sought to protect it as best they could. Outside the vow of secrecy all supernaturals kept to maintain our anonymity among mortals, vampyrés lived by three strict codes. The first: grant mercy to the childe left untamed by their sire and deliver unto them a swift death," Madame Roux recited, walking down the short line of initiates. She relished seeing their pink-tinged skin and the flush of excitement in their eyes. "Two: drink not from each other, for such wickedness puts undue power into one above all others. And the third..."
The matriarch stopped. Her dress, made in the image of the glittering night sky, sparkled in the candlelight as she peered about the sisterhood's circle. A few caught her eye; their lips twitching in an effort to break their stoic facades and release gay smiles. Madame Roux empathized.
"No female should be turned, for their sensibilities are too delicate, their emotions too volatile, and their desires too unyielding."
"Semper Paratus," the sisterhood chanted in seductive repose, and a thrill of excitement swept the room.
Gwen's eyes widened, her anticipation driving higher with each passing moment. The spectacle and grandeur of it all left her nearly breathless. She glanced briefly to her left and right to catch the other initiates’ reactions. Only the woman on her right acknowledged her glance. No taller than five-foot-three with oxblood hair, her eyes sparkled with uncontained amazement. She spared Gwen a brief, wobbly smile that she returned before giving her full attention back to Madame Roux.
"Women possess a unique power that is equal parts devastating and unignorable when wielded correctly, which is precisely why the code was upheld. Fear"—Madame Roux said the word with vehement detestation and prowled the perimeter of the sisterhood's circle—"is for the weak, and we of the Roux are above such menial emotion."
"Semper Paratus," the sisterhood chanted.
"It will come as no surprise to hear our founding mother knew intimately of her power, nor that she won her immortality by using the very thing man condemned and outlawed us for: our sex."
"Semper Paratus."
Madame Roux came to a stop again, her ruby red lips curling devilishly for the initiates.
"The key to our survival is our vigilance. It is the strong bond of our sisterhood. It is our masterful and merciless use of our sex." Her husky voice rose as the sisterhood intoned, "Semper Paratus," over and over and over again.
A wave of chills washed over Gwen at the impassioned speech. Her eyes remained wide and unblinking as Madame Roux drew closer.
"In you, we see the flame carried inside us all. A flame that, when tended to properly, will grow to an inferno." Madame Roux's eyes flared with her passion, streaking crimson before calming to their original state. Her stare dug deep into the initiate's hearts and souls as she prowled closer to them. "Roux—red. Red for the fire that lives inside us all. Red for the blood that keeps us whole. Red for our wild passion. Red for our dominance. Red—Roux. Honor us, and we shall honor you."
The room fell quiet save for the steady hammering of the hearts of the initiates. A breathy laugh sounded nearby, and Gwen's eyes flicked to her left. At the end of the line, ginger curls swayed from a quietly laughing head. Gwen swiftly planted her gaze on the ground. She was tempted to do the same.
A hysterical giggle stood at the back of her throat, ready to release at any given moment for the sheer madness of the experience. She was going to be a vampyré. She bit into her wayward tongue as she pressed her lips to a fine line. Gwen had never felt so alive nor closer to death than at this moment.
"You shall face three tests to prove your worth to the sisterhood of the Roux. Pass, and you shall be awarded everlasting life and a name befitting of your new family. Fail, and you shall be forgotten. Your name stricken from our lips and hearts because we may only stand the test of time by moving forward," Madame Roux proclaimed.
The sisterhood stepped forward, closing rank around the initiates and taking up their soft chanting once more.
"We of the sisterhood ask that you go out among the court and retrieve something of true value. A secret. A favor. A magical token. Whatever it may be, make it worthy of the Roux."
The circle split and formed two long lines, leaving a path to the mammoth mahogany door at the Roux's royal suite entrance. Madame Roux moved to stand at its mouth and gave each initiate one last long, searching look. Gwen drew herself up straighter beneath her intense regard, her amusement fading.
Her first test: find something of true value for the sisterhood. Gwen licked her lips in anticipation as several thoughts piled up in her head. What would she do? Where would she go? How could she be sure of her prize's worth?
Madame Roux nodded in satisfaction at whatever she found staring back at her and stepped aside.
"Go. Return no later than dawn or consider your lives forfeit. And do be mindful who you cross in the court."
The woman with the ginger curls took a hesitant step forward before finding her stride and walking purposefully down the aisle of candle-bearing sisters. After her followed another, and then the woman directly to the left of Gwen.
Gwen followed on her predecessor's heels, noting with a mixture of excitement and anxiety that the candles were being extinguished as they neared the door. It was as if the night itself was chasing after them.
Little does the night know, Gwen thought, it’s the other way around.
When at last they reached the door and left the safety of the common room, Gwen chanced a glance over her shoulder to spy the sisters one last time, but all that greeted her was darkness.
II
T
he fivesome came to a stop shortly outside the entrance of the Roux household. Catching the eye of one or two of the women, Gwen opened her mouth to speak. A smile grew tentatively on her lips. And then one of their numbers left, walking purposefully toward the staircase located at the far end of the antechamber. Gwen's smile vanished as she stared at the young woman's retreating figure. Her hair was elaborately dressed to resemble a dahlia flower in a mandala of perfectly pinned coils.
Another of their number made a nervous squeak at the back of her throat. She cast the group a flustered grin and shuffled off after the first.
"Well, this should be interesting," the woman with the ginger curls said. She was the one who'd broken her silence with muted laughter. "I'm Brit."
"Gwen." The pair shook hands. "Are you from…?"
"Australia," Brit filled in with a smirk and nodded. "I can't quite believe I ended up here of all places, but I'm not about to complain." Brit turned her sparkling hazel eyes to the last woman.
"Liv," she supplied. "Shall we?"
Gwen, who was entirely bewitched by the husky French lilt of Liv's voice, nodded readily. Like the anonymous pair before them, the three remaining initiates aimed for the staircase.
"They seemed to have a good idea of where they were going." Gwen gathered the silk chiffon of her skirt as she hit the first stair. She glanced at the women trailing directly behind her, watching them do the same as her hand blindly reached for the railing.
Liv laughed under her breath, drawing Gwen's attention back over her shoulder. "They aren't the only ones, ma chérie."
Swiftly facing front at the news, Gwen exhaled.
"Brit?" Gwen's query hung in the air as they trod down the glossy marble staircase. It wasn't until they reached the first landing that the Australian spoke.
"Not me." Brit looped arms with Gwen. A twinkle lit her hazel eyes as the buxom French woman surpassed them and walked confidently down the open stretch of corridor before them. "But I do have an idea as to what I'll be doing to obtain my item."
Gwen's throat constricted. For a long moment, her regard remained on a fixed point ahead, brow hunched at the information—or rather the lack thereof—she'd received from Laurel. Laurel didn’t give me any clue as to what to expect for the test, let alone how I might succeed. No matter, Gwen thought. She would just have to make do.
"I see," Gwen muttered, rolling her shoulders back and tipping her chin up. "I suppose I'll just have to stay on my toes." She showed off her stilettos, then waggled her eyebrows at Brit. "Which shouldn't be a problem at all."
Brit laughed and extended her stride momentarily to display the arduous heels she wore, but her laughter faded as voices up ahead reached their ears. The canter of Liv's hips died down ahead of them, along with her pace, to allow the two to catch up.
Gwen's heartbeat doubled as the voices came to an abrupt hush. "What exactly are we about to walk into?" Her whisper carried in the widening hall.
Liv's cat eyes slanted in her direction. "The promenade of the Grand Salon." Her voice lacked the cool confidence it had while they were on the staircase as her eyes shifted to the vampyrés congregated farther up. They stood as still as statues, waiting for the trio to cross their path.
Goose bumps erupted over Gwen's skin. "Merde, my sire, Lavender, said the court would be watching, but I didn't think she would mean it so literally."
Gwen drew in a long, steadying breath as they neared the predators. She was acutely aware of their heels clicking in tandem and how they echoed in the airy salon. The walls and pillars glittered with silver accents, and seating was scattered about the entirety of the space, giving deference to the path of the promenade lined with planters cascading with greenery.
"Heads high and eyes forward, ladies," Brit advised in a low voice. "And don't let them see you sweat."
A delicious tension permeated the air as the three closed the remaining distance between themselves and the immortal beings. Fear and excitement tangled with hunger and desire. A light sheen of perspiration was of little consequence compared to the flush decorating each woman’s skin.
Talk of the Roux's upcoming initiation had been disclosed with care to select members of the court, but only the courtiers held in the highest regard of the Roux were invited to catch the first glimpse of their new stock. Eyes bled crimson in want and hunger as the initiates wove through the crowd that refused to move on their account.
Gwen swallowed thickly. She'd been wrong earlier about never having felt so alive walking among the Roux.
This moment was a revelation.
Gwen's fragile mortality thundered in her ears as her heart beat frantically in her chest. And as the heady gaze of the elite predators drew up and down her body, she was reminded starkly of death's waiting hand.
The hair at the back of Gwen's neck stood on end in a dizzying mix of anticipation and tension. She released a shuddering breath as she kept her gaze firmly forward, partly surprised that no courtier had made a move toward them.
They hadn't moved at all, in fact.
None among the congregation so much as turned their heads to watch the initiates navigate their way out of the crowd. It was only the inflamed eyes of the immortals that followed their movements.
Exiting the fearsome group, at last, the trio reached its destination, another sizable staircase. Halfway down the flight, a strangled laugh burst past Gwen's lips. Cheeks stained with red; she turned her astonished expression to her fellow initiates.
"Christ Almighty," Brit muttered at her side. "That was…."
"Intense?" Liv cast her cat-lined eyes back at them. Her rosy cheeks matched Gwen's. All three heads bobbed in agreement.
"What exactly do you plan on doing, Brit, if you don't mind me asking?" Gwen asked as they paused briefly at the next floor's landing to take in the opulent antechamber of the first subfloor. The walls were swathed in glinting silver and blue damask wallpaper that begged to be touched and its ceiling painted with some heavenly scene.
Brit smirked at Gwen's question and tugged her along as she continued to gape. "Something or other with my body."
With a body like Brit's, Gwen thought, something or another would work in her favor.
The Australian didn't have an ounce of fat on her body.
"See you, ladies, later," Brit said as they stopped at the second subfloor's impressive salon.
"You're going?" Gwen's fingers flexed on the beveled cap of the staircase's anchoring baluster as Brit let go of her hand.
The mischievous twinkle in Brit's eyes turned to a smolder as she stepped away. "Dawn isn't long off. I intend to make the most of my time. You should too. Good luck, sisters."
Though the swing of her hips couldn’t be compared to Liv's, Brit's stride contained visceral confidence that seemed to challenge the world. Dare me, Gwen thought it said as she watched Brit strut down the center of the large salon with a wistful exhalation.
Gwen didn't suffer from a lack of confidence, but it was hard not to be envious of Brit's self-assuredness when it radiated from her effortlessly.
Gwen squared her shoulders. She couldn't afford to second-guess herself now or hesitate. That was what the old Gwen would have done, and she wouldn’t survive here. As it was, the further she submerged herself into the Dark Court, the more hope and trepidation twisted her stomach as she struck out to claim a new future and identity.
Gwen's entire existence thus far had been dictated by others. Namely in the form of her father. Life with him had been both suffocating and isolating without her mother. And every avenue she'd taken to steer herself away had inevitably led back to him. Then she'd received her diagnosis. She'd lost all hope of escape.
But now…
Now was her chance to throw away her mortal coil and the overbearing obligations that came with it to be reborn into something better.
Something stronger.
Something powerful.
Something free.
A thrill of anticipation ran through and soothed her knotted stomach. Gwen looked to Liv, who stood stiffly contemplating the salon.
Its grandeur reminded Gwen of some ancient Roman temple. Slender marble columns with scroll-like capitals dotted out well past the main thoroughfare of the salon in neat rows and lines. Though the orderly framework lent itself to create one atmosphere, each side of the salon held its own promise. To the right was a pearly white wall with three open-air archways. Gwen's eyes traced the overlapping decorative foils that coalesced to sharp points at the top of each arch. It was a stunning sight, but the glimpse of what lay beyond left her mouth hanging open.
"The Turkish Baths," Liv supplied.
Gwen's lips curled into a short smile. Of course, she knows, she thought. She's led you this far without fail. "What's that, then?" She pointed to the left side of the Romanesque salon.
"That’s where they fight. It’s called—"
"The Pits," Gwen finished.
Liv gave Gwen an appraising glance. "You aren’t so clueless after all."
"I've been well-informed of what lies in the Dark Court," Gwen offered with a lift of her shoulder as she closed the space between them and stood at Liv's side. "Just not where they are."
"Or what to do when you get there, non?"
"No," Gwen said sourly. Liv smirked; her pouting lips slow to mirror Gwen's. "Are you planning to use your body like Brit?"
Liv chuckled, her deep auburn hair, styled in the way of some old Hollywood starlet, swaying as she shook her head. "I'll stick to collecting secrets, and I'd advise you to do the same. It's much less work for the same payout."
"Assuming the secret is worthwhile," Gwen countered.
"Oui." Gwen endured another sweeping appraisal from Liv's rain-cloud eyes. "Good luck, ma chérie. I hope you find something of value and that we may meet again at dawn, for there is clearly more to you than meets the eye. I look forward to learning more about you, Gwen." Liv ducked her chin in a semblance of a nod and walked off in the opposite direction of Brit toward the baths.
