Covet the Night, page 21
"All illnesses?" Briar blinked, then shook her head. "Not the physical kind. Your body is reborn in the truest sense of the word to become almost indestructible. The mind isn't as lucky. What ailments remain there transition over quite intact—that I can attest to. It's why vampyrés are carefully selected. Weak minds make for weak vampyrés, you know?"
Relief flooded Gwen. "Then why was your sister allowed to become one?"
A loud boom from the other room made her jump in her seat, but Briar remained unaffected. Mostly.
The goblet stopped halfway to Briar's mouth at her bold question. Gwen flushed. Hearing from a second source that her illness wouldn't follow her in death was an unexpected relief because she'd never quite been able to stifle the seed of doubt that it somehow would with her.
"You never met her. Iris could be very persuasive, very charming when she wanted to be. That became heightened when we turned. She was a force to be reckoned with, made of fire and vitriol and the most bewitching smile the court had ever seen. Iris, for all her faults and spilled blood, lifted the Roux to a new regard. She was a political animal here at court, always ten steps ahead of everyone else, it seemed, always moving pieces to rattle the board and weaken her opponents before striking. And then there were her guerrilla attacks. She loved those. She liked keeping people on their toes—or so she said."
"Guerrilla attacks? What's that supposed to mean?"
"Iris killed several Roux sisters, Gwen." Briar's smile was all fangs. "It's called sororicide."
Her heart lurched in her chest. "She what?"
Briar hummed behind the rim of her goblet, the corner of her lips quirking further at the note of distress that Gwen wasn't quite able to hide. "She was quite of the mind that if the other fledgling vampyrés were out of the equation, the sisterhood would have no choice but to shower all their love on us. That didn't happen, of course. And they never were able to prove it was her, but they knew. It's one of the reasons why they killed her childe, Senna."
"Your sister sired someone?"
"In secret. The little devil tore apart Delphine's childe, Clove, and Lavender's childe, if I remember correctly. Primrose? No, no," Briar muttered to herself, playing with the end of a curl. "It was Yasmin who Senna got to, Coreopsis's daughter." She waved a hand dismissively. "Regardless of the who's who, they were all from the same sisterline, so the damage was doubly felt. Senna didn't even try to make it look like an accident. The poor girl was a sanguinare. She was ravaged by her hunger. It drew her mad within the year. So, to save herself—and me—Iris blamed all the deaths on Senna, and the sisterhood killed her instead."
"I can't believe she would do that to her childe." Gwen's next drink burned down her throat and hit her stomach unpleasantly.
"Self-preservation runs deep in our veins." Briar shrugged as Gwen fought to keep some semblance of neutrality about her and stared into the fire's dancing flames. "By the way, how is Delphine managing? I heard it was her soon-to-be childe who died in the Cellar?"
"She's handling everything well."
"And are you?"
Gwen jerked her head back to face Briar.
"I'm perfectly fine." Her answer would have sounded far more convincing if her voice hadn't hiccupped near the end. Gwen cursed and closed her eyes with a sigh. Her stomach rolled with unease as William's voice hollered from the other room, stealing her focus as her eyes opened. "What the hell is happening over there?"
"Family business. Nothing else."
"Since when is the Beast part of the Vrana family?"
"Since when do you call him the Beast?" Briar leaned forward, crossing her arms and legs as she stared Gwen down. "I was under the impression there was something more between you two."
"You're wrong."
The vampyré took a languid sip. This time, she didn't bother to clean up the red mess it left. "I believe I shared my story with you. Isn't it your turn?"
Her throat tightened. "You never explained why you were forgotten."
A flash of ire came from Briar.
"It was only a matter of time before my sister, with all her ambition and cunning, got in over her head. It cost her life, and mine. The Roux banished me by association for her misconduct that not even I know the depths of, but at least I had Sebastian waiting for me. We'd been together—secretly, of course—for many years by that point. I've never experienced a love like his before." The crimson fled Briar's eyes, leaving Gwen to stare into deep forest green that glittered with something unknown to her. "The Vranas are different from all the other households at court. Their history is rather tremulous and… inspiring, for lack of a better word.”
“Why? What makes them different?”
“You don’t know their story?” Gwen slowly shook her head. She knew bits and pieces, but all her information was sourced from the Roux, who despised the Vranas. “The Vranas were the first Major Household to be accepted in the Dark Court, paving the way for all the rest to come. But some thirty years after their arrival, they were slaughtered. The entire debacle was blamed on Jakob. He was banished rather than killed, for they thought true death too kind for him.” Briar waved her hand impassively in the air. “He came back, obviously, and flipped the court on its head by usurping one of the founding households and taking their seat to rule.”
Gwen blinked and sank back in her seat.
“The Vranas… they’ve been more gracious and kinder to me in the last twenty years than the Roux ever were. With them, I know where I stand without all the mind games. They work together as a whole, like a real family." Briar cleared her throat and pinned on a smile. "It's more than I can say for many of the other households."
Gwen let her words sink in, marveling at the Vranas’ rise from the ashes and Briar’s expulsion from the Roux.
Banished by association. Gwen hadn't been aware of that possibility. The phrase "dead to me" took on an entirely new meaning in the time they'd been conversing. How horrible it must have been to be forgotten but in plain sight of those who knew you best.
That was a fate worse than death.
"Surely it’s time now for you to share your tale?"
Broken from her reverie, Gwen swallowed and licked her chapped lips. "It's not nearly as interesting as yours," she prefaced after a too-big drink that made her taste buds seize with the scotch's quick flash of fire. "Nor as tragic, but it has its black clouds. The most monumental thing to happen to me was my mother's death." She quickly contemplated what truths to tell and how best to cover her tracks and traitorous heartbeat. "We were in a car crash when I was young…."
"Is that where those came from?" Briar's gaze dipped to Gwen's chest. Unlike William, she didn't linger over the razed skin.
Gwen nodded and forced herself to go on. She could tell the truth in her own way. "Heart surgery, among a long list of others. I was in the hospital for quite some time afterward. And my mother, well, it was never quite the same without her." Her bitterness shone through, hiding the whole truth cleverly out of sight.
"It never is," Briar said softly.
The two sets of eyes met across the small space; a fraction of common ground gained.
"My father didn't handle it well, though I didn't truly realize it until I was older. I grew up with this mentality that it was just us against the world. Nothing could come between us. We did everything together. I saw his overprotectiveness as a show of love because I knew deep in his heart, he was scared of losing me like my mother. But classic teenage rebellion showed a different side of his protectiveness.
"He became overbearing—suffocating. I was barely allowed out, and I didn't have many friends. He knew exactly what to say to bring me down or bring me back up. By the time I was old enough to leave and make a life for myself, I felt too guilty to go." Gwen's chest constricted as her forced smile fell away. "I did move it out, eventually. I got a job, made a small circle of friends—if you'd even call them that—but I never got far enough out of my dad's reach to be truly rid of him.
"One thing or another always forced me back to his side so he could remind me that I was all he had left, and why couldn't I do something for him, just this once? Hadn't he given his life up for me? Hadn't he lost the love of his life? I was being irrational, too emotional. We just needed time to sort things out. Why couldn't I ever shut up and listen?"
The taste of copper trickled down Gwen's throat as she bit savagely into her wayward tongue. Her chest heaved with each breath. All the hurt she'd thought left behind welled up, clouding her vision.
"Iris had a remarkable way with words too. She always knew which would cut the deepest or would leave me festering for days on end."
Gwen gave the barest of nods in acknowledgment before taking a hasty drink, her hand shaking. She winced. The liquor did little to soothe the wound.
"I was able to leave in the end."
"Clearly," Briar responded dryly. She eyed the low contents of Gwen's tumbler and rose. "Another?"
She shouldn't, but she still needed to get the contents of the vial in Briar's drink somehow. She had to stay and complete her task. Gwen tipped her chin and allowed a frown to tilt down her brows. "You may as well bring both bottles over," she mumbled.
Briar raised both brows but said nothing as she set her goblet down on the coffee table between them and made a beeline for the scotch and decanter of blood. Gwen only had time to slip the small vial into the palm of her hand before Briar was back before her. At least it’s at the ready.
"So, you left and thought becoming a vampyré was how you wanted to spend the rest of your eternity?"
Briar seemed to have a way with words, too, just like her sister and Gwen's father. Gwen's frown deepened into incredulity. "No." She passed her glass to Briar and watched the amber liquid splash up its sides. "I just knew getting away from that"—toxic, unhealthy, damaging, life-sucking—"relationship with my father and out of our small town, away from everyone who knew what was going on but never did anything…."
Gwen was forced to pause again as old emotions got the best of her. She shifted in her seat, her body uncomfortably warm and achy. Her back arched as her squirming rubbed at her sensitive rash.
"It opened my eyes and made me realize that I gave up the first twenty-eight years of my life to live by someone else's rules. It made me realize that I wanted to be in control of my life. All of it. Down to my last breath."
The wood cracked in the fireplace in the interim of Gwen's declaration. Briar processed her words, a frown crumpling her pretty features.
"How… generic."
"Excuse me?"
"Don't get me wrong, dear, your fire and strength of will aren't in question, but you aren't made for this kind of life. You don't have the blood for it."
Gwen flinched at the slight.
"I do," she said through clenched teeth. "Otherwise, I wouldn't be here, to begin with. Laurel wouldn't have taken a chance on me if she didn't think I had the potential to be a vampyré. "
Hot anger washed over Gwen at the pitying look Briar spared her. It helped to drown out the fatigue creeping up on her, but it fanned the flames of her burgeoning headache.
"I'm sure you're a force to be reckoned with, but you should run, Gwen. Go. Live out the rest of your human days on your terms just as you say you so desperately want. All you'll be doing if you stay is trading one cage for another."
"It's not a cage."
Briar stared long and hard at Gwen. "Isn't it?" she said gently. "Do you think you'll be able to leave once you've grown tired of being under the Roux's thumb? There are very few options of leaving, and you're looking at one of them now. If it weren't for Bash—" Briar stopped, her jaw clenching tight as she composed herself.
"Laurel said that if a sister wished to leave, she could."
A cynical tilt arced Briar's mouth. "That's one of the more… liberal promises: freedom, riches, glory, love." She scoffed, eyes rolling with cynicism. "Do yourself a favor and keep an eye on Danica and Hans."
"Danica and Hans?" Some of Gwen's anger faded away, replaced with confusion. "What about them?"
"Black widows, the entire Orchid line," Briar spoke as if she was commiserating with Gwen, which only confused her further. "Just watch and wait. You'll see."
"I already know they're widows."
Gwen's eyes thinned to slits. She was prepared to dig in, the alcohol in her system egging her on to do just that when the commotion from across the hall could no longer be ignored.
Both women flinched as something smashed into the study's door—something loud and heavy and groaning its displeasure. Gwen's heart skipped a beat as she rose to her feet.
Briar was barely a beat behind, casting a worrisome frown over her shoulder. "Bash?"
In a flash, she was at the door and opening it wide, her goblet of blood left wobbling on the table after her lightning-speed departure. Gwen reached out to steady it instinctively and then froze as her fingers stilled around it. Briar cried out her lover's name once more as she flung open the door and dropped to her knees as his body collapsed through the entry.
"What happened?" Briar crooned, cupping Sebastian's lolled head and supporting him with her other arm. The other vampyré said nothing.
Beyond the pair, Gwen saw into the other room. Bodies swarmed around two tables where the source of all the noise was coming from. Past them, an oversized mirror leaned against the wall cracked in several places. A queasy notion erupted in her, and a splitting headache tore through her. Something sinister curled around her. Something evil. The malevolent presence glided over her skin in languid seduction of the foulest variety.
I’m going to be sick.
Gwen doubled over as pain racked her body. The moment she broke eye contact with the mirror, she groaned in relief, but either no one heard or cared. She figured it was both.
Everyone from the other room was distracted by whatever "problem" had the entire household shaking and screaming, including Briar, who patted frantically at Sebastian's face.
Gwen's pulse jumped. It was now or never.
Dropping down to one knee, she uncorked the small vial with trembling hands and tipped the contents into Briar's goblet, spilling half the contents on the table.
Gwen looked up frantically to see if Briar had noticed, or anyone else for that matter, but no one spared her a glance. With as much haste as she could muster, she wiped up the small pool of clear liquid and stood on shaky legs. She grimaced, nearly keeling over as her stomach cramped violently. She clenched her teeth and fists to fight the wave of pain, barely registering when the tiny glass vial broke in her hand and sliced into her flesh. The air sizzled around her and snagged at her skin.
Magic. Dark magic.
A sweat broke out on Gwen's brow as she squeezed her eyes shut.
"What the hell's going on here?" William's voice boomed.
Gwen jerked her head up. He was blocking half the doorway.
"How should I know?" she growled back, forcing herself to straighten. She flinched as her hand closed her reflexively around the crystalline debris. William's gaze never wavered upon her figure.
A strained silence passed between both rooms, broken only by the moan of relief issued by one of the prone bodies. A figure rose to bent elbows, revealing the back of a man with disheveled ash-brown hair.
"Jax!" Ruby threw herself on the man, who grunted loudly but returned the affection.
Gwen watched the reunion until William stepped purposefully to the side and blocked her view. Her mouth snapped shut—though she wasn't sure when it had fallen open—and she glared back at him.
"It's time for her to go." Briar's icy voice cut through the quickly mounting tension between Gwen and William. She was helping Sebastian up; he had a dazed look about his eyes. "Think about what I said," she said directly to Gwen while shuffling Sebastian farther into the room.
Gwen circled the long way around the central furniture, giving the pair ample space as they moved toward the chairs.
"I will." She stopped short of the doorway where William still stood, now with arms crossed. His eyes strayed to her clenched hand. "But it won't change anything," she said, catching the former Roux's eyes one final time.
Then she pushed past William and left.
XII
S
he was nearly to the Roux's front door when a hand clamped over her mouth from behind and another curled around her upper body to drag her back into the shadows. Her muffled shriek of fright did nothing to dissuade her captor as he hid them behind a pillar.
Gwen's eyes widened and then narrowed with thinly veiled fury.
"Don't be givin’ me that look, sweet," William purred, relinquishing his hold on her. "I'm going to remove my other hand," he continued, copper eyes flecked with silver, "and you're going to tell me exactly what you did back there, aye?"
Slowly his hand dropped away. Gwen wheezed for several breaths, causing William to frown.
"Come now, sweet. I only held you like that for a moment. There's no need to be dramatic." Her glare didn't diminish. She was unwilling to reveal how badly his brief censorship had hurt in her weakened state. She was going to have bruises where he'd held her as well. "Tell me what you did."
"I don't know what you're talking about," she spat, heart hammering against her chest. There'd be a bruise there too; out of sight but hardly out of mind.
"Don't go lying to me now, lass," he growled, encroaching on what little personal space Gwen had left.
"Don't call me, lass."
William's nostrils flared. "Gimme your hand, Gwen."
His brogue rumbled out of him in a low tenor, making the hair on her arms stand on end. She clenched her fists at her sides. They stood in their standoff for several long seconds, Gwen's heartbeat still sounding off in a rushed cadence, one beat quickly followed by the next over and over again. She didn't move.
She didn't have to. William snatched her right wrist and yanked it up, prying her fingers open to reveal the little shards of glass embedded in her palm and the bright red blood smeared across her hand.
