Covet the Night, page 27
She was seeing black eyes and shadows everywhere, and it didn't help her mild paranoia that the courtiers were sizing her and the other initiates up. She could read the question in their eyes: Why and how had they survived but not their counterpart?
Gwen hadn't the faintest clue.
"There you are," a husky voice proclaimed, sidling up to Danica's side and earning a winsome smile from the female. "I've brought provisions."
Danica sighed gratefully and accepted the flute of blood. "You're a mind reader." She took a delicate sip; her lashes hung low as she gazed at her lover. "But you know you're not supposed to be here with me."
Hans brushed a spiral lock of hair from her face. "I'm not here with you. I came of my own accord." Danica went to protest, but Hans laid a finger upon her lips. "And by my own accord, I wish to be at your side. Perhaps steal a dance or two."
"And maybe something more?" Danica laughed as her mouth curved into a pretty, knowing smirk that Hans mirrored.
"Now, who's reading minds?"
The two shared an intimate look, though nothing untoward. On the other hand, such a look coming from a woman who had vowed her heart, body, and soul to her household was the peak of scandal.
A lump lodged in Gwen's throat as she cast her eyes away. What is Danica thinking? The pair whispered to each other, smiles brightening the longer they stood in each other's company.
"Just for a minute," Hans pleaded. He snaked his arm around Danica's waist, and she nestled into his side without a thought.
"The initiates aren't to be out of arm's reach," Danica protested. A mischievous glint took over his warm eyes.
"Follow me, ladies." Hans took off to the back of the room, where the crowd was less dense, and stopped before one of the tall, thick columns that lined the room. He glanced at Gwen. "You stay here," he instructed before swinging his eyes to Danica. "And we'll go just behind the column."
"That's barely within arm's reach, Hans."
"Yours, not mine."
Twin spots of pink colored the apples of Danica's cheeks. "Don't move an inch, Gwendolyn."
The pair disappeared before Gwen could offer her reply, which would have been a resounding "No." She scowled at the empty air. Is Danica sixteen or six hundred?
Gwen slumped against the column and observed the crowd. Some were descending into more carnal activities in the salon's far corners. Others dined on thralls, making a show of their work before dropping the willing bodies to the floor.
Gwen tilted her goblet to her lips.
"Drunk already?" a silken voice crooned.
The wine turned sour in Gwen's mouth, and she swallowed it with a cringe, eyes forward despite the newcomer sidling up to her. "What? Nothing to say to me after our pleasant chat the other evening and the delicious little concoction you slipped into my blood?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Gwen passed a subtle look over her other shoulder under the guise of fixing her hair.
"Oh, she left." Briar's cold fingertips passed over her exposed shoulder, drawing Gwen's gaze back to her. "Danica just can't resist when it comes to Hans." Gwen squared her shoulders and set her jaw, saying nothing. "She should know better than to leave you alone, given the state of events." Briar tutted.
"I'm perfectly fine." Gwen dragged her gaze up and down Briar. "Though the company is left wanting."
Briar laughed; the notes were bitter. "Alcohol makes you bold," she surmised before her emerald eyes turned to stone. "But do try to keep your tongue in check. I certainly haven't forgotten what you did to my lover or me."
"I don't—"
The look Briar pinned Gwen with made her mouth snap shut. "Oh, but you do. You may have noticed that Sebastian is absent. He's still recovering from whatever poison made its way into my drink but don't worry, I've convinced the Vranas no retaliation is necessary." Briar traced her knuckles up Gwen’s jaw and smoothed a piece of her hair back. "I told them you were—"
Gwen swerved her head out of Briar's reach. "I don't care," she declared with a flush. "Why are you over here if you're not going to retaliate?"
She blinked back at Gwen and twined her arms over her chest. "I wanted to tell you I was wrong."
Gwen frowned. "About what?"
"You."
Gwen's guard rose. She hated to ask, but she couldn't seem to help herself. So much for dulling her tongue into submission. "What do you mean?"
Briar smiled, though nothing about it was kind. "I was wrong before. You do have the blood for it." She motioned toward the dancing and gossiping crowd with a quick thrust of her chin. "Even better, you have the blood to be a Roux."
"Thank you."
Briar paused, then burst into laughter at Gwen's reply. A few heads turned their way, even a few sisters, but they must have seen Briar's red hair and not her face, for none came to Gwen’s aid.
"Oh, it wasn't a compliment."
The extra dig struck gold, and Gwen's gaze reverted once more to the crowd to glimpse the future ahead of her. By chance, her eyes landed on a pair of Roux feasting on a thrall. Their sharpened nails and fangs coaxed noises from him that ranged from either extreme pain or pleasure. She looked away; chest tight.
The truth of her forthcoming existence was playing out merrily around her—a truth she'd happily avoided up to tonight. Her new life would come at a cost, the lives of others.
Antonia was right; it was always about blood in the Dark Court. There was no way around it. Blood was life, and it defined who you were at court.
She'd naively assumed no blood would stain her hands before she was turned, but not two nights ago, she was fulfilling the Roux's vengeful wishes. She poisoned someone. Gwen knew certain aspects of her humanity would fade over time—Laurel had explained in rigorous detail in what ways it could—but to drop her morals and values while still in possession of a beating heart… it made her question every decision she'd made since following Laurel.
What kind of person was she to fold to the whims of another and hurt someone so maliciously? Was she just another sheep, like William had accused her of being? Would this cage be any better than her last?
Bitterness flooded her mouth. None of these concerns had materialized during her time in the Pasithea realm. Why?
Gwen drowned her mounting doubt with the rest of her wine. Her head spun a little as the room tilted off-axis briefly.
What did it matter? She was too far in now. She would die and be reborn here. She would live, and that was what mattered most.
A sudden swell of noise drew both women's attention across the room. Ruby and Nova Vrana had entered the Grand Salon, flanking an unfamiliar male. It was his presence that stirred the room to a frenzy of whispers and remarks, and he seemed to know it if his smirk was any indication.
Gwen's mind connected the dots in a snap.
"Jax." She spoke his name softly as he strode across the room. He was dressed elegantly in all black; his only adornments were a black feather pinned to his lapel, a nondescript eye patch, and a walking cane. He cut through the crowd with an air of supreme confidence that was acknowledged, if not respected, by the parting crowd.
He was handsome, in a dark and mysterious sort of way that naturally brought a light flush to Gwen's cheeks. His close-shaven beard framed his jaw and mouth with lithe precision, and his thick, ash-brown hair was kept out of his face with the help of some cream or pomade.
"You're blushing," Briar observed dryly.
She felt the heat on her cheeks expand at being caught. "Am I?"
"Yes." Gwen caught Briar's eye roll that accompanied her answer. "The court always goes into a flurry whenever he returns from one of his extended trips."
As was happening now. With the initial shock of his arrival absorbed, a few men and women approached. They painted gracious smiles over their fangs. Jax greeted them with a bowed head and lazy smile.
"And does the court know his trips happen inside the Vrana suite?" The pair locked eyes.
Briar's eyebrows rose, and she tutted once more. "There goes that rogue tongue of yours again." Gwen knocked up her chin defiantly, and Briar smiled back at her. "Ah, to be young. Stop assuming you know everything about the court and what's going on in it. You'll survive longer."
"I saw—"
"You spied and assumed what? Jax stays locked up in his room for months on end while we tell the court he's 'away'?" Briar managed another eye roll, her exasperation seeping through her words. "Unlike the majority of the court, he can leave whenever he likes, and he does—often. Just like the sorcerers and shifters. Everyone who isn't beholden by the sun."
Gwen shifted her weight from one foot to another. All about the room, vampyrés tested the limits of their standoffishness, their voices rising to claim the ears of their fellow courtiers or fangs carving out territory in unoccupied arteries. When would the gowns and black ties be shed for their epicurean delights?
"I saw the mirrors too." Gwen studied Briar's reaction, but she gave nothing away. "They were cracked, and there was magic. Dark—"
"There go your assumptions again, flying all over the place. Laurel will need a muzzle for you." Gwen bit into her tongue to keep from retorting. "Unless, that is, you've been put to work peddling their latest gossip—I mean news." Cruel satisfaction dripped from her voice. "How is Lavender doing? To my knowledge, it was her charge who met her untimely end the other night. I'd send my sympathies, but considering the poison you spiked my drink with was one of her creations, I'll abstain. In fact, it seems very fitting to me that she should lose her charge. An eye for an eye and all that."
Gwen saw red, her goblet’s embossed stem tattooing the inside of her hand. "If that was the case, you'd be dead. Or better yet, your lover would be." She swayed as if to leave, but her heart ached too painfully for her to end their conversation there. Alcohol urging her on, she leaned purposefully into Briar's personal space. A flash of interest sparkled in the vampyré’s eyes. "Liv didn't deserve what happened to her."
"Yes, I heard all about how they found her, what with her all blackened to bits and defiled."
Briar's nonchalance spiked Gwen's temper higher. "She was good—"
"No one here is good," Briar snapped, narrowing the small space between them further. "We all have our dark little secrets. Liv did. You do too." Gwen flinched back as if slapped, and her wine sloshed uncomfortably in her stomach. The room tilted again. She tried to retreat but was barred by Briar's grip. "Dear gods, don't cry," Briar commanded, clearly caught off guard. The vampyré’s eyes were wide with alarm.
"I'm not," Gwen hissed, surprised that she was, in fact, misty-eyed. She blinked back the sudden swell of emotion. Briar stepped in front of Gwen, blocking her from curious eyes. "What are you doing?"
"Listen," Briar said, taming the growl simmering at the back of her throat. "I'm not trying to be your enemy here. Catch your breath, and then we'll continue with our chat."
After a few deep breaths, Briar slid back to her place at Gwen's side, watching the crowd silently with her.
Gwen puzzled over what motive could have prompted the act of kindness. Briar had effectively saved her from making a scene and at a ball being held in her and the other initiates' honor, nonetheless. Gwen gave Briar a sidelong glance, coming up short on all plausible reasons.
Briar heaved a sigh as she caught sight of Gwen's blatant suspicion. "You'll need thicker skin if you mean to survive as a royal vampyré," she said plainly, no heat or derision to her tone.
"Why would you care about my survival?"
"I don't."
Gwen's forehead scrunched, but her next question was usurped by the wave of raucous laughter. A large group of courtiers surrounded the enigmatic sorcerer, their eyes crimson and smiles hungry at whatever tale he regaled them with.
He was leaning casually against his cane, sweeping one hand up to embellish his story. His grin transformed to a broad smile that was mirrored by his listeners. And then the crowd's pleasure extinguished.
"Ugh." Gwen sought what made Briar bristle and found a small threesome making their way over to Jax and his fan group. "Who invited them?"
Gwen couldn't discern who “them” was. "Who are they?"
"They're shifters. I swear, their sole purpose in life is to stir up trouble. They just can't help themselves. I can't believe the sisterhood made this a public ball."
Jax met the group halfway, exuding far more genuine pleasure as he embraced them. The vampyré crowd meandered away, though some lingered near enough to listen in. The foursome chatted away, either oblivious to the scowls they received or willfully ignorant.
"Who's she?" Gwen gestured to the thirtysomething blonde in a dazzling gown with a high-low skirt and military boots.
"Franklin Baum. Owl shifter. She's part of the Wildings. Their merry band of beasts monopolizes the higher-paid operations that come up in court. If you're a shifter and you aren't with them…." Gwen filled in the blanks. "She'll be retiring from the court soon. Shifters don't age well here. Their bodies rarely keep up with their tempers, especially against the young ones who make their way in every year, eager to make their mark."
A moment of silence rested between them. "It looks like he gets along with everybody in court. Vampyrés, shifters—"
"Yes, Jax is quite the social butterfly. But don't be fooled. There are only two types of people who fall over their feet for Jax: those who want in his bed and those who want him dead."
A shrill curse lifted high above the general assembly before Gwen could comment. All eyes darted to the culprit, Madame Roux.
Gwen inhaled and took an instinctive step forward, then another. This wasn't good.
Forgetting about the vampyré next to her, Gwen hurried to claim a spot in the crowd growing around Madame Roux and a woman dressed in an asymmetrical plum gown. Her heart pumped madly in her chest as she took in the scene.
"You dare demand reparations of my household? Those mercenary sorcerers weren't even of your clan, tempest. How dare you demand any sort of amends when it was my household that suffered devastation?"
Madame Roux paced the circle's diameter, her eyes a deep red as she glared at Valdora. The tempest held her chin high. Their hatred was mutual.
"Protocols are in place for when things go awry," Valdora responded through clenched teeth.
Madame Roux hitched one eyebrow high. "And who sets that protocol?"
The crowd snickered its approval at the snide rebuttal.
"You killed those sorcerers without any kind of trial to ascertain why they did what they did or if they even did it! You had no right to kill them all," Valdora insisted.
"According to their contracts, their lives were forfeit the moment they killed one of ours."
"One of yours?" Valdora released a bitter laugh that raised the hair on Gwen's arms. "Those girls are nothing more than pets until they're claimed by the night."
Gwen swallowed thickly and scowled at Valdora. She wasn't the only one.
Valdora fed off the room's hostility, her magic filling the Grand Salon with an electric charge, sans staff or wand. Gwen hadn't known sorcerers or sorceresses could practice magic without them and gulped.
"Mind your words and your place, tempest. You are a guest here in my court. Do not ever forget."
Several growls and hisses followed Madame Roux's glacial reminder. Gwen peered about wide-eyed as the circle tightened. She saw only red eyes.
Where is Jax? Where are the shifters?
A tingle of apprehension washed over Gwen's skin as Madame Roux walked up to Valdora. "Rest assured, I am well aware of why they acted the role of savage killer. The sorcerers fell prey to their own dark magic. My charge lost her life because of their weak wills."
Valdora's throat worked up and down. She scanned the crowd for an ally but found none.
"I knew Gavin and Fiona. They—"
Madame Roux thrust up a hand. Her freshly painted acrylics were sharpened to a razor's edge and looked more claw-like than fashion-forward. "When we found Olivia, her chest was nothing more than a gaping hole, blackened to a crisp," she enunciated, stepping closer with each word. "There were no organs. No blood. No heart or lungs in the poor girl's body, only bones. If that is not malice, then I know not the word." Silence greeted her. "The sorcerers were dealt with swiftly, a fact that cannot be said for my charge. We seek no further recompense from your lot. Take your demands elsewhere, tempest. We are done here."
Valdora stormed off, bumping shoulders with Madame Roux and several others as she forced her way out. The air crackled with sparks of hot pink electricity in her wake.
Gwen experienced a sinking sensation in her stomach. This was her doing. She'd done this—she caused this conflict by not speaking the truth.
Bodies jostled Gwen as vampyrés rushed to praise Madame Roux. She backed away carefully. This was bound to add to the tension in the court between the different classes of supernaturals. Her grip tightened to a stranglehold on her glass.
She should have confessed.
A tap on Gwen's shoulder made her gasp in fright. Slapping a hand over her heart, she spun on her heels. "Laurel! Oh, thank God, I thought it was—"
Laurel's glare stopped her from finishing her sentence.
Confused and a touch shaken, Gwen stared meekly back, her gaze drifting to the person to Laurel's right. William. The mountainous man was indecently handsome tonight. A fresh shave showed off his square jaw and aquiline nose. He exuded confidence and satisfaction. Like the cat that got the cream or was just about to.
Gwen's eyes quickly roamed over the rest of him. He was dressed in an evergreen suit that was tailored to fit him perfectly. He looked incredibly handsome, much to her mind's chagrin and body's excitement.
Laurel cleared her throat. "Tomorrow, you have the esteemed pleasure of dining privately with our reigning champion of the Pits, William of the Gunwyn Household."
"I do?" Gwen squeaked.
