Covet the Night, page 3
"You too," Gwen replied to Liv's back.
Rather than explore the second subfloor of the court like Liv and Brit, Gwen ventured down another flight of stairs to find her prize. Voices from above and below whispered in her ear as she journeyed down. She hadn't noticed them before, but now that she was alone, it was as if the voices were following her.
Gwen left the stairwell as soon as she reached the third subfloor; relief sweeping through her as the phantom whispers abated. The antechamber was a far simpler affair than the previous two. Here, the emphasis fell upon a dozen or so onyx busts with only a smattering of seating options for one to linger in. Gwen shuffled forward, her eyes darting this way and that, and froze when she saw a man and woman stride from one end of the antechamber to the other, passing through one of the many open doorways on hastened feet.
Gwen pressed herself against the nearest wall to avoid their passing sight, but neither looked her way. They were far too engrossed in their heated conversation.
Goaded by her racing pulse, Gwen gave chase, hustling to trace their steps as they disappeared down a hallway with a well-worn runner. Gotcha, Gwen thought, spotting the pair halfway down the hall. She curbed her pace in hopes of keeping her presence under wraps, or at the very least inconspicuous. She couldn't be certain if they were vampyrés, shifters, or sorcerers but hoped for the latter who didn't possess supernatural hearing. Gwen followed their voices as they wound through the floor.
Gwen slowed abruptly as she neared a corner, and the sound of their voices vanished. Peeking her head around the curve, she was startled to find the long stretch ahead empty. A puzzled frown tugged her features down as she delved deeper into the labyrinth of halls. Whenever a noise or sound caught her ear, she was swift to follow it, but all her chasing left her lost.
"Damn," she swore under her breath. Gwen glared at the familiar portrait of a general with muttonchops the length of her palm. She’d already passed him. Twice. "Where did you go?" she whispered to herself, eyes scouring the numerous offshoots down the hall and identical dark wood doors.
Shadows flickered against the wall, catching her eye as she continued her search. The candlelight sconces gave light and warmth to the slightly dampened air.
Stubbornness kept Gwen's stride purposeful, but as she covered more ground—as well as ground already trod—her doubts rose. She reached for an auburn tendril to fiddle with as she gathered her wits, but it did little to calm her.
Her eyes drew back to the shadows, which, like the voices in the stairwell, seemed to follow her. She knew the thought was ridiculous, but it persisted nonetheless and grew. Before long, the whiplike flicks of the shadows morphed into archaic shapes and figures. A raven's beak here. A menacing dog there.
But what stopped her short was the skeletal hand clawing at the wall.
Frozen in fear, she watched the shadow curl in on itself to form a fist before swallowing itself whole. A shuddering exhalation left her, followed by a choked laugh as she tore her eyes away from the shadows.
For a moment, her imagination had wandered too out of control. She'd thought the skeletal hand had belonged to death itself and was reaching out to claim her. That the shadows hadn't just been following her, they'd been stalking her. Gwen shook herself of such absurdity and pushed aside her latent fear.
What did she have to fear of death?
She'd accepted her fate long before Laurel had presented this unrivaled opportunity. So why should the thought of courting death so intimately now draw up her fears? They shouldn't, she scolded herself harshly and thrust her shoulders back. Her acceptance of death was one of the driving factors for why Laurel had chosen her. And she wouldn't squander this second chance now.
Renewed strength pushed Gwen forward, eyes oblivious to the distracting shadows and ears keen to pick up the barest hint of sound.
The allure of life after death wasn't the sole reason that drove her; it was that this was her choice. It was hers and nobody else's. Her chest puffed up at the reminder. Life, whether undead or not, on her terms was the penultimate goal for Gwen. And the unfettered time to discover who she really was, an opportunity left untouched in her twenty-eight years on earth thus far, was the crowning jewel to it all.
An unwanted memory surfaced as she decidedly turned right at the next juncture. It was her father berating her decision to forgo treatment and see the world. A quitter—that was what he'd called her. At the time, his words were a stab to the heart, searing and cruel, yet directly after, a strange peace had settled over her.
What was the point in fighting the inevitable?
Choosing to see the world and die somewhere beautiful and unknown seemed the far better alternative to being plugged into who knew how many ungodly machines in a sterile white room. Her father had lambasted her with callous and unreasonable comparisons to her mother's same plight. She was a fighter, he'd said. Why couldn't Gwen be a fighter? If not for herself, then why not for him?
Gwen's lips formed a grim line.
She was fighting now. She was fighting for a future that shouldn't even be possible. She—
Gwen stopped abruptly. She could hear them.
Moving on adrenaline, she snuck up to the closest intersection and peered left around the corner. Her heart leaped to the back of her throat as she smothered an excited cry. They were some fifteen yards away. Gwen slipped back and pressed her hand against her heart as if it could somehow calm it. After several slow breaths, she looked again and found them a touch closer. She swallowed thickly and quickly made a mental note of their physiques and features to report back to the sisterhood.
The female was gorgeous, not that it surprised Gwen. Every face she'd encountered thus far had not been spared when it came to faultless or exotic beauty. But this woman was different. Her raven-black hair was a stark contrast to her porcelain skin. And her eyes…. No silver ring adorned her irises, but the presence of her supernatural proclivities was in no doubt, for Gwen had never seen copper eyes like hers before. A hybrid. Dread filled Gwen. Laurel had warned to steer clear of them with their fierce tempers, ungodly strength, and luminous copper eyes.
And the male….
"What makes you think you deserve a favor from me, eh, lass?" A dulcet Scottish burr tinged the man's every word. Gwen sucked in a breath at the velvet sound. "After everything you've done."
The man was mountainous from behind. Thick muscle was encased in tailored trousers, and a crisp white shirt rolled to the elbows. Her regard lingered on the black ink etched across his bare forearms in Druid-like symbols. The only bout of color on him was his hair, which was a rich red bronze and cropped short at the sides but left thick on top.
"You're not still upset about that, are you?" the woman asked drolly. "William, I hardly—"
"You told them," William interrupted. "You told the entire bloody lot of them how to create more of us. In detail."
The woman's eyes rolled upward. "It was only a matter of time before the information would be demanded from us. Hybrids are the next evolution of supernaturalkind. I'm surprised it wasn't discovered long ago."
"It was discovered long ago, with me." The man looked away in frustration, and Gwen jerked back out of sight, glimpsing William's brows rushing down in a scowl before he was out of view. "I never told a soul because I didn't want any other lycan to go through the pain of losing their wolf spirit. My family is dead, and countless others, because some madman wanted to play God."
"William." Gwen peeked back out to see the woman place a hand tenderly on his arm. "What happened to you and your family was horrendous, but I cannot deny how appreciative I am for the sacrifice." William attempted to jerk out of her hold, but she held strong. "But without you, I wouldn't be standing here today, or Deval. Without you, we would have died. Nevertheless, I’m sorry that the details of our creation were forced to become public knowledge."
Seconds dragged on before William snorted and his stiff posture loosened. "I suppose I can find it in my heart to forgive you, lass."
The woman dropped her hand back down to her side as her lips pinched together briefly. "We've been over this a hundred times, William," she explained with cracked patience. "My name is Irina Vrana, not ‘lass.’ Do try to keep up. Not every woman likes to be subjected to your Scottish wiles."
"I've yet to meet one," he replied, deliberately accentuating his words so they echoed in the passageway. "Lass."
The raven-haired beauty, Irina, scowled fiercely and grabbed his arm again as he attempted to leave. William grunted in censure, wheeling on the slight woman with a severe expression on his face.
"I'm not helping you," he said. "It's dark magic you're messing with, and I'll have nothing to do with it."
A small gasp escaped Gwen's mouth at the new profile she was presented with of William. His square jaw was covered in a smartly trimmed beard, two shades darker than the bronze color he sported on his head. Full lips led to a Roman nose and glinting copper eyes. Gwen clapped a hand over her mouth and hid out of view. Another hybrid. So much for going undetected, she thought while clenching her eyes shut and biting back a whimper. She hoped they were too engrossed to hear the small noises she was making. With their superior hearing, she worried they'd sound like bombs. When she dared to peer past the corner, her worries went thankfully unheeded.
"You wouldn't be helping me," Irina insisted, her scowl evaporating while her grip on William's arm tightened enough to bunch the fabric of his shirt. "You'd be helping Jax after the countless selfless"—William scoffed—"acts he's done for you. Namely the acquisition of your former pack's whereabouts and their medallions of solasaich."
William closed the distance between himself and Irina, forcing the female to crane her neck back to stare into his eyes.
"Be careful with that loose tongue of yours. That business isn't meant for passing ears."
"Help him," Irina persisted doggedly. William jerked back, releasing a growl of frustration. "You're the one who gave him the mirror in the first place! You owe it to him—"
"I owe him nothing," William cut in fiercely. "And giving him that mirror was a mistake. I shoulda never meddled. Least of all with dark magic."
Gwen frowned at them, wondering what exactly was so dangerous about a mirror, of all things. However, she conceded, anything labeled dark magic could only be dangerous.
"He's not meddling in dark magic," Irina said with exasperation, causing Gwen's hand to slowly drop from her mouth and her eyebrows to greet her hairline. Irina fisted her hands at her sides. Faint splotches of pink painted the hybrid’s high cheekbones.
William crossed his arms.
"He's not," Irina insisted, unclenching her hands to smooth out her jumpsuit. "He's simply exploring new magic."
"New magic. Dark magic. What's the difference?"
"Everything, seeing as you have no evidence to prove it's the latter."
"Oh, don't I?" William rumbled, leaning forward an inch. "Then why is it your sorcerer keeps disappearing for months and months on end? You know as well as I that whatever 'new magic' he's exploring on the other side of that mirror isn't right. You can't go around leaving your body for that long while your spirit traipses about where it doesn't belong. And what kind of 'new magic' is it exactly that's stopped him from aging? He looks the same as he did a decade ago."
The muscles in Irina's neck strained as her cheeks tapered in. "For one so vehement about keeping secrets, you're certainly adept at revealing them. Passing ears, remember? Are you trying to get him killed?"
"No, lass"—a stern glare from Irina made William backtrack, his hands throwing up in defense—"Irina," he corrected swiftly. "You know that's not the case. I don't wish ill on your family. Though my association with you certainly hasn't done me, or anybody else, any favors."
"That's a completely different topic altogether, William." Irina waved her hand as if swatting away a fly. "The court will come to terms with our new status eventually. It's only been twenty years since we replaced the Thorburns as a Royal Household after all."
"Regardless—"
"Help him," she pleaded, placing both hands on his folded arms. "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. And really, what we're asking isn't much. Whatever you can find on the scroll and scepter would be immensely helpful to us understanding the workings of the mirror better, and we know you have sway with that toad in the library."
"His name is Merrit."
William was met with another harried wave of Irina's hand. "Will you help or not? You're one of the few people our family trusts outside our numbers."
Gwen thought she heard the man curse and was unprepared for him to spin out of Irina's hold and in her direction. Biting back a yelp, she jerked back. A tear resounded as her heel caught on the long train of her silk chiffon skirt. Her eyes widened.
There could be no doubt they'd heard the noise. Gwen contemplated fleeing, but the notion quickly left her. There was no chance of outrunning them. Damn.
Her heartbeat skyrocketed. Gwen was certain they could hear it in the deafening quiet. They were probably homing in on her right now. The man was undoubtedly slinking up to the corner she hid behind at this very moment, readying to pounce. He'd kill her… if the woman didn't get to her first.
Gwen's hands moved of their own accord to gather her skirts, preparing to run. There’s no other choice, she thought with steely determination.
As blood rushed to her heart and lungs, pumping oxygen to her contracted muscles in anticipation of her flight, another noise sounded. Gwen took a step back automatically, assuming one of the pair was approaching. It was not.
The noise was a foreboding creak that filled the hallway with its high-pitched whine. Gwen looked about quizzically for the source, landing on some outlandish piece of tapestry hanging on a far wall. Her feet pedaled her back, and seconds later, the tapestry was pushed aside. A young woman with warm tawny brown skin stepped out with a leather satchel slung over one shoulder, and shortly after her, a woman, perhaps five or so years older, who could have very well been a Roux sister if not for the flash of gold her eyes emitted as they surveyed the surrounding. Lycan, Gwen's mind filled in. They were a vampyré’s natural enemy. The pair walked toward Irina and William.
"River!" Irina exclaimed. "What on earth are you doing here? And how," she continued more tersely, "did you find that secret entrance?"
Gwen pressed her back against the wall and grappled to control her erratic huffing and puffing. She inched to the side, putting more distance between herself and the foursome.
"Hi, Aunt Irina," River, presumably, said. "Uncle Ryatt may have mentioned your Vienna house had a private entrance to the Dark Court at some point or another."
The cool pliable fabric of Gwen’s skirts felt the sting of her nails before her palms suffered the same plight. Forcing herself from running away, she dug her heels into the soft carpet—against her better judgment and survival skills. The Roux wanted something of value, and the information she was learning was priceless.
"Why are you here?" Irina demanded. "Does my brother know you're here?" The silence that followed was taut and telling. "Oh, dear God," Irina groaned. "Xander will have my head."
"You do realize you would destroy him in a fight?" William chimed in.
"Shut. Up. I need to think." The thump of footsteps treading near and then far echoed for several long seconds.
"Please don't be mad," River said. "You're the only one who can help me, Aunt Irina."
"What's wrong?"
Another pause, and then the shuffling of feet sounded. Gwen strained to hear from her position.
"It's about my… problem. You know—"
"Yes, yes," Irina broke in. "There's no need to go airing your personal business out in the open. Enough of that has happened already."
A sour “Humph” lit the air.
"Come on, follow me,” Irina continued. “We'll talk in private and discuss at length how you got to Vienna and managed to rope Bailey in with you."
Gwen's heartbeat settled as multiple sets of feet scuffled down the hall away from her. After what felt like an eternity, the sound disappeared completely. She slumped against the cool stone wall to further settle her overwrought nerves. The exposed skin of her back tingled lightly from its permeating chill. A grin gradually trumped her lips before she pushed away from the wall and headed back in the direction of the floor's antechamber.
It would take time for her to navigate the maze of hallways, but she felt confident she'd find her way out and back to the Roux household. Vibrant hope and excitement sizzled inside her. Gwen bit her lip, yet she couldn't erase her grin. She ducked her head and laughed breathlessly. Liv was right—a secret was far easier to obtain than whatever methods Brit might have gone to with her body.
The thought crossed her mind just as she ran straight into a wall.
With a curse, Gwen clutched her abused nose and ricocheted back. Blinking through her rapidly watering eyes, she discovered her offender not to be a wall but a man.
It was William. And he looked anything but pleased to see her.
III
T
he first thought that entered Gwen's head as she stared up into the hybrid's bright copper eyes was that he was much taller close-up. The second was that she was going to die. And death by this man's hand would, without a doubt, be permanent.
Her mouth and brows turned sharply down. Damn it. She couldn't fail now. She'd only just begun.
William wore a stony expression that highlighted the prominent bridge on his nose. It made Gwen wonder briefly if he was born with such a feature or earned it through other nefarious means. Her eyes set themselves upon the thick layer of muscle that wrapped around his entire body. Nefarious means, she decided, her frown cutting deeper.
