Covet the Night, page 34
Her flush remained as a sister squealed in delight across the room, dragging a thrall gladly off their pedestal to grope at their offered flesh. One exhale later, the redness faded back into her waning skin, and all sentiments of scandal reduced to an afterthought. She'd seen more debauchery take place in the public and private balls than this.
Gwen wondered when she'd become so desensitized to the lecherous displays of the courtiers. Her soon-to-be sisters included. Perhaps because it was one of the first things they encouraged her to embrace by them: the freedom of sexuality, to indulge for the sake of indulgence. To lay claim to their female power and wield it without mercy.
These unapologetic beliefs, combined with a litany of others, warred within Gwen against the manacles of obedience and unadulterated loyalty they demanded from her.
Hedonism at the price of deference.
Opulence in exchange for devotion.
Power at the expense of conformity.
All she'd ever wanted was to live her life on her own terms. But this—she swept her gaze around the room, her teacup turning cool in her hands—all of this was just another cage, wasn't it? William's accusations had struck gold, yet again. A sudden panic rippled through her, igniting her simmering aches and pains to a new level.
Why had she come here? What kind of deal had she made—
Gwen's face twisted in a grimace as a steady throbbing radiated from her skeletal frame and stole her attention in a sudden flash of acute discomfort. As she hunched forward, one arm dropping to curl around her stomach, she stifled a caustic laugh. After several deep breaths, she forced herself to straighten and was confronted with Laurel's concerned regard. A wave of dizziness plagued Gwen's head as she reached for her Earl Grey. Her hands trembled almost imperceptibly.
How could she ever forget why she came?
She was dying, and no tincture or tonic could save her from her fate. For one brief, elongated moment, her lashes kissed the tops of her cheeks, and she could feel the cancer eroding at her insides, deep inside her bones. She shuddered a breath as her lashes crested, then ground her molars against the pain.
Her choices were simple. A painful, permanent end to her life or a merciful twist of the neck to wake later stronger than ever before. Really, there was nothing to choose from. She’d made her decision the moment she accepted Laurel into her life.
Icy fingers grazed her cheek. "Pet?"
"Is she all right?" Lily inquired, voice verging on frantic. "One moment she was enjoying her tea, and the next—oh, here, dear. Sit back and relax. Laurel?" Cold hands fussed about Gwen's person. The marble back of Laurel's hand pressed firmer against Gwen's forehead and cheeks while another pair took the porcelain teacup from her.
"I'm all right," Gwen protested, squirming in her seat as she fought for composure.
"You're not." Hazel stretched partly over the table between them, face etched in concern. "We heard you… whimper," she whispered.
Gwen shook her head as she raised a hand to smooth back her hair, effectively knocking away Laurel's gentle attention. Clearly, the aspirin she'd taken before wasn't up to the task of her rebounded symptoms and combating the aftereffects of William's healing potions. "My period's always been a killer. At least the first couple of days. Cramps, nausea, the works."
"Gods," Lily swore in abject horror as she sat back in her seat. "How dreadful. I don't remember it being that bad when I was mortal." She directed her furrowed nose and brow to Hazel. "Do you?"
Hazel sat back in her seat, casting doe eyes Lily's way. "Remember? Heavens, no. Should we ask Poppy what to do?"
"I really don't think that's necessary, sisters."
Gwen nodded in vigorous agreement to Laurel's smooth interjection, but neither vampyré listened.
Sire and soon-to-be childe shared a sidelong glance. All the attention was bolstering the sickly feeling ravaging Gwen. Menstruation, on top of the rapid advancement of her AML symptoms, was a killer.
"Was Poppy old enough to get her monthlies when she was mortal?" Hazel fiddled with the blunt ends of her bob.
Laurel rolled her eyes and answered in a huff, "She turned at sixteen, not eleven."
A warm hand on Lily's forearm stalled her movement as she rose to stand and leave the table in search of sage advice.
"I'll be fine." Gwen pressed her fingertips to Lily's marble skin. "I would have taken something for the pain, but Laurel insisted I cherish it before I’m gifted immortality."
The lie, coupled with a beseeching smile, corralled Lily. "Your sire-to-be is a very wise woman."
Gwen stretched her smile, infusing some personality back into her voice even though all she wished to do was curl into a ball. "She is, but in lieu of medicine, I'll take some more sweets, per your recommendation."
Hazel whisked her hand into the air and snapped once while Lily cast a brilliant smile at Gwen that somehow made her heart flutter. Lily held Gwen's gaze until a blush crawled up her cheeks; then the vampyré let out a breathy little laugh, as if she knew exactly the effect her full attention had on a person.
"I cannot begin to express how thrilled I am to have you as a little sister," Lily gushed with enthusiasm, turning in her seat to face Gwen fully. She took Gwen's hands in her own, stroking her thumbs up and down the pale flesh. "You're going to accomplish great things for this sisterhood. The other two initiates are mere puppets for their sires’ gains, vying only to best each other. But you, my dearest, have already accomplished so much for the sisterhood. The sunlight ring, fearlessly enduring the Beast's attention—" Lily mock shivered. "—and taking a hit at a certain she-devil hiding behind the Vranas’ title. I can't wait to see what you'll do next."
Not to be outdone, Hazel leaned across the table to address Gwen. "Well, I can't wait for your centennial. We'll take you on a trip to visit all our favorite places around the world! And when we're finished, we'll see some of yours. Of course, you'll get to go out a bit before then into the world—we don't want you to be too overwhelmed on your big outing—but we'll save the best for your centennial.
"This is our little family tradition. None of the other sister lines put such emphasis on centennials, but we take them as a matter of pride on Violet's insistence," Hazel boasted.
"It's terribly fun." Lily's smile turned to wicked points as she narrowed her eyes playfully. "We'll find all your favorite flavors: young, middle-aged, or old—that one's Hazel's favorite."
The vampyré with the copper-gold bob let out a squeal and gently slapped Lily's shoulder. "No, it’s not," she managed to say through her giggling. "You know very well I prefer them in their early thirties." Hazel glanced at Gwen, her lips turning to mirror Lily's. "You certainly would have made my list, Gwendolyn."
Hazel winked and flashed some fang for good measure, and for a fleeting moment, Gwen's pain and plight were forgotten. She remembered that fervent feeling when Laurel first extended the offer of immortality. Hope had nearly burned a hole right through her chest because Gwen wasn't ready for her life to be over.
And if the Roux were willing to give her that chance, asking only for her love and loyalty in return…. Gwen swallowed. It was the price she was willing to pay.
"Well, aren't you a treat," Lily purred as she eyed the thrall who'd come to their table with a fresh tray of delicacies palatable for both vampyré and human.
Gwen released the breath she'd been holding, her pain rushing back to meet her as she eyed the thrall. He was well-muscled and perhaps an inch or so taller than her if she wasn't wearing heels. The man wore a self-satisfied smile. His shoulders were littered with fresh bite marks that left blood dripping down his naked torso.
"Now, this is the type of man you want in your life, Gwen," Lily disclosed in a mock whisper. She crooked her finger, and at once, the thrall was at her side, kneeling, neck craned to the side. "See what a gentleman he is? We'll start you off on thralls first. They're so forgiving and generous—and it doesn't matter in the least if you accidentally take too much. There's always plenty to go around."
Though Lily held Gwen's eyes for her small speech, she'd shifted to make room for the thrall kneeling at her side. She ran an appreciative hand down his sternum and gathered a sampling of his blood on her fingernail. She sucked it clean as she stared down at the man with heavy-lidded eyes.
"Besides that, they're wonderful to expend other appetites on as well. What do you say, Gwen? Is he to your tastes?"
Gwen's face filled with an unflattering color as she averted her gaze only to run into Laurel's impassive face. They stared at one another in silence before one of Laurel's eyebrows rose in challenge. Gwen's heart contracted as she returned her attention to the thrall and lingered pointedly over his body.
"He's… adequate," Gwen murmured, causing both Lily and Hazel to peal into laughter.
He can’t hold a candle to a certain hybrid.
"Oh, don't be so cruel, Gwen. I find you quite handsome." Lily splayed both hands over the thrall's chest, smearing the blood with widespread fingers. "Don't worry, darling; you're to my tastes. Perhaps Hazel's too."
Gwen watched the three depart, letting silence fill the distance between herself and Laurel before daring to look her way. Laurel's mask of impassivity was gone, replaced by a troubled frown that dug deep between her brows.
"How do you feel? Truly?"
Laurel took both of Gwen's hands in her own, and Gwen relished the cold touch. It anchored her away from the temptation that fought for her attention: William.
Her shoulders hunched as she let out a long breath. It was proving difficult to escape her lovely dreams of yesterday, though why she didn't know. He said it himself—he wanted her to die in his arms, completely mortal and unquestionably herself. He couldn't stand the thought of what he thought the Roux were shaping her into.
Gwen noted the reprimand in Laurel's eyes at her diminished frame. Squeezing Laurel's hands, she rolled back her shoulders and tipped up her chin. Laurel squeezed her back.
"My period is more intense than usual," Gwen spoke calmly, her short emphasis earning a nod of acknowledgment from Laurel.
"We both knew it would be," Laurel said, fingers caressing the back of Gwen's hand. "But you won't have to endure much longer." She scooted forward in her seat, her coolness penetrating the space they shared. "In two nights' time, you can have what you need to eclipse the pain, and by the time your period's ended, well, you'll never need to know pain again."
Gwen breathed a sigh of relief. Laurel echoed her small smile.
"You know how proud I am of you, don't you, pet? You're blooming right before my eyes and our sisters’ too. We know we can trust you and that you can trust us and our guidance. Don't you, pet?"
"Of cour—"
"Which is why," Laurel said, slipping closer until only inches separated their faces, the proximity prompting a terrible pulse behind Gwen's right eye, "I'm trusting you to run an errand for me. It shouldn't take you long at all. All I need is for you to pass a message to an owl shifter named Franklin. You may have spotted her in the halls before. She's one of the older shifters in the court and well respected by her kind. Shifters come and go in this court like the seasons, either earning their riches and leaving or their deaths, but she's managed to survive and has earned her regard." She waved a hand, absently brushing away the detail as she leaned back, and then Gwen felt a crinkle of paper press against her palm. "She'll probably be loitering around the Cellar Bar since it reopened. You know where that is, don't you?"
"Yes, but—"
"Excellent. Run along now. I'll have a bath drawn for you when you return. You can take a nice long soak after running the errand so you can rest. You won't enjoy the festivities to come nearly as much as the others here anyway."
Both women set their regards on the occupants of the common room. The tea portion of the party was finished, and sisters idled around the room, milling about the "statues." Hands and eyes ran appreciatively over the variety of bodies and curves on display. The noise grew in the room as Danica was ushered front and center to the statuesque formation of three women entwined in fixed foreplay.
Unease gripped Gwen as the noise shifted to sharp whispers and hisses.
A scream ripped through the room, closely followed by a second as Danica launched herself at the women with her vampyric speed. Gwen glimpsed the collateral damage before the sisterhood closed in on the scene. They blocked the carnage while caging in the remaining thralls whose horrified shrieks ricocheted off the walls.
"I'll be back as soon as I can," Gwen said and stood, her face pale but otherwise unmoved.
Gwen marched her way to the Cellar, ignoring the curious stares her militant pursuit garnered as she channeled all her focus on the task at hand instead of the rising pain in her body. She desperately hoped the Cellar elevator was working. The staircases were proving to be problematic on her joints.
All she had to do was deliver the note, and then she could go back and rest. That was it. There would be no detours, small talk, not even a friendly wave to the Delacroix twins she'd been introduced to at her first ball. They'd led her and Liv on a merry chase with the constantly vanishing clock. A fond smile began to worm its way onto Gwen's lips before it froze in place.
A sudden knot appeared to have lodged in her throat. She veered sideways, laying her palm flat against it as her other hand massaged her neck. She inhaled deeply to work past the sudden coil.
She wasn't supposed to think of—
She didn't mean to—
Her hand slipped from her throat to her sternum, fingers running over the familiar bumps and ridges of her scar and trailing over where her tattered birthmark lay.
"Just breathe, Gwen," she muttered to herself, casting her gaze in each direction to make sure no one was about to take advantage of her vulnerable state. Satisfied, she ducked her head and relaxed. "It's all right. You didn't mean to remember."
But now that she had, her last moments with Liv filled her vision, the unhinged ramblings, and desperate pleas. Those black eyes and crawling veins. And Gwen would never—could never—forget the gaping hole in her chest that had devoured Liv from the inside out.
"You look like shit."
Gwen didn't have to look up to know the owner of the voice wore a smug smirk. It riled her, nonetheless. She leveled Bailey with a frosty glare.
The Amazonian woman's arms were folded across her chest. Trailing a step or two behind her was Irina's niece, River, and a woman with shockingly white hair who looked to be around River's age. Maybe a couple of years older.
"Fuck off," Gwen spat, standing straight despite her bones' protests.
"You have some nerve." Bailey snarled and lunged at Gwen.
River's dark hand on the she-wolf's bicep stopped her. It was a mercy Gwen was unabashedly thankful for. She didn't have the energy or strength to take them on. Fatigue had hit after the first flight of stairs—hard.
"Seriously?” Bailey snapped. “After what she did to Sebastian and Briar, you're just going to let her walk away like nothing happened?"
"We have more important things to do with our time than waste it on her," River answered, emerald eyes cutting into Gwen.
Some tension left Bailey's frame, though her fierce scowl remained fixed on Gwen.
"You're right," Bailey replied. The redhead planted her feet wide as a devilish smile spread across her lips. "I'm sure Briar and Sebastian would prefer the honor."
Gwen's hands curled into fists at her side as the trio started to walk past. She would have let them leave without saying a word, but the nasty smirk and kiss Bailey blew over her shoulder broke Gwen's restraint.
"They won't.” Her words chased after them, and she heard the scuff of their feet as they came to a halt. Gwen bit back a smile. Letting her hand slide down the wall, she turned and leaned against the cool stone with her shoulder. She eyed their strict postures with satisfaction. "They won't lift a finger against me."
"That's a lot of confidence for someone who's no stronger than a dormouse."
Gwen ignored Bailey's chilled tone. "Briar and I already chatted. There were no hard feelings over the… incident."
A growl rumbled through the air, and gold flashed in Bailey's eyes, but it was River who took two steps toward her with a puzzled frown.
"When?"
"At the ball a few nights ago." The two women took their time appraising one another before the younger's frown deepened. "What's wrong with you?"
The jumpsuit Gwen wore showcased the rush of blood from the bottom of her sternum to the tops of her cheekbones. "Nothing is wrong with me," she ground out between clenched teeth. Her feet shifted as she floundered between straightening her spine with confidence and keeping some measure of nonchalance in her form. Her wavering did little to accomplish either persona.
Bailey snorted, closing more of the distance between them, and then sniffed the air. Her top lip curled back, but it didn't hold quite the malice Gwen was expecting.
"You reek of pain," Bailey sneered, her eyes traveling over the long sleeves of her jumpsuit. "Are they beating you, or—"
"No!" Gwen cried, appalled at the very suggestion.
Bailey's sneer struggled to stand as she sent a long-suffering glance to River, who still eyed Gwen quizzically. When Bailey's eyes returned to her, they'd lost their golden sheen.
"Poisoning more their style?" Bailey questioned dryly.
Gwen sucked in a breath at the cruel barb and took a step away from the wall. A wave of dizziness hit her square in the chest instantly, leaving her breathless. She stumbled back and hit the wall. Her eyes slammed shut as she caught her breath and steadied herself.
A warm hand settled on her wrist. When Gwen opened her eyes, River was before her. Her cool assessment was unsettling.
"I'm fine," Gwen croaked, cringing away from the nearness of the trio as a whole.
River's hand dropped.
