Covet the Night, page 36
Gwen managed to curtail the glare she meant to point at Bailey and her fingers in lieu of seeking out her ultimate prize. "Where? I don't see her."
"She's the one in the white gauzy dress and black corset. Blonde hair. If I were you, I'd deliver that message of yours and get the hell out of here before anyone notices you've wandered away from the flock." Two cents delivered, Bailey reached up and tightened her ponytail with a swift tug, then whirled around and marched headfirst into the gambling hall.
"Good luck, Gwen," River said. She rested her hand on Gwen's shoulder, offering the same pleasant relief as before. Her green eyes flickered down to Gwen's forearm. "Are you—"
"I'm fine," Gwen assured her, dropping both arms down to her sides. "Go. I can take it from here."
River's expression said what her mouth would not, that she didn't believe Gwen for one second. She left regardless with a curt nod.
Stella waved a hand absentmindedly at Gwen, not bothering to turn around as she trailed after the witch and she-wolf.
Gwen maintained her position by the stairs for a few heartbeats, weighing her options as to how best to approach Franklin.
She pressed herself against the banister as a pair of burly men stomped down the stairs. They were fighters. They met whatever the minimum requirement was for the gambling hall's dress code, in dark pants and buttoned shirts, but did little else to impress. Deep in conversation, they passed Gwen without so much as a look and headed straight for the action. She slipped behind them, taking sanctuary behind their broad frames as they waded through the crowd.
The gazes of countless men and women tracked Gwen despite her cover. She caught them out of the corner of her eye, riding up her spine.
Don't falter now. She thrust her chin higher in the air. You are an heir to the Roux. Be fearless. Be strong. And, for the love of God, be smart.
Gwen glanced left and right to get a better bearing on her position. Last she saw, Franklin was stationary next to an oversized roulette wheel. But what if she’s moved? Am I even gaining ground? She peeked out from behind the two hulking men and spotted the fair-haired owl shifter a few yards away. Relief clouded the pain resurfacing in her body.
Gwen wove around the pair of fighters, treading among the tide of people who clamored to see what hand fate dealt the players at its board. She kept her gaze locked on Franklin. Get in and get out. Franklin was older than the regular fare of supernaturals that populated the court but not by much. Gwen's brow scrunched. Do shifters age slower?
As she edged closer, she caught the owl shifter’s striking blue eyes, as well as the four people who made up the circle she was in.
The owl shifter cocked her head to the side as she reached them. "Well, well, well, what brings you down to the Styx? You've wandered a bit far from home, don't you think, little Roux?"
Gwen shoved her shoulders back and kept her eyes on Franklin, despite the leer one of her cohorts was sending her.
"I have a message for you."
The gleam in Franklin's eyes sharpened. "Is that so?" She angled her body to face Gwen fully.
Gwen held out the note to Franklin. The heat and dampness from her palm had squished the corners, but the shifter didn't comment. "It's from— Hey!" She pulled the note back to avoid the swiping hand of one of Franklin's goons. "This is for Franklin's eyes only," she said coldly.
The shifter didn't look the least bit intimidated or offended as she chortled and stepped back.
"Let's have it, then," Franklin declared with an exaggerated sigh, hip popping out as she held her palm out.
Gwen handed over the note without interference. Franklin smirked as she unfolded the manhandled message, quickly scanning the contents. When she lifted her eyes to Gwen's face, it was with a cruel smile and a slow shake of her head. The note found its way into the fold of Franklin's dress as the shifter looked Gwen up and down.
The hair rose on the back of Gwen's neck. Franklin's assessment was drawing damning smirks from her compatriots and whispers among those closer. Gwen looked right back.
Despite Franklin's dress, the illusion of femininity was marred by the well-worn corset and dark leggings poking out from the splits in her skirt. That and the fresh wounds across both sets of knuckles. She might have been the oldest shifter in court, but it was clear she still got in on the action.
"Is that all?" Franklin's velvet voice drawled.
"Yes," Gwen responded curtly.
The cruel smile hitched higher. "Then enjoy yourself… while you can."
The surrounding people laughed, Franklin included, before closing their circle off.
Gwen pressed her lips into a strict line as she whirled around, intent on making a grand exit, only to be confronted by a mass of incoming bodies. She was bumped and knocked into as she worked her way against the flow of the crowd. Where did all these supernaturals come from?
"Rumor has it the vampyrés are behind all the attacks going on at court—even their precious little initiates. They just want an excuse to exterminate the current rotation of sorcerers at court because they're demanding more compensation."
Gwen's ears perked at the remark, but she wisely kept her eyes forward and continued her upstream battle.
"Don't worry, they're not untouchable. They'll get what's coming to them eventually, and then some."
Laughter broke up the conversation happening behind her. Curiosity and unease coiled inside her. She longed to slow and listen further, but a shock of black in the form of demon eyes took her by surprise.
The demon was gorgeous. He was tall, dark-skinned, and owned a wicked smile. His arm was draped across the shoulder of some other male, but the demon's eyes were only for Gwen as they crossed paths.
"And when we get to my rooms, what are you going to do?" the demon asked his prey.
The man looked up at him with pure adoration; his pupils shot as if he were drugged. "Bend over and take it like a good boy."
The demon threw his head back with a raucous laugh that was immediately swallowed by the crowd.
Gwen steered her gaze to the floor. Her body was on fire, and she was mortified to find herself aroused by the demon's confidence and his lover's submission.
She swallowed convulsively. The seeds of passion and want and sinful curiosity swelled inside her as she raised her eyes to assess her position. Her progress was stalled by the crowd's leisurely movements, but she was making some progress toward the staircase, however little it was.
Temptation tugged at Gwen as she watched everyone enjoy themselves with abandon. Caresses were dealt out shamelessly, and glasses tinkled and tipped back with hearty exclamations. The wild and reckless behavior reminded her faintly of her night out with William. It was as if this sublevel of the court had a pulse all its own, and it beat proudly and loudly in defiance of the ruling class of vampyré above.
A brush of silken fabric made Gwen's lashes flutter in bliss. She almost missed the slanted smirk of some black-eyed passerby. The smirk's sharp edges knocked her from her strange high. Gwen blinked rapidly and twisted her gaze to the carpeted floor once more. She was being careless and timid—everything she'd told herself she wouldn't be.
She needed to go back to the Roux, to Laurel—
"Your money's no good here, Jasmine. Get lost."
Gwen snapped her head up at the crass shout. A petite woman was glaring daggers at the demon who refused the currency in her hand. "It was good enough for you yesterday."
The demon shrugged, accepting money from another patron who stole the seat Jasmine stood before. "New policy in place: no backstabbers."
Gwen shuffled closer. The woman's spine stiffened. Gwen knew this woman. She recognized the silky black hair and dewy olive skin her sisters praised not long ago. Her husband tried to kill William while his back was turned. And now, it seemed, whatever rank or influence she'd had at court was gone.
"What? Nothing to say?" the demon jeered. "Get lost."
Jasmine's arm fell to her side as she retreated a step. Her ruby eyes subtly scanned the crowd—and then she was gone in a flash of vampyric speed.
"You'd think she was still in her first fifty years with that kind of speed," the demon dealer said amicably to the gamblers at his table, collecting their bets. "She must have gotten her hands on some of that good shit—if you know what I mean."
The players cackled as Gwen moved past them.
Jaw clenched as her discomfort increased. She did her best to keep pace with the stream of people working their way out of the gambling hall. The Styx, Bailey and Franklin had called it. Gwen wondered how literally they took that name—
Someone shrieked. Gwen thought it might have been herself, but there were several other cries of alarm that sounded around her, so she couldn't be sure. What she was sure of was the dead man lying an arm's length away from her.
A mighty cheer surged through the crowd. The murderer in question thrust his bloodied machete in the air and spat on his victim, whose head had rolled—thankfully—away from Gwen. The scene drew the crowd inward. Warm bodies pressed against her as the crowd jostled to keep its rudimentary circle and gawk.
She couldn't breathe. Or maybe she was, and it just wasn't helping?
The outburst of violence came out of nowhere. There was no prelude of what was to come—no shouting, no abrupt movements that caught the eye. It was killing for the sake of killing, and it made her want to vomit.
It made the crowd cry for more.
A violent current rippled through the huddled bodies. No one was immune to the thirst for more blood, not even Gwen, despite her best efforts. Caught up in the swell of fury, she craved vicious justice. Someone needed to do something. Someone needed to punish the man—arrest him! Someone should—
The murderer locked eyes on her, and all notions of rage and fury fled. Her knees buckled and his smirk grew, showing more teeth than anything else. Everything about his expression and body language promised pain—and not the swift kind.
Those around Gwen began to shuffle back, making room for the monstrous man's second act. She pedaled backward, but several hands stopped her. They grasped her arms and pushed at her back, keeping her in place despite her protests.
"Let me go!" Gwen cried, shaking from her head to her toes. This couldn't be how she died. It couldn't. And yet, not thirty minutes ago, the banshee heralded her death. Oh God, I thought I’d have more time. Didn’t Stella say ten nights? Gwen thought inconsolably. She didn't want to die.
Tears muddied her vision, and the crowd's cheering and jeering roared in her ears. Gwen squeezed her eyes shut, yanking to no avail at her imprisonment and losing strength fast. She sagged.
She didn't want to die.
The hands supporting Gwen fled. Her eyes shot open in time to catch the machete glinting in the candlelight that was raised high above her head. She would have collapsed if it weren't for a different set of hands that roughly yanked her out of the murderer's path. The machete found its home in another, and the crowd screamed in delight, their thirsts quenched at the unexpected turn of events.
Gwen quietly sobbed and stuffed a fist in her mouth to muffle her scream. Her savior dragged her through the congested crowd, but she couldn't take her eyes off the unfortunate soul who'd taken her place and lay bleeding out on the floor.
The world around her blurred as she was pulled from the crush of bodies to… somewhere. She didn't know where she was being taken to, and with every other step, she tripped over her feet. A coarse shiver raked over her. When the manacle-like hands abandoned her to the machete, a pit of despair swallowed her whole, leaving her numb and utterly helpless. Tears rushed down her cheeks. She wasn't even able to muster a flight response in the face of impending death. She'd just stood there, shaking like a lamb.
Gwen dragged the back of her hand underneath her eyes in an attempt to restore her vision. It was difficult to grasp any kind of composure, but she had to try. Apparently, there was still some fight left in her, despite her colossal fuckup moments ago.
"William?" His name choked out of her, and she stumbled again as her vision focused on him.
He tossed a glare over his shoulder at her, his face whiter than she'd ever seen it, and pulled her behind the grand staircase and into a shadowed alcove.
"Just what the hell do you think you're doing down here?"
William was furious—no, enraged. No, he thought, bloody terrified. He hadn't been this terrified since Martin Allves took him and his family, and he was helpless to protect them against the mad scientist's vulgar tests.
He released Gwen abruptly and took a proper look at her.
She looked awful.
Her features stood out in harsh relief, highlighting her slim physique to an almost sickly level. She was scared and hurting; all the evidence he needed could be found in her hunched shoulders and red-rimmed eyes. It was one thing being prey in a sea of predators, but to come within seconds of death with nowhere to run and no one to shield her? William swallowed thickly, scraping a hand down his face. If he hadn't needed to come down to the Styx to wrap up some loose ends on a business deal, she would have been killed.
"Well?" His terror tipped into anger when she gave no immediate answer. "What are you doing down here? Do you know how dangerous it is in the Styx? Not just for humans but for shifters and sorcerers and vampyrés alike? This is demon territory, Gwen. They claimed this space years ago, and those who dare set foot here are fair game to their wiles."
He crowded closer as a spark of life ignited in her bloodshot eyes, but still, she didn't speak.
"I only just told you about what demons are capable of. If your guard isn't up, they can manipulate your emotions till you lose all sense of control. You could have easily fallen under their dark persuasion—and I dare say you did. Why else would you have gotten wrapped up in that fight?" She shook her head softly, eyes owlish as they stared at him. William cursed and clasped her shoulders. "You could have gotten yourself killed. Are you so eager to die? Could you not—"
But his reprimand was cut short as she threw herself at him, locking her arms around his neck and fastening her lips to his. There was a desperation in her kiss that demanded an equal return. William couldn't deny her. He cradled the back of her head, fingers shoving aside the pins that kept her glossy garnet hair fastened in place, and pulled her close.
She could have died.
A tremor passed through him. His teeth and tongue sought to claim her, sweeping over her lips until she had no choice but to comply. Without thought, he herded them deeper into the alcove until they were forced to stop, until she had nowhere to go but to him. William groaned against Gwen's lips, taking her in another breath-stealing kiss as she panted in the short interim he'd allowed.
His hands moved of their own accord to feel the rest of her or as much of her as he could. She’s too thin, he thought, as he nipped her bottom lip. All he felt were bones and soft, soft skin that was made to be loved by him. Gwen squirmed underneath his hands, her body chasing after his touch. It drew a pleasing purr from William, and he tilted her head back to kiss her more deeply, running one hand up to cup her neck and feel the frantic beat of her pulse.
She’d been stunned speechless by his kiss before, but this… this was world-shattering. He kissed her as if it was their last, and, she supposed with renewed vigor, hands molding over his pecs and testing their strength with groping fingers, that was appropriate.
Gwen trembled in his amorous hold.
Her face was still damp from her tears, but the telltale sting of their return was at her lash line once again. His kiss and touch were a wonderful distraction from the pain scoring through her body, but it wasn't enough. She ducked her head, aiming away from his searching lips, and panted. She didn't know how much longer she could go on like this.
Her forehead settled against William's chest, her thoughts taking a darker turn as the shadows saved them from the vociferous plague of the gambling hall a stone's throw away.
"Kill me," Gwen begged. "Turn me."
He jerked back, scalded by the soft-spoken words. "No," he bit out, staring at her hung head. "I can't." He took another step back as she stood motionless before him. "I won't." Passion building, he forged on "You deserve to see sunrises and sunsets without the aid of some magical ring. You deserve to taste every flavor this world has to offer. Your conscience shouldn't have to bear the blood of the innocents you'll spill."
Before his eyes, she wilted, shoulders sinking and body falling weakly against the wall behind her for support rather than him. It felt to William like something akin to being stabbed in the gut.
Gwen tipped her head back, cheeks streaked with tears and eyes closed. A wistful sort of sigh left her lips.
"You really won't turn me?" She raised her lashes enough to spy him waiting for his response.
William's chest tightened as he shook his head. And though the act of breathing was merely a habit he loathed to dismiss, it caught him off guard to feel a phantom squeeze about his heart, stunting the habit in its tracks. Turning her was the one thing he couldn't do, not only because he refused to live without her heart beating but because he didn't know if he could turn her. He'd thought about it—he was only a man, after all, and this was the woman who housed the other half of his soul. The temptation to turn her was always at the forefront of his mind. But he couldn't. The idea of denying her the life he was denied punched a hole in his heart, and the risk of failure was too great.
There were two other hybrids in the court besides himself, both members of the Vrana family: Irina and Deval. He'd never heard tell of them attempting to turn someone, and he wasn't even sure what said person would turn into if it was successful. Could hybrids breed more hybrids? Or were they asexual in that way?
He wasn't willing to risk finding out. Not on Gwen or any other helpless sap.
William reached for her hand, but she knocked it away. She was shaking and vibrating with… anger.
