Covet the Night, page 39
"You're a vision. We've outdone ourselves." The compliment was given in such a matter-of-fact way that a laugh gurgled out of Gwen and a dance of pleasure, followed by pinpricks of pain, snuck up her spine. The necklace's power was waning. Lily grinned back at her. "But let's not forget the finishing touch."
She brandished a long trim of black lace before securing it over Gwen's eyes. With a little adjustment, Gwen's sight was restored thanks to the twin oval cutouts just in time to see the rest of the sister line don their masks.
Lily's feline-inspired mask covered the majority of her face, leaving her to be identified by her cherry-colored ringlets. Hazel's mask was sleek and winged in contrast to Poppy's cacophony of glitter that made Gwen bite the inside of her cheek in wary disdain.
She swiftly turned her gaze away from the aggressive sparkle half covering Poppy's face but was left breathless as Violet strode into the private boudoir and parlor.
"Ready, ladies?" she asked, voice cool as silk.
Violet wore a dress black as onyx that may as well have been painted on her body. Her mask was much the same, seemingly painted on in thick black lacquer that spilled partway down her cheeks. Gwen's eyes fell on Violet's lips, donned in lustrous midnight.
"Are you ready, pet?" Laurel's knuckles breezed over the back of Gwen's hand, snagging her attention.
"What? Oh, yes," she remarked, blinking away her awe.
Laurel straightened her crescent moon necklace. Her mask matched Gwen's simple black lace.
"Let us depart. Fashionably late is one thing, but our entrance won't be nearly as grand if we dally any longer. Come, sisters."
Violet led the way to the Lunarium, the sisters lining up by oldest to youngest behind her: Poppy, Hazel, Lily, Laurel, Gwen. For the better part of the evening, Gwen had felt fine. The same perfunctory numbness cocooned her as it had the past few nights, but walking up the staircase bothered her knees, and she'd suffered a nosebleed when she woke that evening that frightened Laurel. Of course, all symptoms paled in comparison to the rash of bruising along her stomach. It was a tricky dance preparing for the evening with such marks on her body without the others knowing, reminding Gwen and Laurel of the clock hanging over her head.
Laurel peeked over her shoulder at Gwen as they neared the top of the staircase. "Hurry along. The effect will be lost if we aren't in sync." There was a girlish grin on her face, full of excitement and mischievousness, that tempted Gwen to do the same, but hers fell shy of its mark. Laurel's eyes narrowed. "Are you—"
"I'm coming," Gwen said, picking up her skirts and her pace. "Between the heels and this"—she let her gaze rest momentarily on the wide diameter of her skirts—"I'm doing my best not to fall flat on my face and ruin the effect completely."
Laurel hesitated, then nodded, facing forward and gaining back the ground she’d lost. Gwen hustled to recover and was winded by the time they reached the top floor. The sixsome paraded into the Lunarium one after the other, perfectly in sync and an arm's length apart from each other. They drew every eye in the room.
Gwen almost ruined their epic entrance because the urge to stop and stare was so grand. Gauzy white fabric laced with fairy lights shrouded the domed glass ceiling. A string quartet played out of sight, pining after the romantic ambiance created by overflowing vases of pink peonies and enchanted orbs of light hovering about the room. It was pure magic.
Tucked discreetly into corners, wrought iron canopy beds dressed in the same gauzy white curtains as above were ready and waiting for the later activities.
"When do you think we'll be allowed to play with the party favors?" Hazel asked Lily as their group shed the formality of their earlier lineup to clump together in pairs.
"An hour or two at best." Lily craned her head toward the right. Gwen's gaze followed.
On a long platform, a dozen or more thralls stood. Each woman was dressed in a white silk slip, the men in drawstring linen pants. All wore black blindfolds and clasped their hands demurely in front of them.
"I heard they're fresh meat."
Hazel let loose a little moan. "Oh, I adore virgins. Their pain and pleasure is so much more heightened."
"If we're lucky, they'll make them stand at least two more hours. Let the anticipation steep inside their veins."
Laurel looped her arm casually through Gwen's, tugging her closer and drawing her gaze away from the thralls. "One night you'll be the one cooing over a new employ of thralls."
"It's hard to imagine," Gwen admitted.
Laurel squeezed her wrist gently. "Soon, my pet," she whispered in Gwen's ear. "Much has been accomplished already, more than you or I could have hoped for."
Gwen licked her lips, hope flaring in her chest before the necklace's enchantment reared up to snuff it out. "How soon?"
Cool lips grazed her temple. Laurel pulled back, eyes shining bright with affection. "Soon."
"Oh, look! Lord Gunwyn's dancing with Genevieve. I never thought I'd see her smile like that again after her lover left her for Cassandra."
Gwen glimpsed the pair in question as they rounded the dance floor. They paused to admire the couple as they effortlessly dominated the floor. The skirts of Genevieve's dress glittered and swirled after them as they spun circles around the other dancers. Between the signature blue and crystallized fleur-de-lis on her back, there was no question to which household Genevieve belonged to: the Delacroix.
"Perhaps his century-long chase will come to an end tonight," Laurel commented, tilting her head pensively to the side.
Gwen spared her a glance, hard-pressed to look away from the handsome couple.
"He's been after her for a century?"
Laurel hummed an acknowledgment. "The Gunwyns are known for their persistence."
Gwen looked Cynfor over. He looked just like his portrait: cleft chin, full face, thick hair, and impressive beard. Except a wolfish smile speared across his face as he gazed down at the prize in his arms. Watching them made her heart lurch unsteadily in her chest. If the Gunwyns were here, that meant William was. She discreetly glanced around, but she couldn't spot his towering figure.
"Ladies," a husky voice purred. A palm glided up Gwen’s spine. She turned her head at the forgone touch, watching as a masked gentleman wound his way to Laurel's side. He took her hand and pressed it to his lips, making a show of nipping at her knuckles.
"Alexei," Laurel purred back. "I don't believe you've had the pleasure of meeting my soon-to-be childe. I'd offer you her name, but she'll be taking on a new one soon enough."
The man's smile was full of charm, and his dark skin set off the stark white of his fangs. "Indeed, I have not." He bowed at the waist, giving a glimpse of the dark navy brocade pattern on the back of his suit jacket. He was a Pulzin. "You are a vision and clearly have your sire's impeccable taste."
Laurel's smile was positively fiendish. "Isn't he dreamy?"
Gwen placed her hand into Alexei’s offered palm. "Your necklace is… enchanting," he murmured as his mouth ghosted over her knuckles.
"Alexei." Laurel's sharp tone did nothing to diminish the predatory gleam in the man's eyes. "Now is certainly not the time—"
"Nonsense," he interrupted, surrendering his possession of Gwen's hand. He pinned his smoky eyes on Laurel. "Services have been rendered. I merely seek the payment due to me."
Gwen watched as the two faced off with sanguine smiles and stony eyes.
"Here? Now?"
"Yes."
Laurel scoffed. "Fine," she bit out, darkened eyes slanting to Gwen. "Enjoy yourself. Measures have been taken to ensure your safety, and that of the other initiates tonight so long as you don't leave the Lunarium. Understood?"
Gwen offered a nod.
"Why not have her come along? I'm sure she can learn a thing or two—"
Laurel's hand connected with Alexei's face in a dramatic slap. The force of it hitched his face sideways.
"No."
Alexei's glower drew the hair up on the back of Gwen's neck and a tremulous ache into her bones. "Bed. Now.”
Laurel kissed Gwen's cheek before turning and carving a path to one of the canopy beds to pay off her debt. Alexei stalked her from behind, leaving Gwen's stomach in knots.
Suddenly, the glamour and splendor of the Lunarium lost its luster. Gwen concluded it was for the best. She'd been nothing but pampered and coddled over the past week and a half, the necklace battling only her heartache and cancer. Here, surrounded by indecent stimulation and fiendish courtiers, its enchantment was having trouble keeping up.
Gwen fingered the crescent's shrewd point as she corralled her rising anxiety, but it was difficult to remain calm when she knew the vampyrés around her were simply biding their time. For now, they wore their masks of polite society, but in a few hours’ time, they would be gorging themselves on blood and sin.
They were no better than the bacchanalians in the Styx. The ruling elite of the Dark Court liked to wait until the darkest hour before indulging in their vices. Which meant Gwen had roughly two hours before the masquerade dissolved into pure debauchery, and her necklace was put to the ultimate test.
A woman cried out from across the room. The sound was drowned out by a rousing cheer and laughter. Gwen's stomach twisted again. The cry sounded far too like Laurel's. What price is she being forced to pay on my behalf?
"There you are!" Gwen whirled around at the joyous exclamation and was immediately consumed in a hug. After a hearty squeeze, Becca revealed herself with a giggle. She pushed one of the champagne flutes in her hand to Gwen. "I've been searching everywhere for you! Isn't it all so beautiful?"
Gwen disguised her cringe with a smile as the sticky surface transferred to her fingertips. "Here I am." Her lips held her smile staunchly. "And it would seem as if you've been here for quite a bit longer than me."
"Cassia wished to arrive promptly to chat with some of the higher-ranking attendees and make nice," Becca happily explained. Her ivy eyes ran over Gwen, her shoulders sinking as a coo left her mouth. "You look stunning."
"You do too," Gwen replied, deftly swiping Becca's champagne and downing it in two messy gulps. Then she finished off her own and deposited both glasses on a passing tray. Becca's lips parted in surprise. "That darker shade of plum really makes your eyes stand out."
The compliment worked to distract the other initiate. "You're so sweet. I wish everyone was as sweet as you."
The younger girl swayed on her feet but was saved from humiliation as Gwen slipped an arm around her waist and guided her toward one of the pillars to lean on.
"So sweet," Becca said again. Gwen brushed a few errant strands of hair back in place from Becca's sleek updo. "Why can't everyone be sweet? Why do they have to keep sabotaging us?"
Gwen's motherly touch faltered. "I didn't realize the sisterhood had found the culprits."
Becca scoffed and batted Gwen's hand way. Her eyes sharpened as she gazed across the room. She crossed her arms and jutted her chin in the direction of her scowl. "Isn't it obvious?"
Gwen twisted and caught sight of the scene. A sorceress in shimmering pink robes was being harassed by three men sporting the same navy brocade design as Alexei. The sorceress took a step away from the men, her caramel hair swaying with the motion, and lifted a wand in the air. The orbs of light hovering about the room flew into the tip of her wand, vanishing from sight. Gwen frowned as the woman strode away in a huff. The men heckled her on the way out, turning to one another with laughter once she was gone from the Lunarium.
Gwen glanced back at Becca, who wore a sad expression. "Is it any wonder why they hate us when they're treated so poorly?" Becca glanced around for inquiring ears and, finding none, sidled up closer to Gwen, her movements slightly more fluid than before. "Any supernatural at court who isn't a vampyré is treated with utter disdain."
"That's because they've yet to do anything worthy of praise or respect."
Both women spun around. Antonia stood before them, the train of her skirts catching the light in subtle rivers of gemstones and crystals.
"That's not true," Becca hissed, gaze still furtive. "They've made a number of improvements in the court."
"A number of improvements they were commissioned to do. Some are guests, but most are paid hands who must earn their keep if they wish to remain. If they don't like the way they're treated, they can leave." Antonia flipped her hair over her shoulder before placing a hand on her hip. "Don't forget, this court was made for vampyrés—not sorcerers or shifters or demons. All this sabotage is bred from jealousy. Peony said so herself."
"Did she?" Gwen asked as Antonia brought her drink to her lips.
"You disagree?"
Gwen shrugged one shoulder and allowed her gaze to roam the crowd. Like Becca, she thought the sorcerers were justified in their anger and discontent. "It's not my place to say."
As her gaze glided back to Antonia, she saw the younger woman's jaw clench. She'd been sweet to Gwen after the public breakup with William and for several nights after, but it quickly became clear that she disapproved of Gwen's lingering heartache and said as much. Often.
"Aptly said." Antonia's smile was frosty. "It's nice to see you finally toeing the line."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Gwen's ire was on the rise, along with a headache that thumped at the base of her skull.
"Only that you can't seem to mind your tongue when you ought to and how easily you get yourself in over your head. First the demonesses at the Turkish bath and then with the Beast? People talk, and in your case, it's been with heavy skepticism. I mean—" Antonia paused to spare a smirk for Becca's obvious discomfort. "—you were well on your way to becoming a black widow."
"What's your problem?" Gwen stepped into Antonia's personal space. The younger girl didn't cower.
"There's no problem," Antonia insisted, parrying Gwen's advance with one of her own. She tilted her head back to maintain eye contact. "I just believe the weak of heart should be weeded out sooner rather than later, lest they drag down any others in their path."
An amused chuckle sounded from behind Gwen's back, which quickly transformed into a clearing of a throat as three sets of eyes turned toward the interloper. A man dressed in black velvet and sporting a smile that promised devilish delight—aimed at Gwen. She stared back speechless, taking in the emerald pocket square peeking out of his suit.
"I'm fairly certain I interrupted something." His eyes sparkled with mischief behind his plain black mask as he placed a hand over his heart and gave a slight bow. "My apologies," he said, still bent, "though if you wish to continue, I'm always a staunch supporter and admirer of catfights."
"And who are you, exactly?" Antonia inquired.
"Luka of the—"
"Krovopuskov Household," Antonia finished for him, stepping around Gwen.
Luka straightened. A rakish gleam took over his eyes. "You know of me?"
"Who doesn’t?" she retorted. "You've made quite a name for yourself in the Pits… and elsewhere." Antonia returned Luka's smirk with relish, but it turned sour as his gaze slid back to Gwen.
"Do you dance?"
"Poorly." Gwen's honesty earned a hearty laugh from Luka.
"Come," he commanded, offering his arm with an air of confidence, "I shall teach you."
Gwen was prepared to decline when Antonia pushed at her back. "She would love to." Antonia ignored the glare tossed her way with a patronizing smile. "But do be careful with her, Luka. She's only just gotten over one heartache. I'd hate for her to suffer another disappointment."
Luka dipped his head, amusement shining in his eyes. "Oh, I never disappoint." He offered his arm, and with no choice but to accept, Gwen hung her hand on his forearm and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor.
"Do you enjoy dancing?" Luka asked as he positioned them.
"I do." A flush crawled up her cheeks as the elicit memory of her dance with William prevailed.
Luka watched its progress with rapt attention as he seamlessly guided them into the first few steps. "Eyes up," he instructed as Gwen peeked at her feet for guidance. "Listen to my body as it speaks to yours."
"And how do I do that?" Her voice took on a wistful quality as Luka ensnared her with burning regard.
"You must apply pressure here," he said, pushing at her palm with his. Gwen did as instructed with a slight frown. "Then you can feel when I push you this way or that. Follow its direction. My hand here"—he splayed his fingers across her lower back, flattening the bustle of her gown—"will keep you close and give you room when necessary."
"Necessary?"
He spun her to illustrate his point. Gwen laughed as he reeled her back into his arms. "Necessary. Da?"
The firm Russian drawl brought a pleasing tingle to her skin. "Da." Gwen mimicked his inflection, taking on a rougher and deeper tone.
Luka grinned and continued to parade them around the dance floor, keeping his movements smooth and repetitive.
"I must confess," Luka murmured as he brought her close after another spin, "I have ulterior motives for asking you to dance."
Gwen stopped herself short of jerking back. "Oh?" Suspicion openly laced the word.
"I wish to be your first."
Her heels dug into the floor, startling both Luka and the pair of dancers behind them. "Excuse me?"
Luka issued a swift apology to the couple before forcefully steering Gwen back into the dance.
"I was given the impression that your first taste had yet to be claimed."
Gwen's cheeks flushed. "What are you talking about?"
His answering scowl was dressed in confusion. "I wish to be the first to taste you, after your sire," he explained. "Young vampyré blood is… delectable and often guarded closely by a sire. Though drinking from another vampyré is often frowned upon, and indeed taboo to most, there are certain exceptions that may be made when it is done in singular instances.
