Covet the Night, page 5
Every bone in Gwen's body locked as his fingers curled securely around the back of her neck, and he swept his calloused thumb over her throbbing pulse.
"I thought you said you weren't going to kill me?" The breathless question stole from her mouth before she had a chance to stop it. Bright amusement remained in his eyes, thankfully.
"Aye," he rumbled, his thumb applying the lightest of pressure as it traced her carotid artery. "But I can't let you go back to those harpies with the information you've heard."
"They aren't harpies," Gwen defended. Her pulse spiked against his insistent finger, and she swallowed thickly. "And I can't go back empty-handed." Shame lit through her at the quiver in her voice. His thumb and forefinger had moved to rub the shell of her ear gently. The sweet touch left her unnerved and off balance. "What are you—"
He shushed her quietly. A pensive frown lined his forehead as he stared down at her. "If you swear to keep what you've heard tonight a secret, I can give you something of equal value. If not more."
Narrowing her eyes, Gwen reluctantly nodded.
"Say it,” he growled. “I need to hear it."
"I swear."
William's eyebrows and lips quirked at her tone.
"Swear what?"
Gwen jerked her head away from his pacifying touch, her face heated to an unbearable degree as she leveled him with a glower that could melt ice caps. "I swear not to tell another soul what I've heard," she swore crossly, "if you provide me something of equal value."
William's eyes shined with victory. "Don't worry, sweet. I've got just the thing."
Without a second's hesitation, he took one hand in the other and twisted off a ring to present to her. Struck with surprise, Gwen could only stare. Her gaze flickered back and forth between William's face and the glittering amethyst stone set in platinum. Or perhaps it was silver. It didn't matter though. What mattered was—
"This isn't a proposal if that's what's painted such a cross-eyed look on your face."
Gwen blinked, his words sinking in like thick molasses. "Cross-eyed…." A thunderous expression took over her face that painted red up to the tips of her ears. "I hardly consider marrying you to be of equal value—let alone any value—to the information I gathered from your conversation with Irina."
Nonplussed by her reaction, William inched the ring toward her. "You look like a beat-up strawberry when you get upset."
With an indignant screech, Gwen snatched the ring from his outstretched hand. She brandished it directly in front of his nose.
"Do you know what this is?" Her voice was pitched to a decibel she'd only ever achieved as a small girl. William's mouth opened, but Gwen barreled on. "This is an Amethyst of the Aztecs ring. It's the only enchanted jewel a vampyré can wear that allows them to withstand sunlight. A sunlight ring. These aren't just rare; they should be on some kind of jewelry endangered species list. Vampyrés can't walk in the sun unless they have one of these! They'd die without it. Shrivel up like dusty prunes until they turned into a pile of ash."
"Aye."
Gwen's shoulders fell, as did the hand holding the ring. She stared at William with increasing astonishment, her eyes widening and breath holding fast in her chest. It wasn’t a fair trade, but to refuse meant death. Finally, she blurted out in a whooshing exclamation, "Are you crazy?"
William shot her a brazen grin. His eyes were alight with mischief and something else that sparked a delicious flutter in her stomach as she stared right back.
"More than likely."
Tearing her eyes away from his mesmerizing gaze, Gwen ducked her head and studied the ring while her thoughts raced a mile a minute. The ring was unquestionably more valuable than the information she'd learned. It wasn't a fair trade in the slightest—and they both knew it.
In the Dark Court alone, there were fifty-one rings accounted for. Some were gained by pure chance, others by decades of careful manipulation and political sway among the court floors. And then there was the handful who won theirs by fighting in the Pits.
Gwen's lashes lifted incrementally to spy the hardened muscle of William's arms. Of the three, she knew which he'd likely done to acquire his.
Yet he'd given it to her without a moment's hesitation. Why?
"Take it," William said, his gravelly voice rolling over her bent head and down to the base of her spine. "And make the most of it."
"Make the most of it?"
His knuckle found its way beneath Gwen's chin and tilted her head up to meet his eyes. "You seek to be among their numbers, is that right, mo ghràdh?" Gwen nodded back numbly, her mouth suddenly dry at the searing look he wore and the callous tenor of his voice. He disapproved. She could see it in the creases about his eyes and heard it distinctly in his voice. "I don't know the ways in which the Roux parcel out who wears their set of rings, or for how long, but you should make sure you're at the top of the list if you're turned."
Gwen's lips parted in pleased surprise, choosing to ignore the “if” in his statement. Her eyes glinted with new fervor as she murmured back to him, "You are crazy."
IV
I
t took longer than anticipated for Gwen to get back to the floor's antechamber. The maze of halls and doors left her running circles until a lucky right turn brought her to a familiar line of landscape portraits. Her relief was short-lived as she entered the stoic antechamber, spotting the hands of a grandfather clock ticking ominously close to daylight. Cursing, she tore off her heels and rushed up the three flights of stairs to the Grand Salon. Her lungs and legs stung pleasantly from the burst of energy.
The tincture Laurel gave her provided more than just a halt to the cancerous cells in their tracks—it gave Gwen a vitality she thought she'd lost completely. In the past few weeks, as her cancer took its toll, she couldn’t do anything more strenuous than a stroll.
Staggering back into her shoes as she neared the final stretch of stairs leading into the Grand Salon, Gwen caught her breath and rearranged her features into an aloof expression. Shoulders back and gaze trained forward, she strode through the main thoroughfare.
Heads turned and twisted to watch the Roux initiate speed through the thick crowd, their superior hearing measuring the cadence of her heartbeat before breaking out in pleased murmurs. Fear beat a different rhythm against the skin. It was a quick-step staccato, punctuated and irresistible to predators great and small. But hers was only excitement, beating proudly and strong in tandem with the confident sway of her hips.
The courtiers' appreciation grew. A bold few stalked the initiate's progress, winding parallel to her stride in the hopes of inspiring her fear. Nothing. Either the girl was ignorant to their play hunt, or she was unbothered. Another pleased rumble came from the crowd as they chose the latter, and more than a few eyes bled crimson.
Their vocal observations cast a rosy color on Gwen's face. She swept through the crowd undisturbed, never once losing her stride.
By the time she reached the next floor and stepped into the shared antechamber of the Royal Households’ private apartments, she was slightly out of breath. Her eyes landed on the ironwork rose that marked the Roux's mahogany door, and her excitement dimmed to nervous suspense. Not a soul was in sight. Gwen wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.
Sucking in a long breath, she hastened to the door. Gwen leaned all her weight on the solid wood, hoping to slip in quick and undetected, but it swung open with gusto. She tripped at the sudden momentum. A gasp leaped from her as her feet tangled in the thick web of her skirt, but her hands found purchase on the door's edge before she could fall.
"You've made it just in time."
The husky voice of Madame Roux curled Gwen's toes in suspense. She righted herself with as much grace as she could muster.
"Go," Madame Roux commanded with a slight tilt of her head. "The others are all waiting."
Gwen darted past the matriarch and down the entry hall to the other initiates. They stood in the same line as before, bathed in soft light from the elaborate teardrop chandelier that hung above them. The rest of the room was left to fend for itself in the darkness.
She took stock of the others with a hasty glance but never made it farther than Brit.
Brit was covered in blood, drenched in it.
Face absent of all color in the span of a blink, Gwen took her place between the short woman with oxblood hair and Liv. Neither made eye contact with her.
"Now that you've all returned, we shall proceed with the presentation of your spoils."
In her glittering midnight gown, Madame Roux approached the far end of the line, and in response, the sisterhood stepped out from their place in the shadows to form a tight-knit circle around them as before. A light gathering of perspiration dotted Gwen's lower back from anticipation.
"What have you brought us, Britannia?"
Brit stepped forward and lifted a necklace from her person. She winced at the simple act, her jaw working to muffle her discomfort as she offered the jewelry to Madame Roux.
"An onyx, dagger-point healing pendant, won from a boorish bastard in the Pits."
Madame Roux eyed the piece before nudging it aside to invade Brit's personal space. Smears of blood, some still sticky with wetness, coated her face and neck in a thick layer. One spot, in particular, caught Madame Roux's eye. With a devilishly pointed fingernail, she urged Brit's head to the side, inspecting a gash already half-closed low on Brit's cheek. Madame Roux leaned closer and inhaled. A satisfied hum purred from her before she scored the wicked nail across the healing cut.
Brit's hissed exhalation was audible.
"Heed my instruction well next time, Britannia." Madame Roux licked the small dollop of blood off her fingernail. She still stood intimately close to Brit. "I asked what you brought us. The sisterhood cares not for the 'how.'" Her silver-lined amber eyes raked down the line of initiates. "Keep the tedious details of your experiences to yourself. Have I made myself clear?"
Each initiate gave their assent in hasty nods.
Seemingly satisfied, Madame Roux swayed toward the next initiate before stopping herself. Hands outstretched; she returned the necklace to Brit's possession. A coarse shiver raced over Brit's body the instant the pendant touched her skin.
"In the future, do try to salvage your body, Britannia. Scars are so apt to form on human bodies." Brit whispered some answer that seemed to please Madame Roux. "Good girl. You'll do yourself no favors if you reach the end of this initiation process battered and bruised. Wear the amulet until you've healed completely, then give it to your future maker."
After a dismissive flick of Madame Roux's wrist, Brit returned to her place at the end of the line, and she advanced to the next woman. "What have you brought us, Antonia?"
This was the woman with the elaborate hairdo. The one who had walked off with her nose stuck high in the air when they'd been released upon the court. In the light of the chandelier, her hair held notes of deep orange and redcurrant. Much like Gwen, Antonia's high cheekbones captured the eye first, and then it was straight to her deep-set eyes. From her profile, Gwen couldn't make out their color.
"A summoning scroll, Madame."
Gwen couldn't help the upward trajectory of her brows nor the twitch of her lips. The woman's English was excellent. Gwen wished she could place the accent gently cushioning her words. It was something Eastern European. Not the crude roughness of Russia, but maybe somewhere near there. Ukraine or Bulgaria, perhaps.
"Well done," purred Madame Roux, accepting the scroll with greedy fingers. "This is indeed a treasure. Cassia?"
A woman with thin lips and a sharp nose stepped forward. Her eyes, a startling blue, faded seamlessly into the thick band of silver around her irises. She was as old as Madame Roux, Gwen registered with a gulp. The thicker the mercurial band around a vampyré's eyes, the older the vampyré. The scroll passed between the women, and they exchanged victorious smirks.
"Next," Madame Roux demanded and stood in front of Liv as Antonia stepped back. "What have you brought us, Olivia?"
The French woman approached Madame Roux until only inches separated them. Pushing off the back of her heels to gain an inch or two of height, Liv whispered into Madame's ear. Gwen caught the lilting edges of her vowels and velvet streaks of her consonants but nothing distinguishable of the secret shared.
Gwen watched in awe as Madame Roux's eyes dilated with Liv's retreat. For several seconds the room kept its peace, waiting with unspoken anticipation for the elder vampyré's approval or condemnation.
"You've done quite well, ma petite fleur."
Wearing a Cheshire-cat grin that made Gwen itch to wipe her clammy palms against her dress, Madame Roux glided over to stand in front of her.
"What have you brought us, Gwendolyn?"
Heart pounding, she stepped forward, mentally sounding off Laurel's previous instruction: chin up, eyes downcast, shoulders rolled back.
A delicate tug was all it took for the amethyst ring to slip off her thumb. Madame Roux tracked the movement eagerly. A pale palm filtered into Gwen's downcast view. She laid the ring in it delicately and fought to keep her chin from trembling—and the rest of her body.
"An Amethyst of the Aztecs ring, Madame."
The sisterhood erupted into hisses and whispers. Gwen watched the ring disappear in a curl of fingers, then felt the tip of Madame Roux's wicked nail scratch the underside of her jaw. Gwen's eyes rose. They burned with equal parts curiosity and suspicion.
"You have brought untold value to the sisterhood, Gwendolyn."
"I am pleased to have fulfilled your request, Madame." Gwen's voice carried the slightest tremor as the words William spoke earlier stole into her mind. "Perhaps—"
Madame Roux arched a bloodred eyebrow, daring Gwen to proceed with her unwanted commentary.
She swallowed thickly. "Perhaps the sisterhood would be so gracious as to allow me the great honor of wearing the ring upon completion of the initiation?"
A force struck Gwen's throat so swiftly and strong that she gagged. It was Madame Roux’s hand. Gwen grasped at her cold wrist and wheezed in protest.
"You dare to make such a lofty request and speak so out of turn?" she hissed. "The gift of sunlight is reserved for those deemed worthy by the sisterhood. Insolence such as yours should be punished, not rewarded."
An apology rasped from Gwen's lips. Madame's fingers tightened.
"Dearest Madame, do not see insolence where there is only daring spirit. Surely for bringing such a priceless gift to the sisterhood, she may wear it… if she survives her first fifty years," Cassia said softly.
"How exactly did you manage to procure such an invaluable item?" Madame Roux continued, eyes bleeding gradually to red.
A buzzing noise rang in Gwen's ear as she was released. Immediately her hands massaged her throat as she heaved for breath. She realized belatedly that the buzzing was voices, murmurs, and sharp whispers from the vampyrés. Gwen straightened with care, chin up and eyes downcast.
"I… I don't wish to trouble the sisterhood with such bothersome details."
Utter silence ensued. Gwen risked a glance at Madame Roux. Her face was pinched with fury. Gwen's eyes shot back to the floor.
This is how I’ll die. I should never have entertained William's idea.
"Give and take in equal measure—is this principal not held in the highest regard by the sisterhood?" Gwen glanced up again as Cassia came to stand directly at Madame Roux's side, which caused another spell of whispers and hisses to cut through the common room. She petted Madame Roux's hair with fondness until the red receded from her eyes. "Let the girl live, Peony. We need her kind of fire."
"Oh, Cassia." Madame Roux waved Gwen back with an impatient jerk of her hand. Her features fought to tame the wild fury that had consumed her as she turned to Cassia. "You've grown soft in your old age." The whispers and hisses shifted to sniggers. Madame Roux stepped in front of the final initiate, and Cassia stepped back dutifully. When the laughter died down, Madame Roux cast her gaze over her shoulder at Cassia. A small but sincere smile sat on her lips. "Nevertheless, your wisdom is always appreciated. If she survives, she may wear her treasure… for a time."
Gwen's pulse fluttered madly through her veins as she returned to the line. Her throat had gone dry as well. Without Cassia's intervention, she would be dead on the floor. Except she wasn't. She'd survived and secured the promise of the sunlight ring for herself.
She'd be able to walk in the sun again someday. Because of his advice. Because of him.
"What have you brought us, Rebecca?"
Rebecca, the short, nervous girl, stepped forward. Her face was blank as she withdrew a small dagger from the waistband of her skirt. Gwen held her breath as she presented it to Madame Roux, wondering if such a gift would be seen as a threat. Especially considering the way Rebecca handled the blade with such… ease. She twisted and twirled the dagger between her palm and fingers expertly to present it, handle first, to Madame Roux.
"The snarkho enchanted dagger."
The answering silence pushed at Gwen.
"A cloth, at once," Madame snapped, her body rigid.
Electricity charged through the room. Several pairs of feet raced to accomplish the task before a woman suddenly appeared at Madame Roux's side. She draped a red silken handkerchief over her palm.
"Give it to me, child—slowly, carefully!—lest it touches my skin." Madame Roux licked her lips as the prize was laid flat upon her veiled palm.
The sight of the glinting weapon did something odd to Gwen. A knot of tension coiled in the pit of her stomach. It was shaped to resemble the bill of some bird of prey, or perhaps their talon—both wicked and merciless. And the longer she stared, the more restless she became.
She couldn't pull her eyes away from it.
The vampyré at Madame Roux's side lifted the corners of the handkerchief and draped it over the snarkho dagger. Gwen was surprised at the sudden surge of angst that permeated her body as the dagger was removed from sight. Enchanted indeed, she thought bitterly. She clenched her teeth to hold back a small cry. At least she wasn't the only one subjected to the dagger's strange magic. Rebecca whimpered; her gaze still locked on her prize.
