Covet the Night, page 8
Laurel, by contrast, didn't bother to hide her disdain. "William, how nice of the Vranas to extend an invitation to you to meet our girls."
Three heartbeats later, William responded. "It was Cassia, as it happens, who extended the invitation." His eyes flickered to Gwen purposefully, then back to Laurel. "So, are you going to introduce me or not?"
Wiping the scowl from her features and the hunger from her eyes, Laurel spun around with a smile that was anything but sugar and spice. "Do meet my soon-to-be childe, Gwendolyn. Gwen, meet William 'the Beast' Gunwyn."
Heart in her throat, Gwen turned slowly. All attempts at cool composure fled the moment she laid eyes on him, for she was immediately transported to the not-so-distant past. In her mind’s eye, she witnessed her last sunset on the eastern banks of the Alte Donau. The setting sun had cast its golden rays upon the water's surface, blending golds with vibrant oranges to fade into ribbons of red upon the gently lapping waves.
His eyes were a perfect match for the bolt of polished amber that had acted as a buffer from one shade of gold to the next.
The satisfying salty taste of french fries filled her mouth to accompany the unexpected onslaught of memory. Gwen had worn a smile so big that evening sitting next to Laurel that her cheeks had hurt into the next morning. They'd left for the Dark Court the following dawn.
Goose bumps broke out on her skin. She blinked rapidly to clear her head of the image. What has gotten into me?
Warm fingers brushed her hand, lifting it with ease. Not a word left Gwen's mouth as William brought her knuckles to his lips and placed a soft kiss upon them.
"I thought she'd have a floral name by now—Lilac or Marigold."
Laurel rolled her eyes. "They don't receive their names until they're eternal."
"And what'll hers be, then?"
"It's yet to be decided, though there are names in consideration." Laurel tucked a strand of Gwen's hair back behind her ear. "Lily is quite fond of the name Heather. Violet is keen on Larkspur—Lark for short." Gwen held her breath as she caught sight of the wicked glint in Laurel's eyes. "But recently, I've become fond of Foxglove myself."
"Fox for short, I assume?" William asked, voice as dry as King Tut's bones.
"How clever you are, William," Laurel purred while her fingers trailed absently down the side of Gwen's face to her neck and along her bare shoulder. "I don't suppose you came over to talk to me, did you?"
"I find the living provide more stimulating conversation."
"Then why not call over one of the thralls?" Laurel parried, hitching a brow and looking pointedly at the woman in the organza dress carrying the drink tray.
William scowled. "I'm looking for conversation, not a drink from the public blood bag."
"How reassuring," Laurel said, matching his earlier tone before her eyes narrowed to slits. "If you harm one hair on her body, I'll sic my entire sister line on you. You might be the King of the Pits, Beast, but you'll be no match for a collective of Roux scorned, hybrid or not. Am I clear?"
"Crystal," he growled.
Laurel ran her eyes over him again in consideration before turning to Gwen.
"Remember what we spoke of earlier, pet." There was the faintest sensation of lips brushing over her cheek before a small gust of air rustled Gwen's hair. Laurel was gone, leaving Gwen with the last person she wanted to see.
"Don't tell me you aren't happy to see me," William drawled with a cheeky grin, "Gwen?"
"I don't see why I would be," she hissed, keeping her voice as low as possible so as not to draw the eyes of unwanted company. "Especially seeing as the last time we met, you would have gladly seen me dead."
"Now, now, that's a bit harsh, don't ya think?" His copper eyes swept down her body, lingering on dips and curves that made Gwen fidget. "Besides," he mused, eyes brightening, "I've become rather fond of the idea of you living."
She scoffed and spun her widened gaze away from William and his shockingly sincere words.
"How did it go, then?"
"How did what go?" she snapped back.
"The ring. The initiation."
Gwen blanched and directed a caustic glare his way. "Don't."
"Don't what?" he lobbed back with cool confidence.
"Don't act like we're friends. We're not," came Gwen's acidic response as she doubled down on her glare. "As far as anyone is concerned, this is the first time we're meeting."
William caught a glass of champagne without a hint of red among its contents and a goblet of blood from a passing tray. He offered her the champagne, unbothered by her hostile reply.
"Anything else?" he asked after taking a sip of his drink.
Another searing reprimand was ready at the tip of Gwen's tongue, but it faded away as she stared at him. "Your eyes are silver."
Unable to withstand the force of her curiosity, she found herself closing the distance between them. The champagne in her hand forgotten, Gwen craned her head back to study the metallic acquisition. It was the exact same shade as the ring wrapped around every vampyré’s eyes.
William tensed. He hadn't been prepared for this type of reaction from her, one minute searing hot with anger and indignation and the next full of unabashed curiosity. He stared back silently, allowing her scrutiny without protest. She could look for as long as she wished—until her very last breath.
All William could think about the past two nights was Gwen as he tracked her movements from afar, in between his business with the Vranas. She consumed his every waking thought, along with all the ways he could steal her heart—her beating heart. William became enraged at the very idea of her death, for he'd witnessed what happened to a soulmark when their other half died and transitioned. Some twenty years ago, Jakob had been brought to his knees at Irina's untimely death by Adrian Thorburn's hand. If Irina hadn't survived as she did, turning into the first female hybrid, William was sure Jakob would have perished soon after.
But not before releasing his wrath on the entirety of the court.
Their experience alone was enough for William to want her alive, though several other reasons vied for the position.
She doesn’t deserve to become a monster, he thought as he feasted upon her glorious form with smoldering eyes. Not like the rest of the court.
He knew he had his work cut out for him turning her heart in his favor. She was unmistakably caught in the Roux's web, too enthralled by the extravagance they offered to realize the trap she'd fallen into. She'd be their little minion until the next batch of Roux was created, which could very well be centuries. He couldn't wait that long for them to be united.
"Why does it do that and not turn red?" William shrugged, unable to summon a response as her eyes glittered with amusement and her head tilted to one side. "You don't know." Her voice belayed her pleasure. "That's certainly a surprise. Would you like to know what I think?"
William blinked down at her, the silver fading with his hunger back to brilliant copper. He was far from amused—mesmerized, astonished, awestruck, but not amused. "Tell me."
The husky demand made Gwen pause and wonder why she'd asked in the first place.
"I think the silver represents your vampyré half and the copper your lycan."
"Aye," he said. The singular reply was tangled up with so many emotions that it came out a roughened pant. "And what do you know of lycans, then?" What does she know of soulmarks? William had been certain she'd not known the gravity of their fate, but maybe he'd been wrong.
Gwen blinked owlishly back before a smirk dashed up to her lips. "There's not an aesthetician in the world to keep up with their waxing schedule."
It took half a second for William to burst into bawdy laughter that drew more stares than the magic show. Gwen shuffled back and drank her champagne, counting down the seconds for his laughter to die down.
"Gods, you're as cute as a kitten, aren't you, sweets?"
"No, I am not 'as cute as a kitten.'" Gwen cast her eyes nervously side to side. "And don't call me that."
"I'll call ya ‘foxy,’ then, shall I?"
Gwen seethed inside and cursed her fair pallor for making her flush so much more prominent.
William smiled wolfishly back. He rather enjoyed pushing her buttons, and he loved to see the pretty flush on her face and neck when he teased. It was just another reason why he wanted her alive.
"Don't call me anything at all. Forget my name. Forget me."
"You do realize that if you become a vampyré—"
"When I become a vampyré," Gwen inserted viciously.
"—then you'll be seeing me for the rest of your undead nights, don't you?"
Gwen crossed her arms and hiked up her chin. "It's a big place,” she said drolly. “I'm sure we'll be able to avoid one another if we wish."
"And if we don't wish?"
Gwen didn't know she could feel hot and cold all at once. The sultry timbre of his implication struck a chord inside her that made her muscles freeze up while the look in his eyes ignited a fire in her veins. She couldn't stand it. His presence had the most unnerving and annoying effect on her. She could scantly keep a lid on her emotions. There was just something about him….
"Don't," Gwen pleaded roughly.
"Do you really think you could hide from me?" he persisted.
The way he spoke in that low voice made it seem like there was something more between them, which Gwen knew was impossible because there was not. There was absolutely not. Her chest rose swiftly with her next few inhalations. Her scar tingled. Her stomach ached.
"You can't outrun this, Gwen."
Her jaw dropped as her anger spiked again. "There is no 'this,' whatever you think 'this' is."
"I think it's fate."
A choked laugh erupted from her throat as she pointed her sights anywhere other than him: the twirling dancers, the open feeding on the thrall, Antonia charming some man in silver blue. "You're delusional. Just because—"
"I spared your life and gave you a sunlight ring to please your merry band of harpies for an initiation about as antiquated as them. Could it be that, Gwen?"
Her throat bobbed with repressed loathing. She could summon no words forth. So instead, she relied on her razor-thin regard to convey it for her.
William shifted his stance, placing one hand in his pant pocket, looking as if he'd not a care in the world and enjoying their tête-à-tête far more than he should. Gwen thought she might break the delicate glass in her hand. The thought made angry tears sting at her lash line. She hated losing control like this. It left her shaken and unstable. Moreover, she'd spent years tempering a facade that spared her heart from ruin by means of sharp tongues and cruel intentions. She knew how to be cool and collected under stress, but apparently, William was the exception. He'd found his way under her skin effortlessly.
Gwen took a deep breath and counted to ten to calm, and then she saw them.
It was the two women from the hallway; the one with the tawny brown skin and the other with dark cinnamon hair. They were dressed in long-sleeved black gowns and heels that were too tall or tight for them, given their slight grimaces.
"Tell me," Gwen said with eerie softness, regaining her cool, "why must I keep a secret that clearly does not want to be kept?"
A quizzical brow rose in answer to her question. When she gave a slight inclination of her head, William followed her line of sight over to the two women.
"They aren't the only secret you're keeping, are they?" He dragged his gaze back to Gwen.
She stiffened, her first panicked thought being that he somehow knew about her cancer and was prepared to use it against her. Then reality came crashing down and tossed the absurd notion away.
Of course, he didn't know. How could he? Only Laurel knew, and she'd never tell. She'd gone to great lengths to procure Gwen’s tinctures and wipe her most recent medical files clean before arriving. He must have meant the talk about dark, unexplored magic and helping someone named Jax.
"You'll do well to keep your word, sweet," William warned as he invaded Gwen's space. He ducked his head near her ear, and a hand fell heavy on her hip to anchor her before she could step away. "I might not want to see you dead, but that doesn't mean you won't be due for a sweeter kind of torture at my hands."
Gwen couldn't discern if it was his proximity that somehow blocked away all other sights and noises around her or if the room really had gone so deathly quiet. A prickle of apprehension raced up her spine. She feared it was the latter.
Plucking up her nerve, she stage-whispered her retort in William's ear, her lacquered lips leaving morsels of glistening rose. "If this is any kind of indication of what's to come, I'm sure to be left wanting."
Several of the attendees chuckled as the room came alive once more. The entertainment and conversations returned with a gusto that left Gwen's cheeks pink with chagrin. William's deep chuckle joined them. He wiped away the trace of lip stain on his ear before responding.
"You'll come along eventually," he said confidently.
Before her scorn could be verbalized, the distinct chime of metal against crystal called for the attention of the room. Gwen settled on a haughty glower instead. She wasn't sure who she was more upset with: William for his inflammable words or her reaction to them. Both, she decided.
Sidelining her irritation, she turned her focus to the vampyré calling for quiet. It was Madame Roux. She stood on another of the small, raised platforms, similar to the Delacroix's.
"Let us raise a glass to the brave and beautiful souls committed to honoring the Roux legacy. By virtue of your selection, the superiority of this household, and exclusivity of eternal life, you are worthy of great regard, honor, and respect. To mes petites fleurs, the heirs of the Roux. May you be reborn in the sweetest of blood. Santé!"
A polite cheer roused the growing throng of people, followed by the clinking of glasses. Gwen smiled weakly to those who cast appreciative looks her way and took a long drink of her champagne. By the time she swallowed, William was gone.
It’s for the best, she reminded herself, then surveyed the crowd. It had grown twofold. Ushering aside her nerves, her smile grew languid. It was time for dancing, more drinking, and well-earned debauchery.
There was no telling how long she'd been at the midnight ball—hours, surely—for the only clock present in the Lunarium kept disappearing and reappearing in different spots. Gwen giggled as she was tugged along by Liv, who swore she'd just discovered it.
The night had been exactly as promised. There'd been copious amounts of dancing—though she'd not participated in the strictest sense—scenes of hedonism that would make a pirate blush and endless champagne. Gwen's head was filled with bubbles, and her body was warm despite the cold company. Up ahead, between the swaying bodies of two dark-haired thralls, the elusive clock sat precariously atop a wide-mouthed vase.
Liv squealed in delight and pulled Gwen along faster, prompting Gwen's own cry. They'd almost reached their prize when an icy hand clasped gently around Gwen's upper arm and spun her around. Releasing Liv, Gwen smiled brilliantly at the sight of Laurel.
Laurel's eyes ran over her panting form. "No bite marks," she murmured after her brief assessment. "That I can see, at least."
"No bite marks at all," Gwen promised. She couldn't remember which number rule that was, three or four, but she didn't think their order really mattered. "And no touching. Mostly," she corrected with a sly grin.
She'd been cornered one or five times in the night to have devious and depraved promises crooned in her ear until she was panting with want. The allure of her seducer's touch had been too much for Gwen to resist, as it happened. She'd stolen touches throughout the night to relieve her fevered skin and earned generous smiles and offers of orgasmic bliss.
William, she noted with satisfaction, had watched each scene from afar with a glower that promised retribution, though he never interceded. Gwen didn't understand why the fact made her heart ache a little but decided not to dwell on it.
Laurel bit back an amused smile. "It's time for you to go, my pet. Off to bed."
"But it's only—" Gwen glanced back to the clock only to discover it gone again. "—been an hour or two."
"Or four."
"Four?"
Laurel hummed in response and placed her hand at Gwen's back, guiding her to an oversized mirror with an ornate golden frame. "By your bedside table, you'll find some aspirin and a glass of water. Finish them before you go to bed."
"Do I have to go?"
"Yes," Laurel answered and tugged at the mirror's frame. It swung open with relative ease. Gwen gasped, her eyes marveling at the charming detail. "The other initiates are being rounded up as we speak. You may wait for them in the stairwell if you like or go on without them. Now, shoo. What comes next is not for your eyes."
Without giving her time to protest, Gwen was herded through the Murphy door and left to her own devices in the unfamiliar stairwell. Too impatient to wait for the others, she began her descent with measured steps, coming to a stop at the first landing as she contemplated how exactly to return to her rooms. A frown tugged at her features. Where exactly will this stairwell spit me out?
Lost in her thoughts, Gwen mindlessly continued downward, her measured steps churning at a snail's pace.
She became aware of the other voices in the stairwell only when they became much louder than her own thoughts—and decidedly more aggressive. She stopped.
"Could you be any less subtle, River?" an angry female voice demanded. "Or did you want the entire court of bloodsucking leeches to know all about your 'performance' issues?"
A disgruntled scoff retorted. Gwen peered over the railing and spotted a pair of females in a standoff. Both kept their arms wound tight across their chests and wore matching scowls.
"I'm trying to get us in and out of here as quickly as possible. You're the one who wanted me to be fast."
"Of course, I want us to be fast. I don't like hanging out with a bunch of corpses," the redhead said. "But we can't be stupid about this. This kind of information in the wrong hands could get you killed, River."
