Covet the Night, page 9
Recognition sparked in Gwen, but it was fleeting. She stared hard at the two, focusing all her might on remembering how she—
"Bailey," she said softly, testing the name on her tongue.
The woman with the dark cinnamon hair jerked her head in Gwen's direction. Her eyes flashed a dangerous gold as the pair glared back. Lycan.
Perhaps she hadn't said it as softly as she thought. Or maybe it was the woman's supernatural hearing that picked up on Gwen's words. Either way, she'd been discovered. Gwen cleared her throat and returned to her descent.
"Hello," she offered kindly.
"Eavesdropping?" the lycan with the fearsome glare, Bailey, accused. "Who sent you?"
Gwen frowned. Why did everyone think she'd been sent to spy on them?
"Because this is the Dark Court."
Gwen almost lost her grip on the handrail with the amount of venom coating Bailey's words.
"Did I say that out loud?"
"Yes," the two women replied.
The woman with the tawny brown skin turned to face Gwen. Though she didn't wear the same menacing glare as the other, she kept a cold, detached look on her face. And what a face, Gwen thought. Oval and clear of any blemishes and cast in perfect symmetry.
"How did you know my friend's name?" River asked.
Another light bulb flicked on in Gwen's head. This was Irina's niece.
"Oh, well—" Gwen's response came to a stuttering halt as she looked up from the way she came, then back down to them. "Just… around. Somewhere in passing upstairs. From… somebody or another." She almost slapped herself at the pitiful lie. "I'm Gwen."
"We don't care," Bailey said and grabbed at River's hand. "Let's go to the Cellar Bar. Less vampyrés, more booze, and maybe more answers for you, Sherlock." Not wasting a second more, the lycan dragged River down the stairwell on sure feet.
Gwen watched them go with a mixture of disappointment and curiosity curling her stomach. Or maybe that was the alcohol catching up with her. She scrunched her nose and prepared to continue on when female cries rang from upstairs.
"But he was just about to show us his wand!" Brit whined loudly.
"Enough," another voice said with succinct precision. "Off with the lot of you. What comes next is not for mortal eyes and ears."
The mirror Murphy door closed with a bang to accompany the initiates' dismissal. Gwen peered up the stairwell, watching their shadows bob down the walls.
"It hardly seems fair," Liv stated, her accent thicker thanks to the copious amounts of vintage champagne she'd consumed, "that they should have all the fun and not us, oui?"
"Nothing's fair," Antonia quipped, her light Eastern European accent unbothered by her alcohol consumption, though a hiccup preceded her next words. Rebecca cast an amused smirk from behind Antonia’s back. "But there's more alcohol to be had in our suites. The night doesn't have to end."
"Gwen!" Brit's cheer bounced off the walls as she leaned across a banister to wave. Gwen laughed and waved back. "Did they send you back as well?"
"Yes," she replied with a short pout and waited for the others to reach her. Liv was first.
"Antonia says we shall drink more in the comfort of our new home. What do you say? Will you join us for a nightcap, ma chérie?" Liv asked.
Gwen's mouth opened, then closed as she shook her head. The others looked at her with disappointment, but Gwen only grinned back.
"I know a better place we can go," she said coyly, channeling her inner Roux. "Does anybody know how to get to the Cellar Bar?"
VI
G
wen had sobered some by the time they reached the antique elevator, the Cellar Bar's sole entrance. The fivesome crowded inside the caged contraption, ignoring the sneer given by its operator. With a clank, the outer doors rattled shut, followed by a softer interpretation of the sound by the inner doors. The elevator glided smoothly down.
Gwen's eyes traced over the panels of filigree that bordered the body of the elevator and its top. She would have happily stayed and studied the work, but their ride was short. The doors whined open seconds later, and the operator rudely gestured them out.
"Come on." Brit tossed a saucy grin over her shoulder and traipsed into the chic wine bar with the other initiates at her heels.
Rebecca bumped into Gwen from behind, muttering an apology with rosy cheeks. The room was several degrees hotter than the floors above and tinged with the scent of bitter alcohol and smoke.
"It's all right," Gwen reassured with a smile. Her own attention was torn between the Art Deco ambiance and keeping her feet under her as she navigated the short set of curved stairs leading into the bar. Her initial impulse to follow Bailey and River was abandoned in the casual extravagance of the bar. A saxophone crooned from somewhere unseen as they found a booth to accommodate them at the back of the bar. All but Brit sat.
"Is everyone okay with champagne?" Brit asked. She stood at the table’s open end, rapping her fingernails along the glossy cherrywood. A chorus of yeses answered back. "Help me out, won't you, Bex?"
Rebecca nodded and slipped from her end seat to follow. "If you don't mind, I prefer Becca."
Fingernails still tapping out an indiscriminate rhythm, Brit was quick to acquiesce. "Sure thing. Let's go."
The pair took off toward the long bar butted up against the opposite end of the large room. Gwen watched them depart with a soft smile, her gaze wandering to give the cellar a proper once-over.
The bar was charming in its reminiscence of the 1920s. Sunburst motifs hung surreptitiously over every archway. Circles within half-circles within diamonds were etched on geometric vases and decorative plates. Tall and stout birdcages were spaced near and far, filled with talkative parakeets. Gwen thought the birds matched nicely with the bright green velvet furniture and gold finishes.
And then, of course, there were the supernaturals littering the room and dressed to the nines.
"My sire, Lavender, said they completely redid the place after the style no longer reflected the interest of the majority," Liv offered, her eyes drifting over every occupant in the room. "It is quite nice, oui?"
"Oui," Gwen said.
"You know, she isn't your sire. Not yet anyway." Both Gwen and Liv considered Antonia, who gazed coolly at the goings-on of the bar. She stretched her arms out atop the velvet seat's back, looking every bit the predator she would soon become. After an elongated pause, she turned comically wide eyes at them in faux innocence. "What? She hasn't earned the right to call her that yet, and neither have we. We shouldn't use the term out of turn. You understand, don't you?"
Antonia leaned across the tabletop; hands outstretched to Liv in a peace offering. Her honey-brown eyes were glassy beneath the wide-mouthed pendant light dangling above their table.
Liv didn't hesitate to accept and placed both hands in Antonia's. Her eyes carried the same intoxicated luster.
"I understand, I do. I do. She is my sire-to-be." Liv smiled brilliantly.
"Exactly," Antonia emphasized her agreement with a firm squeeze of their hands. Releasing Liv, she slouched back in her seat and studied the room once more. "I'm surprised there aren't more vampyrés here," she remarked.
Gwen searched for the signature vampyric silver in the eyes she could catch and saw few. What stood out most in the crowd were the figures donned in various jewel-toned robes. Sorcerers and sorceresses. They ranged in groups from three to seven and kept to their color-coded appointments: citrine, ruby, sapphire, amethyst, and an emerald or two.
"You're right. But there's no shortage of clans here. I didn't realize they kept on such friendly terms with one another." Gwen turned back to Antonia.
"Like attracts like. They may have allegiances to certain households, but they're still sorcerers. The same goes for the shifters scattered about." Antonia smirked and playfully whispered, "They're the ones making all the noise."
"Lavender doesn't think they should be permitted courtier status." Liv tucked a fist underneath her chin with her glib comment.
"Mine as well," Antonia declared with a sage nod. "They're contractors, not true courtiers. They do all the dirty work the vampyrés don't want to bother with." She sniffed haughtily before hoisting up her nose. "Most, if not all the shifters, aren't even as strong as vampyrés. Only the bear and big cat shifters have the strength needed to carry out the jobs requested by the households. Which leaves all the spying, cheating, and bitch work to the rest of them: the rats and snakes and foxes," Antonia stated.
Liv scrunched her nose. "Aren't some shifters gifted amulets or rings and armlets that grant them more power?"
Antonia scoffed and shook her head. "Even magical tokens have an expiration date."
Both girls looked to Gwen in expectation of her input. They weren't the only ones.
The skin at Gwen's neck pulled tautly. A wave of unease washed over her. She cleared her throat and scanned the crowd for Becca and Brit's progress, covertly seeking out the eyes digging holes into the back of her head. She found both. Becca was weaving her way through the tables, the bountiful layers of her skirt slowing her progress. While tracking her movements, Gwen spied the subtle and not-so-subtle glares sent to their table by the nearest groupings of shifters.
"Why is Becca carrying all the glasses by herself?" Liv asked, catching on to Gwen's line of sight. "I thought she was helping Brit, non?"
"She made a friend at the bar," Becca supplied as she closed the distance to the table. After helping her distribute the champagne coupes filled to the brim with glistening pink bubbles, Becca returned to her seat across from Gwen.
"Who is he?" Liv craned her neck to see over Becca. "Mais, oui! He is very handsome. Why did you not stay with her—and look there! He's bought her a drink."
"I didn't want to break the rules," Becca said casually around the rim of her glass. She eyed the room with surprising shrewdness. Was this the same young woman who'd nervously skittered after Antonia during their first initiation test? In the past couple of nights, Gwen hadn't had the opportunity to spend much time with Becca.
Gwen's mouth went dry as Becca's ivy eyes suddenly pivoted back to her.
"He kept trying to get our permission to let him bite us." Her eyes rolled heavenward as she set down her coupe glass. Becca's black-tipped nails fingered the glass’s rim absently. "I excused myself when his advances became pushier—he's clearly blood drunk—but Brit…."
"She's bold, non?"
"She might think twice about being so bold until she's turned." Antonia's tone struck a bitter note.
Liv shrugged and sipped loudly at her champagne.
"Here, here." Becca tipped her glass toward Antonia in salute. The two younger women shared clandestine smiles as they cheered.
Liv sent them a reproving glance. "Or perhaps it is you two who should be up there practicing their charm. Look."
They turned in unison to catch Brit and the vampyré gentleman wind arms and tip the contents of their shot glasses back. The vampyré pulled away with a gay laugh as Brit deposited the shot glass on the table without a grimace or flinch. But he was stunned to silence when she swiped her thumb across his lower lip to catch whatever fluid remained. The women watched his eyes bleed red from afar.
Brit smirked and, with a parting wink, strutted back toward the initiates’ table. Well aware of the eyes of the room upon her, she sucked the remains of the shot from her thumb with salacious delight.
The vampyré, thankfully, did not pursue her.
"You've been very, very naughty, Brit," Liv exclaimed once the Australian reached the table. "You could have been drained dry! What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking I wanted to live out the last of my human days to the fullest. Besides, he was harmless."
"No one here is harmless," Becca pointed out. "Except us."
Brit tossed her head back and laughed. Her vibrant ginger curls swayed with the movement.
Curbing her amusement, Brit swept her gaze over their group with canny regard. Her confident allure was impossible to ignore. "The time is now to make impressions, sisters. We cannot afford to show weakness. We must show our strength and fearlessness. They'll respect us more for it, and your time here will be far more enjoyable." When their faces remained slightly dazed, Brit sighed and braced both palms against the table's edge to lean forward. "And would anyone care to explain why the shifters are glaring at us?"
"Jealousy?" The flippant remark was accompanied by a smirk. Antonia batted her lashes at Brit until the Australian's slightly sour expression faded. "What? It’s common knowledge that the shifters are restless with their position here at court. They long to elevate their status."
"To my understanding, they want respect instead of being treated as collateral damage," Brit corrected.
Antonia's eyes narrowed to slits. "They long to be hybrids. Unfortunately for them, no vampyré is willing to give their blood after they discovered it was possible."
Gwen perked up. "There's a shifter hybrid at court?"
Antonia shook her head.
"There was one—he was killed immediately after turning successfully." Antonia brushed some auburn curls out of her face. "The vampyré merely wished to know if it was possible for shifters to turn hybrid. They didn't actually want a new set of mongrels set upon the court. Sorcerers—"
"Can't be turned."
Antonia arched an unimpressed brow back at Gwen.
"I believe the vampyrés didn't want a hybrid revolution on their hands," Liv went on to explain. Catching Gwen's eye, she slid her finger across her neck and then tilted her head back dramatically. When she straightened, it was with a mischievous grin. Gwen bit back her own, eyes darting self-consciously about the room. The ears listening in would surely remember this offense. "Take it from me. My people know best. Revolution is a gateway to lawlessness—"
Becca choked out a laugh. "That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"
"No, ma chérie, I don't," Liv answered succinctly. "And if you think a supernatural revolution will be anything but blood and chaos, you're quite naive. Who knows how high the casualty count will be, or if we'll be among it?"
"We're going to be vampyrés." Liv conjured a pout at Brit's dry response, but she merely shrugged and let her fingers take up their rapping again. "Blood and chaos will be our bread and butter."
For a long moment, Liv said nothing. Then the pout on her lips dropped in favor of a corkscrew twist of her mouth. "Touché."
The next stretch of silence was filled with the voices and good humor of the surrounding tables, but all Gwen could focus on was the odd tension lingering around their table. Her fingers itched to release her nervous energy the way Brit's did.
Heaving a sigh, Gwen enjoyed the dueling crisp and soft notes of candied fruits in her champagne. The bubbles danced over her tongue and left her mouth drier than it had been before taking her drink—which only made her mouth water for more. As the champagne passed over her tongue, she glanced at Antonia. Their eyes locked, but before either could engage, a rowdy cry pierced the room.
To the left, three sorcerers in citrine robes argued with abandon, earning the eyes of the room.
One stabbed a finger toward the bar and shouted some obscenity in a Germanic language. The sorcerer's friends tugged him back down to the seat between them, their faces flushed from their frantic pleas to discourage his temper. Or perhaps it was their proximity to the stone fireplace.
Gwen studied the reactions from those at the bar, where the majority of the vampyrés congregated.
The vampyrés paid little mind to the sorcerer's outburst—all except one. It was the same vampyré who’d shared a drink with Brit. One arm was curled absently around his stomach while the other toyed with his tumbler of blood. He scowled over his shoulder at the sorcerers. His visceral contempt was felt by all.
"He shouldn't have said that," Antonia commented.
"Oui."
"What did he say?" Becca shifted to spy the sorcerers in question.
A group of shifters jeered at the trio of sorcerers as the belligerent sorcerer attempted to stand again and shout at the vampyrés. A pair of sorceresses in ruby robes not far off scolded the shifters in return. And above them all, the parakeets made their displeasure known.
"He called them maggots." Antonia sipped her champagne as if to rid herself of the taste of the slur.
Becca gave a thoughtful hum in response, dragging her attention to her nearly empty champagne coupe.
A cannonade of cracks sounded directly to Gwen's right. It was Brit. Her fist was snug in the palm of her other hand, and the final crack popped as she put pressure on the knuckle of her thumb. She repeated the action on the opposite hand.
"Let's have a story to lighten the mood," Brit said as the noise in the bar grew. Resting her forearms atop the table, she tilted herself forward. Her eyes gleamed in the warm light directly above them. "How about our creation story? The tale of the first vampyré?"
"Is it a very exciting story? I haven't heard it yet," Liv asked.
"You haven't heard it?" Liv shook her head at Gwen's question. "Laurel told me the night she revealed her true nature."
"Indigo was the same," Antonia offered.
"Cassia told me the night before we came here." Becca's eyebrows hunched together as she stared in astonishment at Liv. "Didn't you ask Lavender before? I can't even remember how many questions I asked Cassia before arriving."
Liv directed her gaze elsewhere, her reply in the form of a lazy lift of her shoulder. Pink stained her cheeks.
"All right, then." Brit waggled her eyebrows as a devious smirk crawled onto her lips. "It all began with the last necromancer, Nicholas Vogart. He was fleeing for his life from the horde of supernaturals that wished to see him and his kind extinct. He made it to Constantinople when news reached him of his human lover's demise.
"His sorrow was so deep, he braved the legion of lycans and witches and sorcerers after him to see for himself if the news was true… and if so, to bring him back."
