by Lana Sky
“What is it about?” I scanned the cover, more puzzled than ever. “There’s no title.”
“Consider it part of a private collection,” Dublin explained, flipping it open to a yellowed page. “A ledger of sorts.”
He was right. At a glance, I could tell that it wasn’t a normal tome. It was handwritten for one—a series of lines penned in shockingly familiar script. Names and dates. Reading them, I felt my brow furrow.
“James, Agatha…Mary…Edward.” I met Dublin’s gaze, an eyebrow raised. “These are my ancestors’ names.”
“Yes.” The firm line of his mouth revealed not even a hint of his intentions. Good or bad. “Every last Gray for over three centuries. Dead, alive, or otherwise.”
“Ah…” I nearly choked. No wonder he knew so much about my heritage—he’d studied it. Though a better question was: Why? “So what am I, the tenth Gray to fall under your spell? What, do you keep a list of your conquests to reminisce over?”
As much as the thought irritated me to indulge, I couldn’t help but wonder if Georgie was written in his little book as well.
He raised an eyebrow. “You still don’t realize the gravity of what you’ve done, do you? Allow me to enlighten you, Eleanor, but most people—spinster or otherwise—do not sell their soul on a whim.”
“You sold yours to Raphael,” I pointed out, though I didn’t intend it as an insult. Going off his stiffening jaw, I suspected he took it as one anyway. “I just want to understand. Why?”
He made me sound so horrible for forging a contract—but what might tempt the infamous Dublin Helos to embrace virtual servitude?
“It wasn’t a decision I made out of boredom, I can tell you that,” he said coldly. I looked at his face and braced myself for one of his glares, but he wasn’t staring in my direction anymore. “And it certainly wasn’t one I took lightly, even now.”
“It’s not like I had a choice,” I said, eyeing my hands. They were shaking. “Not the first time, at least…”
Signing his contract had been a life or death decision then—mainly because, unbeknownst to me, he had poisoned me to the brink of death.
“I believe your lineage may provide answers as to this…situation,” he said, changing the subject. “See if you can recall any forebearer with an unusual legacy.”
“How would I know?” I asked.
He looked back at me. “I’m sure your parents, who gifted you a gravesite as a child, regaled you with plenty of tales of your ancestors. Do you deny it?”
My silence gave him my answer. He was right. In lieu of normal childhood games, Georgie and I had recited the names of our forebearers as reverently as schoolyard rhymes.
“Read,” Dublin commanded. “Scour your memories for any relatives that stand out.”
“You think this…” I swallowed hard, choking down the word cancer. “This condition has something to do with my bloodline?” I could have laughed. It sounded that sordid. Until I remembered my sister’s secret life, that is. I grimaced as the true depth of my ignorance resonated like a slap. You’re so pathetic, Ellie. “How?”
“I’m not sure.” He eyed me for so long that I felt numb when he finally turned away.
“You’re lying.” I wasn’t sure exactly why, which was the confusing part. But Dublin rarely backed down from a fight—unless he had more to lose by playing his hand. “I remember when you taunted me about knowing James, my ancestor, personally. But now I find out that you have a literal book on my family, and you’re acting like it’s just a normal way vampires pass the time.”
By tracking centuries of genealogy. For the fun of it.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“I have my own avenues to hunt,” he confessed without turning around.
“Like?” I sat forward as he crossed the room.
Staring broodingly from the windows, he looked more the stereotypical vampire archetype than ever. Eternally tormented. A snippet of a past conversation crossed my mind, uttered in a woman’s voice. “If you do decide to seek him out, don’t count on me to help you.”
Just who was he trying to avoid?
“Don’t I have a right to know?” I pressed.
“Rumors,” he replied. “Even I have enough pity not to bore you with them.”
But there was more, I suspected. So much more. Not only was he lying, but he was hiding something.
“What kind of rumors—”
“Sir?”
We both spun in the direction of the foyer, where the soft, feminine voice had come from. The blond from last night stood there, framed in shadow, dressed ironically in a light-pink dress. My eye twitched. Dublin would have a conniption if I were to wear such a color.
But in this instance? He inclined his head, his expression neutral. “What is it, Kate?”
There was no scorn lacing the single syllable. No derision. No hate.
Kate.
“Your appointment is here,” she said while folding her hands primly before her. “Should I show them in?”
“No.” Dublin’s eyes flickered in my direction as he spoke. “No… I’ll meet them personally. Thank you, Kate.”
She nodded and left the suite.
“I guess you won’t be joining in on the Gray family history book club,” I deduced, trying and failing to sound civil.
“I didn’t think you’d be so amicable.” The bastard had the nerve to sound surly that I had the gall to thwart his expectations at all. “I will be gone for a few hours.” He seemed to hesitate before moving toward the front door. “Read the book.”
His true command was easy to interpret: Stay here. Stay out of trouble.
Be a good little captive.
“If I have to immerse myself in centuries of dreary family history, it’s only fitting that I commence such torture in Gray Manor,” I pointed out.
Somewhere familiar, far from his beautiful, luxurious high-rise where a stunning blond could enter and exit as she pleased.
Somewhere I could remember my life’s destiny as a grouchy spinster.
“You will stay here,” Dublin said without turning around.
I swallowed, tapping my fingers over the surface of the table. “A short trip wouldn’t be a bother to you. I could call François?”
He gripped the handle of the front door. “That we will discuss when I return.”
I swallowed again, tapping my nails more frantically. So much for remaining cordial; my attempts were straining at the seams.
Desperate, I tried a new line of attack. “We did agree that he would remain as my driver.”
“We will discuss it later.”
Before I could argue, he stormed from the suite, slamming the door in his wake.
So much for cordiality.
Rather than pout, I flipped the book to a fresh page and started to read. It was a surprisingly enthralling task. Who knew that one could find morbid comfort in scanning the many variations of Margaret, Eleanor, and Mary passed down throughout the years?
I wondered if Dublin had stalked any of them. Drained their blood or taken their virginity? The thought became less amusing once my eyes settled over one of the last names in the book.
Georgiana Gray.
Tears pricked my eyes before I understood why. Did I miss her? My thoughts were so scattered that I couldn’t tell. Hell, I wouldn’t even know what to say to her.
Perhaps I could only write it down.
Upon rising to my feet, I approached the sideboard Dublin had fished the book from and found a silver pen nestled in a drawer. I ripped a blank page from the journal and filled it with line after line of text. Moisture spilled down my cheeks, obscuring the words, and I didn’t even try to make sense of them. In a twisted way, I felt the same impulse that had driven me to write Dublin.
Desperation?
Folding the page, I returned to the room I’d awoken in and scoured it until I found my shoes and my purse on a chair in the corner. Yulia’s clothing conveniently stocked the wooden ward
robe, and I chose a garment at random. As I dressed, I did my best to squash any guilt. He was the one who’d suggested we bargain, after all. I had upheld my end so far.
Proving I wasn’t a prisoner was the least he could do to uphold his.
Regardless, I didn’t call François as I slipped from the suite and crept into an elevator. Even I knew where to draw the line.
Apparently, so did Dublin—no one rushed from the shadows to stop me. The first floor was as deserted as when we entered, but the door wasn’t locked when I tested the handle. Escaping the garage and locked gate was surprisingly easy as well; none of them required a code to exit from. On the main street, I managed to flag down a cab on my own—only to realize as the man dropped me before Gray Manor that I didn’t have any cash.
After shoving a check into his hands, I escaped the vehicle without gauging his reaction. His muttered curse gave me a clue. Still, I tried to banish all guilt as I skirted the manor proper. Waning daylight bathed the grounds in a bluish, eerie twilight, and a screen of mist obscured the mausoleum, thinning the closer I came. A storm must have been brewing.
Once inside, I approached the urn and dropped my missive inside it.
Then…
I lingered, wringing my fingers at the prospect of returning to Dublin’s alone. Was he still with his “appointment?”
Or Kate?
Shrugging the concerns away, I craned my neck to appreciate the subtle detail of the mausoleum’s interior. Delicate reliefs of angels and demons decorated the crown molding, shaping the stone. Within minutes, I found myself inching from room to room, mentally pairing the names I passed with the ones scribbled in Dublin’s ledger. Agatha. Mary. James II and III and IV…
Dublin had tracked them all with an alarming level of detail, birth years and death dates included. On closer reflection, the fact that he had studied my bloodline at all definitely deserved more scrutiny.
Perhaps the journal was his subtle attempt at irony. A reminder solely directed at me—I wasn’t the only Gray to catch his interest. Therefore, I wasn’t important. In the grand scheme of Dublin Helos and his devious intentions, Eleanor Gray was nothing more than a single scribbled anecdote among pages of them.
But this name wasn’t.
I frowned as my fingers traced the unfamiliar series of letters engraved in stone. Not a name at all, it appeared as I strained my eyes to read it, but a phrase.
Memento Mori.
Latin? I couldn’t recall its meaning off the top of my head. Carved within plain sight, it dominated the space placed between my Great-Great-Aunt Maria and Uncle George in a section of the chamber where the light struggled to reach.
A slight roughness in texture differentiated it from the smooth graves nearby. The stone here felt older, more tattered than George’s tomb and he’d been dead for at least two centuries.
Driven by an impulse I couldn’t explain, I felt along the edges of the epitaph, tracing every divot in the worn stone. At the slightest bit of pressure, something shifted in a way it shouldn’t have.
Unease prickled at the back of my mind, warning me away. Secrets, once uncovered, rarely revealed useful information as far as I was concerned. Just more deception. More lies. I tried to move—forsaking the intrigue—but my feet remained stubbornly rooted in place. It was the damn chamber, its mystery feeding a question I couldn’t shake.
What would a Gray deem important enough to hide within the family tomb?
Eventually, the curiosity became too much to resist.
I rolled my sleeves up and tugged again, bracing my feet against the floor. The placard budged another inch. Another. Sweat dripped down my neck as I applied even more pressure, straining the muscles in my shoulders. More. More…
Until, with a thud, the lid of the tomb came away altogether. I jumped back, fearful of the prospect of a coffin lurking beyond. A cloud of dust obscured any contents, triggering a furious coughing fit. Hunched over, with my hand pressed over my nose, I peered through the darkness. The dust cleared gradually, revealing a cavernous space in lieu of some ancient deceased Gray. I pulled back, prepared to write it off as empty, but a glint of silver caught my eye before I could.
Intrigued, I sank into a crouch, squinting to make out the object. Whatever it was had been tucked too far back to observe from my position.
I had no choice but to reach inside.
My heart raced as I cautiously inched my fingers deeper within the tomb, feeling along the marble bottom. My arm was in nearly up to my shoulder by the time I finally brushed something cold. Slender. Familiar?
I withdrew it, holding it up to the light, and a gasp tore from my lips as I identified just what it was—a cross. Dangling from a thin chain, it looked identical to Dublin’s. It could have been the exact same one.
But the shape differed upon closer inspection. The tips were pointed instead of squared, and a series of letters had been etched into the metal. A name? I couldn’t read it, but as the talisman’s weight settled over my palm, it was impossible to shake the sense that it was so much more than a casual piece of jewelry. Dublin guarded his more fervently than his own contract. Perhaps, in his obsessive need for control, he’d hidden a spare here?
Among the decaying bodies of a hundred Grays.
I mulled over the potential answers, none of them comforting. So lost in thought, I almost missed the slight noise at first. It shattered the quiet, reverberating from the upper level. A hiss. A thud.
Footsteps.
I bit my lip, assuming the intruder’s identity. Dublin Helos himself, arriving just in time to smack my hands for disobeying? I tucked the cross into my fist and turned toward the central chamber, fully prepared to face my scolding.
Do I need to get the manacles, Eleanor?
“You saw her come in here?” a man whispered—but his voice was too soft. Not Dublin’s.
Panic froze me in place as his steps continued their hurried descent.
“The lights are on,” another man pointed out. “And keep your voice down. We don’t want to scare her.”
“Ms. Gray?” the first man called out, his raised voice echoing to the farthest reaches of the crypt. “We’re…friends of your sister’s.”
Georgie. But something in his tone made me creep back toward the empty tomb and I traced the rim with trembling fingers.
“I don’t think she’s here,” the second man deduced. Both sets of footsteps sounded like they’d settled near the base of the stairs. Mere paces away from my corridor.
“Let’s fan out just to be sure.”
My pulse surged, hammering against my eardrums. As footsteps approached my section of the chamber, I crouched, inching into the open space in the wall. Dust and grime clung to my skin. It took everything I had to shuffle back, peering through the opening of the tomb.
“Anyone down here?” A shadow darkened the doorway, his silhouette large, betraying a muscular frame. Seconds later, a slender figure appeared beside him. “I don’t think she’s here,” he said. “Let’s check the house again. The kid said someone came onto the property. If she managed to escape, it’s only a matter of time before they track her down.”
“You think she escaped?” the larger man replied.
“Of course. He isn’t stupid enough to let her wander around alone. At least if she is in here, he won’t be able to track her anyway. We can keep watch.”
He. Dublin?
“I’m surprised he hasn’t killed her already. Or sold her.” Their shapes retreated from the doorway and I heard their footsteps as they crossed the central chamber. “But it’s only a matter of time. He’s already summoned the other one. I hear the bastard is on his way now. Helos must know she’s gone.”
“Doesn’t this feel strange to you though? Looking…well, hunting down a Gray? Especially since no one’s seen Georgiana since—”
“We don’t question,” the smaller man hissed. “And whatever reason there is for it, I don’t really want to know. After what she’s been through
, she might be better off… Come on.”
Their steps faded to silence. In their wake, my thoughts spun. Too much information clamored to be reconciled all at once. Georgie. Her “friends.” Their intent—hunting me down.
For what?
And Dublin…
A dull pain seared through my palm, so I loosened my grip on the cross, wincing as warm liquid dribbled down my fingers. I’d gripped the necklace so hard that it had broken the skin. The coppery scent of blood tainted the air, as vibrant as an SOS beacon. I imagined Dublin tracking the smell, using it like a map to find me.
Or not. Deep down, I knew that the fact I’d left his property at all was a miracle within itself. Perhaps he didn’t care enough to come looking.
Enough! I shook my head to clear it and inched forward on my hands and knees. My entire body trembled as I climbed from the tomb and approached the central chamber, clinging to the wall for balance.
A glance revealed that the space was empty. Taking a chance, I lurched to the stairs, straining my ears for any hint of noise. The upper level was deserted as well, but the heavy door had been left open, allowing a draft to blow loose branches and leaves across the floor. Each sound echoed like whispered admonishments. Run, Eleanor!
But to where? Darkness loomed beyond the doorway, impenetrable this deep within the property. I couldn’t even see the silhouette of the house.
Or anything for that matter.
I hesitated, racked with uncertainty. A part of me considered taking my chances and crossing the property anyway. Logic warned against it. I should hide instead. Wait for Dublin.
No. The second intrusion of him into my thoughts made me grit my teeth. No longer would I sit around playing the perfect victim, always awaiting his rescue.
I started forward, my muscles tensing to run. I didn’t even see the hand rushing from the shadows to grab me until it was too late.
“There you are!” Harsh fingers clenched my forearm, wrenching me forward, but my assailant loomed beyond my sight, too strong to resist.
I lurched, ripped off-balance, and landed on my knees. Instinct took over. I lowered my mouth to the unfamiliar grip, bared my teeth, and bit. The figure hissed in response, shoving me aside, and I spun, failing to regain my balance. Wham! Stars exploded across my vision as ringing bells banged a symphony in my ears. Pain came in slow, nauseating waves, each one stronger than the last.
