Mr. Vrana (A Soulmark Series Book 4)

by Rebecca Main

  When the creature was finished, drinking his fill, an anguished cry ripped from its throat. What humanity was left inside of him was consumed with guilt, and the once-man endeavored to right its grievous wrong.

  Fangs unsheathed once more, he tore open his wrist. New, strange blood flowed into Jakob's mouth, and minutes later the banker passed on.

  When he awoke, he would be anew. And alone.

  Chapter 1

  Present

  There are many possible reasons Vrana took me to Vienna a week later: to kill me in front of the Court of Vampyré, to torture me, or to humiliate me.

  Perhaps, all of the above?

  I await my fate in the Hotel Imperial, plotting an escape I know to be futile. Vrana's little cache of vampyré underlings keep all manner of technology out of my hands and any hope of outside help away. Henchmen of the supernatural variety keep watch outside my hotel room door during the day. And then there is the matter of the soulmark… What hope do I have of beating Vrana now that I am so inexplicably tied to him?

  I’ve taken the first step in tying our two souls together, and I am all too aware of the repercussions of attempting to flee from what I've done. A numbness blooms from my gut outward.

  How is it possible our two souls are meant to be one?

  My head falls to rest on the windowpane, and I set my sights on the horizon. Sunset is only twelve minutes away, and these vampyrés I am with wake like clockwork. Why does my soulmark have to be a leech? What cruel fate is this that it is me, out of my siblings, to face such dire circumstances? It is crueler still knowing I have always been the one to so desperately want to find my soulmark.

  I curb the urge to stomp my foot and rear back from the window.

  I distinctly recall Xander and Ryatt’s experiences with their soulmarks. Both found a way to screw up in one way or another... multiple times, in fact. A troubled frown burrows between my eyebrows as I nibble on my bottom lip.

  Regret does not begin to encompass the crushing emotion I feel when I recall my actions. Was sealing the mark my best chance at staying alive? Or was there another option?

  Either way, the tether to bring our souls together cannot be undone now. Once the process has been initiated and the sealing complete, going back is not an option. Not with magic nor sheer strength of will. Death may very well be the only answer to our ill fortune, and I’m afraid of what Vrana will do once he comes to this realization as well.

  My throat tightens.

  For now, I am safe from such a fate. Vrana isn’t as well-read or as experienced in dealing with soulmarks as I. He doesn’t know there are no loopholes to this bond between us. But when he does, I’ll be prepared. My steps lead me to a gold-framed mirror, and I study my reflection.

  All evidence of my fight with Vrana has faded thanks to my lycan healing, but I’ll not forget them anytime soon. Not the black and blue contusions that stained my sharp cheekbones, nor the cut across my full bottom lip. Certainly not the fractures and bruises that littered the rest of my body. Still, I feel their phantom ache when I dwell upon them. Rest and a buffet of meats to help restore my strength aided my speedy recovery.

  I give my reflection one last long look. I must handle this situation with care. I must be smarter than Vrana. My survival depends upon it.

  My green eyes look back at me with hard resolution simmering in their depths. No doubt Vrana thinks me another pretty face. The delicate turn of my nose and full lips give me an aristocratic look. I’ll use it to my advantage. Let him underestimate me.

  My gaze flicks toward the grandfather clock ticking away in the sitting room. Any minute now they will join me. I smooth down my shining black hair and square my shoulders. Tomorrow I will continue my plotting and further design a plan to return both blade and ring to the pack if I cannot succeed in getting back myself.

  The drink cart is only a few steps away, and I pour myself an ounce of blackberry Obstler. The schnapps does little to carry away thoughts of the arduous task ahead, and I take a seat on the lilac love seat.

  Before I take another sip of the liquor, my ears perk at the sound of footsteps in the hallway. They are light and quick, which means Ruby is the first to rise.

  The door opens following the snick of the lock receding from its position. “Good evening, Irina!”

  “Ruby.” I give a slight nod of my head to Vrana’s second-in-command. His second childe.

  I learned her story on my third night in this historic hotel. Ruby was turned by Vrana in 1925 at the age of 16. At the time her name had been Ying Yu. Her family immigrated to France during World War I to assist in the war efforts and remained after.

  Vrana found her beaten and raped in some back alley. She boasted that with the last of her strength, she fought. Stabbing Vrana in the foot with a broken bottle. She giggled merrily at the retelling, assuring me her enduring spirit is what led Vrana to turn her and, in doing so, make her his second childe.

  The name change came a year after, in 1926, by her own choosing.

  Ruby glides over to my side, her mauve feathered mini skirt and gray cashmere sweater hold a touch of 20s flare when paired with her suede pumps. Even her spidery black hair, cut in a fashionable bob, hints at her true origins. Her almond eyes, dashed with distinctive specs of silver, dance over my form. I make a note of this feature. She is almost a century old, and her eyes look only peppered with vampyric mercury.

  “You look as if you’ve slept well.”

  “Mildly so,” I say. Ruby pours herself a full glass of blood from one of the four decanters. I've also come to learn Ruby prefers her blood source from large, muscular men. She insists they’re more filling and robust in taste.

  Ruby licks the blood from her top lip and goes to sit on the chaise lounge. “I do love the Imperial, but I can’t wait to be home. We haven’t been in Vienna since the ‘90s.”

  “So you’ve said.” Ruby shoots me a wink over the rim of her glass. Her eyes bleeding to red as she continues to enjoy her breakfast.

  “Bash assured me they’ll complete all the renovations sometime this evening.” Bash, or Sebastian, is Vrana’s first childe. He’s the bookish type—mostly silent and excellent at brooding. He is not as accepting as Ruby is to my presence, nor I of his.

  He is a large fellow, taller than Vrana by three inches at 6'4", with curly, ashy brown hair kept short. His chestnut eyes are close-set, and it makes his silent judgment all the more piercing somehow.

  I take another sip of my drink and move to sit across from her. “Does that mean we’ll be moving tonight?” Ruby shakes her head. The tips of her fangs are visible with the coquettish smile she wears.

  “No. Maybe on the morrow. Jakob has to complete some business before we move once again.”

  “Business with the Court of Vampyrés, I presume.”

  "The Dark Court, Irina" Ruby reminds me, and I sigh internally—not the Court of Vampyré. She downs the rest of the blood, hiding her smile. She is much amused by my knowledge of her species and other supernaturals, which is why she grants me snippets of real information about Vrana’s reasons for bringing us to Vienna.

  He wants to claim a position in the Dark Court as one of the Greater Households. And potentially kill, maim, or humiliate me in front of his vampyré brethren.

  The door to the Elisabeth Suite opens and shuts quietly. Sebastian surveys our idle postures and gives a brief nod to both of us. I watch as he makes a direct path to the blood. For all his silent brooding and equally silent judgment, he is easily provoked—a fact I’ve used to my advantage on many occasions already.

  Our dislike of one another has only grown since my arrival to their party. He sees me as just a pretty face—a spoiled girl. Whenever I boldly state or suggest some ridiculous vampyré myth or assumption about the Dark Court, he is swift to correct me, a disdainful sneer on his lips as he educates me.

  I’ve learned quite a lot about the Dark Court thanks to his temper. I now know the
Dark Court is composed of four classes. Courtiers, those allowed to attend court on a nightly basis. Minor Households and Greater Households, who are ranked due to the circumstances of their entrance. Those of the Minor Households enter the court without shedding blood and are permitted entrance by a unanimous vote of all higher households. Whereas Greater Households gain entry to the Dark Court by blood. The last and uppermost class is the Royal Households, which is composed of the founding three families.

  “Good evening, Bash,” Ruby singsongs. “How did you sleep? Have you checked in on our new sister?” Nova. I temper my heartbeat to keep its steady pace and maintain an air of nonchalance.

  Calliope’s friend may be my only potential ally here, and it is not often I hear news of her from either of Vrana’s children. Let alone Vrana himself.

  “She’s fine. She seems to prefer the taste of mature women.”

  Ruby laughs at my look of disgust. The sound of it is airy and full of genuine delight. “Perhaps she would like to dine on me, then,” she says with glee. Bash levels Ruby with a stern look, his brows pinched together in disapproval.

  “Trouble," he scolds almost fondly and shakes his head. His square jaw sets and he continues on sternly. "She’s too young for you, Ruby.”

  “What does age matter to a vampyré? Besides, they’re so much feistier in their first fifty years, and Nova is incredibly well-adjusted, in my opinion, to her new life. You must admit, Bash, she has an excellent handle on her emotions. Most fledglings are so volatile.”

  “She is doing well, but we all have our moments of weakness. Do not forget, Jakob told you to behave,” he reminds Ruby after taking a long drink of his blood. It is unnerving to watch his brown eyes bleed to red. It's unnerving on all of them, but I force myself to remain calm despite the unnaturalness of it.

  “He doesn’t know how to have fun. He’s too busy—” I barely catch the sharp glare that passes over Sebastian’s face before Ruby shuts her mouth. She stares apathetically at the blue brocade wall, holding out her glass for Sebastian to take and refill. He does her bidding without a word. Retrieving and refilling her glass in less than 10 seconds. My eyes can barely keep up, but at least they are growing used their vampyric speed.

  “You’re welcome,” he murmurs. Ruby smiles brightly at him, fangs and all.

  “Thank you,” she chirps, taking a loud sip of her blood. The childish action does injustice to her real age of ninety-three, but with the face of a sixteen-year-old, the action comes across as mischievous fun.

  I eye Sebastian as he takes a seat in one of the suite’s two wingback chairs. Again, his height astounds me. He is far too tall for the chair with his shoulders standing at least two inches above the chair’s back.

  Under my blatant regard, he adjusts the collar of the button-up he wears beneath his sweater before catching himself and stopping. I continue to stare, enjoying his minor discomfort more than I should, even as Vrana enters.

  “Leave us,” he commands. The two depart, unperturbed at his curt dismissal. Vrana takes a seat in Sebastian’s vacated spot, forgoing the decanters of blood. “Irina, I see you’ve adjusted your schedule.”

  “I’m not keen on the idea of a group of vampyrés being awake while I’m asleep in bed.”

  Vrana smirks. “You’re smarter than you look.”

  “I have superb survival instincts,” I correct, tilting my chin up as I regard him. He looks pristine, as per usual. Today his suit is navy and sans tie for a more “relaxed” look. My eyes trace over his clean-shaven, angular jaw, up the steady slope of his nose, and across his ridged brow. His eyes, with their dangerous mix of silver and blue, are set back, but only just so.

  “A fact of which I can attest to,” he says. His words hold a chill to them, and the hair at the back of my neck stands on end. In the next instant, he is beside me on the love seat, leaning in too close for comfort. “Your trick in the forest certainly paid off. Here you are, in one of the world’s most beautiful and historic cities, living in luxury.”

  “As a prisoner,” I remind him sweetly. Vrana’s smile could cut a diamond.

  “As my soulmark, Irina.”

  The word comes out as a barely restrained snarl, delivered with a smile that's more teeth than not. I bite down on my tongue to keep back my own primal sound of rage and grapple for control. Keep a level head—be smart, Irina.

  “Congratulations,” I say, my saccharine smile firmly in place. “You won the jackpot.”

  He holds my gaze for a moment longer before scooting back an inch. “So it would seem,” he murmurs, his sharp contempt softening out. His eyes run over my slim, somewhat athletic frame, cataloging every feature and asset I have at an unhurried pace before stopping at my neck.

  The wolf inside me paces about my mind anxiously. It has been doing so nonstop since our capture and even more so when the vampyrés are near. I’m still growing used to being on high alert at all times.

  “You wanted to speak to me?”

  Vrana’s eyes flick upward briefly to meet my stare, his thin lips pinching ever so slightly. “Indeed.” He rises with fluidity and, in the blink of an eye, is at the liquor cart pouring himself a mixture of red wine and blood. Blut wein. “I felt it necessary to bring you up to speed on the coming events given our unique… situation.”

  “Do share.”

  Vrana goes back to the wing chair, his wineglass held carelessly between his middle and ring finger. “Tomorrow evening we will relocate to my ancestral home. It contains its own passageway to the Dark Court and—”

  “I already know,” I say blandly. Rising, I walk back to the window to watch the streetlights flicker on.

  “Is that so?”

  His voice is deadly soft, but I choose to ignore it. “Yes. You’re vying for a seat in the Dark Court.” I catch Vrana’s eye in the window. He stands and moves behind me.

  Vampyrés are cold-blooded creatures, a stark contrast to that of the lycan, and his close presence is akin to a cool shadow at my back. I maintain eye contact, unwilling to bend.

  “You must think yourself clever for guessing so accurately, Irina,” he says.

  “I don’t need to think about it at all. A fact’s a fact, after all.”

  Vrana snorts at my words. The brief sheen of amusement I saw in the forest makes another appearance. It makes my stomach clench uncomfortably.

  “What else do you know, then? I presume Ruby and Sebastian have somehow played a role in your extensive knowledge of the situation.”

  I roll back my shoulders, almost flinching when they skim his suit jacket. My gaze diverts back down onto the streets to watch the people as they make their way home from work or to go out on the town.

  “I’ve read enough books on your kind to make my own assumptions,” I reprimand softly. My mind whirls as I assemble the puzzle pieces of Vrana’s agenda. “You’re vying to be a Greater Household, for I doubt your pride or vanity would allow you to accept entrance as a minor one.”

  A subdued growl works its way from Vrana’s throat. “Tread carefully, Irina.”

  I roll my eyes and carry on. “Surely you could have attempted this feat before,” I reason, more to myself than to him. My voice becomes softer as my brow creases together in thought. “You needed the ring to enter, didn't you?” I find Vrana’s sparkling gaze in the windowpane already staring back at me, and I feel a flare of triumph. “Do all vampyré need a ring to enter?”

  “It is… preferable.” Interesting.

  “You’ll count on your blood to earn your entrance then?”

  Cool fingertips brush casually along my shoulder, and I stiffen. My eyes grow wide as I watch Vrana sweep aside my thick, black hair. I shouldn't have worn the black off-the-shoulder top. It is highly unsuitable for the crowd I am with, and yet, most of my new wardrobe shows off my neck in one fashion or another. I scowl as his touch lingers.

  “What are you doing?”

  Vrana stares lazily back at me, a sm
ile curling his lips that isn’t very nice.

  “It will very much be by blood," he confirms. "But I've another matter I wished to speak to you about." I arch a brow, the picture of disinterest. His hand is slow to fall to his side. “I’ve been looking into this lovely mark we share.”

  My heart stutters, and the corner of Vrana’s lip twitch. “And?”

  “I have my sorcerer looking into solutions, but for now it seems we are in this together, whether we like it or not." Vrana heaves a long-suffering sigh, his smile turning so sharp it could crack. "Consider yourself a part of this family, Irina Adolphus.”

  I turn and grace him with a frown. “I would never betray my pack by calling you family,” I spit.

  Vrana remains unfazed. Eyes cold as ice, he tucks a few strands of my hair behind my ear. His fingertips trace a path back down my jawline until they take hold of my chin.

  “You will behave yourself. I will not have more than a century's work undone by some worthless dog. Once I receive confirmation from my sorcerer that killing you will not kill me, I shall drain you of every last drop of blood in your body.”

  “How original.”

  His lips slant into the semblance of a real smile. “Quite.”

  ++

  There is something terribly uncomfortable about being the only one eating in a group. A person becomes self-conscious of the way they eat and the speed at which they do so.

  Are you devouring your food like a savage?

  Is the food awful, but politeness dictates you finish the meal?

  Has some food lodged in your teeth and the others refrain from mentioning it?

  Arguably, these sentiments might be untrue when eating amongst friends or family, the people with whom you are closest, but when you eat among vampyrés….

  My stomach curls at the scent of blood. It is our first night in the Vrana ancestral home, and tonight’s meal is a special affair. We dine in courses: aperitif, soup, entree, and dessert. But our meals are miles apart. While I enjoy a lemon spritz, tafelspitz, venison, and apfelstrudel. They enjoy blut spritz, blut suppe, soufflé von blut, and blut gelato.