by Rebecca Main
“I’ve been instructed to give these to you, Irina,” he continues, coming to stand next to me. Jax sets the box down when I don't take it immediately, but hangs on to the gift bag. He leans against the stone banister, peering over the edge seemingly to listen to Sebastian's latest lecture. “You’re to wear that," he says, nudging the box with his toe, "for tonight’s festivities.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Do any of us?”
My head snaps in his direction, and I eye him with renewed interest. Stormrow doesn’t give much away. The grin he wears is still the same, with only a touch of strain to it.
“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth. Stormrow absently rubs at his close-cut beard, amusement stealing behind his hazel eyes. “Anything else?”
"Here."
He hands me the bag, and after a moment I take it. The ribbon comes off with ease, and I delve inside. "Lotion?" I produce a large round container filled with what looks like some kind of cream or lotion. I open the lid and take a tentative sniff. The sneeze I release almost immediately after taking the sniff is comical. "This is full of—"
"Magic?" Stormrow finishes, his amusement evident. I glare and swirl the lid back on. "You can keep it." I thrust the gift back toward Stormrow.
"It will hide your pretty little soulmark," he explains. Stormrow crosses his arms over his chest, peering down once more into the courtyard. "Trust me, we don't want anyone finding out about that in the Dark Court, Irina."
"And why not?"
Stormrow's eyebrows hike up toward his hairline and chafe. "It's bad enough you're a lycan. The soulmark merely adds insult to injury."
"And what will they make of Vrana's?"
His eyebrows stay up as if he cannot believe all of this hasn't been explained to me already. I can.
"Nobody knows about Jakob's, and they're not going to know about yours either. Despite what changes the court has made in the past couple of centuries, that doesn't mean they're ready for a lycan and vampyré alliance. That's call for treason."
I scoff, unwilling to believe what I'm hearing. "I'd hardly call it an alliance. I hate him, and the feeling is mutual. Trust me."
Stormrow looks unimpressed. His facial features lessen their severity, and he emits a soft sigh. "It doesn't matter. They'll kill you both for it rather than risk the fact. This cream will hide your mark better than any makeup can."
"And what of my status as a lycan? You seem to have implied that is a mark against me as well."
"Because it is," he says rather matter-of-factly. As my shoulders deflate, Stormrow softens further. Leaning in, he pats me awkwardly on the arm. "Like I said, the Dark Court is a bit behind when it comes to more mainstream ideas like acceptance and equality. You've drawn the short straw, unfortunately."
I repress a growl of frustration, aiming my gaze upward at the flock of birds above. Some keep their hawkish regard upon the happenings on the ground floor, while the rest watch Stormrow and me.
"On a lighter note, future items on the Vrana agenda do include attempting to encourage those mainstream ideas."
"Lucky me," I grumble. "And if they despise my kind so much, how exactly am I supposed to survive down there?" A thick knot of distress builds in the back of my throat. I swallow it down, echoing Xander's last command in my mind: Stay alive. I can’t very well seal myself to every vampyré in the court to ensure my safety. How will I survive?
Stormrow rubs his jaw, then reaches into his jacket, pulling out a long, thick velvet box. “On that note, I’m also to inform you you’ll be known officially to all outside our family as Sebastian’s companion. It will also be implied that you are also comfortable with Ruby and Jakob, as well."
My anger rubs me raw inside, but I keep the thick clot of emotion smothered down and out of my voice when I respond. "I’m to be a whore, then? One so good that I cannot possibly be left behind?"
His silence gives me my answer.
“Very well, then.”
Stormrow inclines his head at my clipped response before walking away. I follow his departure with my eyes, acutely aware of the pricking sensation spreading across the back of my neck as I do so. Inhaling, I adjust my gaze. My eyes slant down into the courtyard and immediately find Vrana staring back at me.
The soulmark tingles against my skin, but it is weak against the scathing fury I feel for the vampyré.
++
The dress I wear would put Angelina Jolie’s 2012 Oscar dress to shame. My onyx hair is left down in voluminous waves that reach the middle of my back. What bust I have is pushed up and in by an almost corset-like sweetheart top, and of course, there is the achingly high split in the skirt. I go for a more dramatic makeup look to fit the occasion, with heavy winged eyeliner and deep red lipstick.
I’m putting the finishing touches on when a knock sounds on my door.
“Come in.”
Vrana enters. He looks incredibly smart in his charcoal suit and vest. The gold chain of a pocket watch hangs discreetly against his torso, into some inner pocket of his jacket. Vrana takes it out and deftly opens it to spy the time. I turn to face him, assessing his neatly styled blond hair and the slight pursing of his lips.
The watch snaps closed, and Vrana’s gaze tilts up to meet mine. “Ready?”
“Almost.”
I walk to the large chestnut dresser and get the velvet jewelry box Stormrow gave me earlier. Vrana’s eyes bore into my back as I do so.
The wolf inside me takes notice of the intensity at which he watches, but I soothe its worry. Tonight it is not Vrana and his family I need to fear but the members of the Dark Court. The perilous line I walk with Vrana becomes all the more dangerous with the addition of the Dark Court to our tête-à-tête. But I’m not going to let it unsettle me.
I'm Irina Adolphus, and any game I play, I win.
My eyes widen as I open the jewelry box, the sight of the thick diamond bracelet leaving me speechless.
The stirring of air is all the notice I am allotted before Vrana is behind me. “Is it to your liking?”
“It’s… lovely.” A sharp pain stabs at my heart. I’m all too aware the magnificent gift serves some ulterior motive, but I can’t help the small part of me that wishes it weren’t. The part that has always longed to find and be with my soulmark. Why did it have to be him? “I’ll need your assistance in putting it on.”
“Of course.” Vrana takes the bracelet into his hand with great care. “Your left hand, if you please.”
He fastens the bracelet, the cold touch of his fingertips lingering over the delicate skin of my wrist. I glance over his hand for any ornaments. There is no Heart Stone ring, a magical item that warms the wearer's internal body temperature, which I recall he used to wear, if Ryatt's soulmark Quinn was correct in her description of him this past summer. Then my eyes alight upon the amethyst ring on his little finger.
A bitter taste envelops my mouth at the sight. “Perfect. Jax explained the logistics of tonight this afternoon?”
“How I'm Sebastian's devoted whore and the implication I serve you and Ruby as well? Yes, he explained.”
“Good,” Vrana says without emotion. “The court must view our family as unwavering in our allegiance to one another. Any crack in our facade, any weakness found, will hold disastrous consequences for us all.”
“I quite understand,” I reply, breezing past him. “Go along with this little charade and not only will I stay alive, but you and your precious family will as well.”
Vrana arrives before me in a flash, a small scowl working at his heavy brow. “Need I remind you again that you are part of this family?”
“Says the leech working on the way to kill me without killing himself.”
Vrana exhales in a show of mild exasperation. Even this act is elegant in its condescension. “It's hardly personal.” Whatever. "There is one more piece of jewelry for you to wear."
Vrana produces another velvet box, this one
just as long and thin as the last. He opens it with a flick. Inside is a delicate gold lariat necklace, a piece of quartz dangling from its end.
"Wear this always," he instructs, placing the necklace over my head. I toy with its length, adjusting it until the quartz lies a couple of inches below my collarbone. "It will suppress the inclinations of the soulmark."
"That's impossible," I tell him staunchly.
"The gods, whoever they may be, favor our fair sorcerer," Vrana replies evenly, his eyes glittering like lapis. "He has sworn to their validity. Unfortunately, the necklace is not a permanent solution. At some point, Jax will require the necklace back to spell it once more."
He doesn’t wait for my reply and places the flat of his palm on my middle back, guiding me out of the room and into the next level of this treacherous game.
++
The underground palace of the Dark Court reeks of death, blood, and sex. It’s an affront on my lycan senses and tests my control. My fingernails dig surreptitiously into Sebastian’s forearm as my eyes glide over the black marble pillars and vaulted ceilings. The main corridors and great rooms diverting off it are deserted in favor of the fighting hall. The Pits.
While Stormrow, Sebastian, Ruby, Vrana, and I are dressed to the nines in shades of gray and black, Nova is dressed in stark contrast. She wears our dark colors as well, but in far less formal form. Combat boots climb halfway up her calves, and she fits inside a black catsuit like a glove. Around her muscular waist is a slim utility belt outfitted with small knives, her preferred weaponry for the tonight's engagement.
“They will have you fighting against their best,” Vrana tells her in a calm voice, his hand placed lightly between her shoulder blades as he steers the group forward. “Raphael, most likely. He does not play fair, and neither should you.”
Nova gives a curt nod. “I won’t.”
My nose twitches uncomfortably as the scent of blood intensifies. Not just any blood, vampyré blood. The raw acrid smell grows heavier in the air with each step and triggers an instinctive need to kill. Heading deeper into enemy territory, I am sure my ivy-colored eyes thread with gold for my wolf strays close to the forefront of my mind.
“If all else fails,” Vrana continues to lecture, “go for the hip.”
I toss an inquisitive look to Sebastian at overhearing Vrana’s instruction. Sebastian returns my look with cool indifference before explaining. “A vampyrés limbs can move even if injured, but the joints move the limbs.”
Joyous cries mingle with shouts of agony up ahead, and Vrana slows his gait as we near the ornate doors etched with scenes of depravity and malice.
“Do be on your best behavior tonight.” Vrana issues the command to us all in a soft voice full of danger.
“I’m always on my best behavior,” Jax responds brightly. Ruby pats his arm in good humor, her almond eyes gazing up at him as she restrains her laughter.
“Me too,” she confides in a false whisper. Vrana heaves a sigh and raps on the door. A second later they are hauled open. I exhale sharply, not having realized I was holding my breath. Dear God.
We file in as couples one after another into what can only be described as a slaughterhouse. The flooring changes from smooth mosaic tiles to cobbled stone. The walls’ decorations change from grand portraits and landscapes to various tools of impalement and butchery.
The sting of stomach acid crawls up the back of my throat, and I must swallow convulsively to keep my nausea down. A large, circular pit dominates the center of the room, and further back I glimpse two more of lesser size. All claim their own section of seating. A mixture of elevated rows and standing room surround each pit. Vampyrés and other supernatural beings relax in overstuffed chairs and chaise lounges, while above them hang severed limbs from cattle hooks and the odd bird of prey watching from above.
“Watch your step,” Sebastian murmurs, pulling me back to reality.
I smooth my distraught features and stare blankly ahead, following Ruby and Jax to a set of seats left open for us, while Vrana and Nova continue on to the three box seats carved into the wall with an unobstructed view of the largest cavity. The room quiets slowly as they come to stand before the representatives of the Royal Households—their heads of household.
“Madame Roux.” Vrana inclines his head toward the woman in the right booth. Her hair is shocking red, twisted up in an elaborate updo. Her lips, which are painted black, offer no smile.
“Count Thierry Delacroix.” Vrana addresses the older gentleman in the left booth. The man himself is unremarkable with his snowy white beard and piercing, almost entirely silver eyes. It is the two young girls who flank him that steal my attention. Their eyes are glazed over red, and they wear thick manacles around their necks. I note the idle hold Theirry keeps on the chains attached to the manacles and stiffen my spine. Old and strong, indeed.
“Jakob,” the last man purrs. “So good to see you back.”
“Adrian Thorburn.” Vrana inclines his head one final time.
I cannot contain the small shiver of dread that worms its way down my back as the vampyré smiles at Vrana, his fangs on full display.
“It’s been quite some time,” Adrian says. “How long has it been?"
"One hundred and fifty-two years," Vrana replies.
Adrian smooths back an escaped strand of black hair from his tight bun. His dark eyes seem to glow with their vampyric silver, but the malice behind them is not easily ignored.
"I speak for all when I admit to my surprise at seeing your face again not two weeks ago. After all, you have been banished, if memory serves me correct."
The courtiers and households watch the exchange with excitement, while I struggle to understand what I am missing. Vrana has been a part of the Dark Court before?
"Ah, Adrian," Vrana says, exuding all the genteel and entitlement of someone who knows how to play these court games and win. "Your memory seems to have escaped you. My title was rescinded, as well as my place at court, but there was nothing said about regaining either. And so I humbly submit my case to the court."
Adrian stares coolly and sits back in his chair.
"And of the last stipulation, Vrana? To roam this earth alone?" Madame Roux's voice makes my hair stand on end.
"I found purpose and a reason, along with people who shared my like-mindedness." She does not appreciate his answer but does not rebut.
"And is this your little family’s champion?” Count Delacroix asks, his voice booming. A rumble of laughter courses through the crowd, and Sebastian’s hand curls into a fist. I shift in closer to his side.
“Our very own supernova,” Vrana shoots back, voice like velvet.
“Well, let’s see what kind of destruction she can cause against Lafayette.”
Adrian raises a hand in the air and snaps his fingers. A moment later, the portion of the crowd who stand around the dugout ring make a wide berth. A dark-skinned man comes out, deep scars etched across his torso, arms, and face.
“Weapon of choice?” Madame Roux asks the other royal members.
“By the fang!” Count Delacroix shouts.
Once more the crowd stirs, excited whispers filling the room. I catch bits and pieces, but one thing remains clear: what is about to occur will douse the place in blood. Vrana gives the barest impression of a bow toward the three, then turns and walks back to us. Nova on his heels.
“Remove your weapons,” Vrana commands, voice low. “Jax, Sebastian, who is this mongrel?”
Jax scoots forward to the edge of his seat. “By the looks of it, he’s a rogue. Still within his first fifty years, but with no family to formally take him in. He earns his keep by fighting in the pits. Funny how the times have changed in regard to his kind, eh?”
Jax wiggles his eyebrows at Vrana, earning himself a disapproving frown from the elder vampyré.
Ruby takes Nova’s knives. “Be smart,” she says.
“Be ruthless,” Sebastian adds.
Vrana turns her around to face the pit and her opponent. “Look at him. What do you see?”
“A gladiator.”
Vrana hums a soft agreement. “What does he see when he looks at you?”
Nova’s reaction is instantaneous. Her shoulders slump, and she shoots Vrana a look brimming with fear and uncertainty. She takes a deep, unnecessary breath. “Nothing.”
“Exactly. Now go.”
Nova takes a few hesitant steps forward until she reaches the lip of the pit. Her opponent does the same. His face is expressionless. Vrana takes his seat between me and Ruby, his posture relaxed.
“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we present to you a special show. A chance at redemption! To retake his family’s seat at court, the Vrana family offer their very own supernova to fight their cause." The crowd emits a mixture of hisses and applause to which Nova ducks her head. "She will face thirty-seven-time victor, Lafayette!” Again, the audience reacts, roaring its unanimous approval. An uncomfortable knot forms in my stomach.
At a nod from Adrian, the two drop into the pit and the lights in the room dim, leaving only those directly above the fighting ring on.
“This isn’t right,” I whisper to myself.
“The fighting pit has long been a staple in the Dark Court. You would do well to curb your delicate sensibilities and accustom yourself to such occurrences,” Vrana comments, turning his head only a fraction in my direction.
Anger boils in my blood, memories of years long past coming to the forefront of my mind. The Wselfwulf pack loved to pick fights as well, whether their opponents wanted to or not.
“I assure you I’ve witnessed my fair share of unnecessary violence and dogfights, or did you fail in your research of the Wselfwulf pack before you befriended them? They quite enjoy blood sports. I dare say as much as your precious Dark Court.” Vrana meets my glare, his face impassive.
“Of course,” he murmurs, eyes alighting with acknowledgment before turning his focus back on Nova. “Then what is it you protest too? Do you still fear for Nova?” I give a small huff in response. “I think it would be beneficial for both of us to remember, Irina, that looks can be deceiving. And sometimes, deliberately so.”
