by Rebecca Main
“I’m well aware,” I say. “Shall we continue on?”
Nova gives her head a curt shake. “Jax wanted me to pass this along to you.”
A quick scan of our surroundings and out of her top she pulls a small velvet bag. I smirk at the convenient location. Ruby does as well, accepting the velvet bag with more tact than I expect. Nova gives a little huff of annoyance at our pleasure.
“I don’t have any pockets, all right?”
“We didn’t say anything,” I kindly remind her.
Nova makes a frustrated noise in her throat. “I have something for you too,” she informs me through gritted teeth. Nova’s hair is done up in a tight bun and secured with two hair sticks. She takes one out and passes it to me with impatience.
The top of the hairpiece is a dark wood, carved into elaborate swirls. But the actual stick is made of a different material. Cool to the touch, the white “stick” is actually more akin to stone. The point is chiseled to a cruel point.
“In case of emergencies, I presume.”
“It’s made of bone. Don’t use it unless you absolutely have to.” An ivory stake. I bob my head, twirling the delicate bone stake between my fingers before securing half my long hair up with it. It wouldn’t do to advertise such a weapon on my person—unless I wish every vampyré here to believe I’m issuing a challenge.
“I’m not a complete fool.”
“I would disagree,” a graveling and exotic voice counters. “Any lycan with two brain cells to rub together would never think of entering our hallowed halls. Yet here you are. Have you a death wish, pup?” The man is a blur before my eyes and in front of me in less than a second.
The wolf jumps to the forefront of my mind, and I know my eyes slip to gold. The Arabian man smiles, his russet brown skin and stylishly cut black beard look darker against the stunning white of his teeth with their deadly points. He wears a long-sleeved garnet tunic with golden buttons running all the way down its middle. His eyes, I note, are as lined with silver as Vrana’s, though a touch less so. Still, he is old and clearly looking to make trouble.
“I would be more than happy to serve out your death wish,” the Arabian man says.
His words evoke the sensation of a thousand spiders crawling over my skin at once. I tremble with loathing, but my warning growl cuts short in my throat at the slight shake of Ruby’s head over the man’s shoulder. Behave, her look screams.
“I’ll pass on your generous offer,” I say leveling the strange man with a saccharine smile as I assess him with my pale green eyes. Something crimson stains the coarse hair of his chin and my smile falls. “You’re wearing your lunch, sir.”
A purr rises from his throat, and he inches back, retrieving a handkerchief from his jacket. Soon laughter follows. His husky baritone echoes in the stairwell.
“Do excuse me.” He blots the handkerchief tenderly around his mouth. “I’m not usually such a messy eater, though I don’t suppose you would mind. After all, your kind enjoys rolling around in the mud and howling at the moon. You’re really quite filthy creatures.” Again, his laughter bounces off the walls as he tosses a look over his shoulder at Ruby—Ruby who wears such a look of indifference I wonder if her niceties are all an act with me. “I’ll admit, you do have some uses,” he continues, his eyes heavy-lidded when they return to me, a hint of red serpentizing around his irises. “Your blood, as it so happens, is quite… intoxicating. I bet it would burn through me like an incendiary.”
A lustful sneer curls his upper lip, and his hand rises toward me to touch my neck. In a moment, Nova’s hand snatches his wrist, just before he makes contact.
“No touching, Omar,” Ruby reminds him serenely. “She’s family.”
Omar snarls and yanks his hand back, taking a few steps away from me as Nova and Ruby come to flank my sides. As he smooths out his outfit, his face rearranges into something close to unaffected. But not quite....
“Give your head of household, my regards.”
He vanishes in a blur, and I find my breaths suddenly come to me in short pants. It takes me a long minute to regain my composure, but eventually, I pull my shoulders back and raise my head high.
“Are you all right, Irina?” Ruby asks.
I nod, though it's clear I’m shaken. Stay strong, I coach myself, show no weakness. Not to them. Not to anybody. I got myself into this mess. It’s on me to get myself out of it. Alive.
I yearn for the moon, knowing without a doubt I wouldn’t be so defenseless against these timeless monsters if I could shift at will. Only ten more nights to go.
“Shall we?” I turn on my heel and stride upstairs, not bothering to see if either follows. They do.
Prague | Autumn 1824
Autumn was a lengthy affair in Prague. From late September through October, the trees held on to their fiery hues until the rain and wind expelled them from their homes. All about the country, the harvest was in full effect. Farmers reaped their crop. The Trebon ponds flooded with fishermen to catch carp. Promising vineyards barreled their stock and bottled young wines in preparation for the feast of St. Martin to accompany the traditional roast goose.
Jakob enjoyed the autumnal season best because the sun began to set earlier. And because the temperature was still to the people of Praha's liking, they kept to the streets as if it was still summer. His favorite pasttime during these early evenings was to watch them all mill about.
Jakob’s newest abode faced a small park where couples, old and young, liked to frequent. It was not too gaudy a place, his new home, but it was his—a fact Jakob never failed to revel in. Several years prior, Jakob had begun a private accounting business and the arduous process of saving and building a clientele.
His clientele was what brought him to the park tonight. The crisp, fresh air soothed his agitation. Mr. Kovár was withholding information from him. Again. The man had a nasty habit of complaining to others when his returns and numbers were not as he wished. But numbers didn’t lie. If Mr. Kovár wanted to run a reputable business and find himself in the green, he needed to follow Jakob’s instructions.
Mr. Kovár often liked to point out their age difference. He was fifty-six. Jakob was only thirty-three—or so Jakob claimed to be. His client's habit of doing so never ceased to test Jakob’s well-managed patience, for how could he ever forget he was a seventy-year-old trapped in a thirty-year-old body?
Jakob chased away the malicious thoughts slipping through his mind and took a deep breath.
It was necessary when out in public to put on the wears of humanity. To breathe and shift and move as if he was never truly comfortable. In the privacy of Jakob's home, he did not put on such an act. Often, Jakob found it much easier to be still for hours on end, rather than give in to such human likeness. But tonight... tonight Jakob needed the frosty air to dampen his temper.
The park was not an ideal choice, not when in such a mood, but he always found peace there. Jakob knew only too well the workings of the beast inside him. How when he was in a temper or rage, it drove at his will to be free and release upon the mortal world his fury and hunger. To bathe in the blood of the innocents who dared cross his path. To finally feel sated. It was difficult not to succumb when all around him their heartbeats sang their siren songs to him.
A pair of girls walked past him. Their chaperone only a few steps behind. Jakob followed the swish of their dark red skirts with thinly veiled interest. They were huddled tightly together, their loose shawls wrapped over their narrow shoulders for their evening stroll. From his seat on the wooden bench, he could see a hint of blue vein stretch and disappear upon the blonde’s neck, her hair twisted up in some elaborate style. The chaperone “harrumphed” as she passed. Her own dress was out of date and severe in black.
Jakob gazed across the well-manicured lawn. City workers in plain overalls tended to their latest landscaping and passed furtive glances toward their pocket watches every five minutes. A young couple cut across the diago
nal path with their pram leading the way. The young husband's hand rested low upon his wife’s back, and their soft laughter rang in Jakob’s ear. His cheeks hollowed as Jakob took in another harsh breath.
Jakob turned his attention to the farthest end of the park, where a small man-made pond lay hidden from view due to densely planted shrubbery and pieces of art. Lovers of the neighborhood would sometimes steal away to the clandestine spot. The moon above painted a romantic picture across the water’s surface.
Something familiar stirred among the breeze. The aroma brought the fine hairs on Jakob’s arms to attention as he shuttered his eyes and remembered. Lemon verbena, too coiling sweet, drenched within a sitting room of purple pastels. Laughter, forced and touched with embarrassment at Charles’s strange colleague who looked so startlingly like him. An annual gathering stopped long ago when Jakob's unchanging face could not be explained to Charles’s wife and family any longer. Jakob knew the scent hidden among the breeze.
Evangeline.
He spotted them instantly, winding their way toward the pond. Her small and stout frame was in direct contrast with Charles’s tall and slim body. Evangeline's hand was tucked into the small of his arm, a small and intimate gesture. Jakob swallowed tightly. The last he saw his brother was seven months ago. Their encounters were kept on a yearly basis and strictly away from Charles’s family.
As if sensing his brother’s gaze, Charles turned to glance in his direction and stumbled upon meeting his brother’s regard. Jakob watched as Evangeline scolded her husband’s unnatural gate and continued on. From afar, Jakob studied the way Charles dragged in a thick breath and looked away. A hot wave of shame swept over Jakob, and he smoothed down the lapels of his jacket to calm his unsettled nerves.
The couple quickly closed in on the path’s fork, their steps a notch faster due to Charles’s persistence. To the right, they would find themselves amongst the lovers at the pond. To the left, they would eventually stroll past Jakob. Charles led them right with one last discreet glance at his brother over his shoulder. Jakob read the look in his younger brother’s eyes. It said, "Do not follow."
Jakob’s lips pressed together firmly as they trailed out of sight.
As if he would follow… as if he didn’t know the rules….
A haughty scoff pushed passed his lips. He was no delinquent. He would not spy on his brother and his wife, nor the countless other couples wandering the pond's edge, if there were any, Jakob thought. The air had turned frosty, and soon the people would go back to their warm homes.
Jakob paused. The predator within him rising.
The park had emptied considerably already. How much longer until the frost became too much and the park was abandoned by all? A dark presence filled Jakob's mind. It was the perfect opportunity to snatch one’s prey without the threat of exposure. The ideal time to attack.
Jakob's monster was not the only one to think so.
Two sharp cracks shook the air, followed shortly by a woman’s shrill scream.
Jakob arrived upon the scene seconds later. Charles and Evangeline lay crumpled against one another on the ground, a grimy thief above them about to rifle their pockets.
The next few moments happened in a blur. Jakob wrenched the thief off his family’s prone bodies and fell upon him. His fangs tore into the man’s neck, while the other smothered the thief’s cries. With a vicious growl, Jakob reared back. The thief’s neck tore open in a spray of red, and a mournful gurgle spewed from the stranger’s lips.
With a heavy pant falling from his lips, Jakob moved cautiously to his brother and his wife. Evangeline laid over top of Charles’s form. His eyes stared blindly to the moonlit sky above.
Jakob staggered back. A knife might as well have pierced Jakob’s heart, to see his brother—his baby brother—taken so cruelly from the world...
Gone. In an instant.
A dark stain of blood was growing on Evangeline’s back. Jakob could only stare.
Somebody shouted in the distance—a cry for help. The lampposts clanged as the alarm was sounded for a constable. Jakob took another step back. And then another. The rush of footsteps was barreling toward him… to them.
“Goodbye, bratr.”
Chapter 5
Present
The scrape of my cutlery is the only sound present in our formal dining room. The others in the room—Sebastian, Ruby, Nova, and Vrana—all drink silently from wine glasses filled with blood. I’m growing more accustomed to the quiet dinners and the stench of blood in the air. Or perhaps I am just tired?
I cannot summon the appropriate strength of mind or body to be entirely on guard. Though I am surrounded by vampyrés, my deal with Vrana leaves me assurance of some degree of safety.
The wolf lets out a restless growl in my mind, but it is half-hearted. It doesn’t particularly agree with me, but since I’m the one in charge, I make it a point to relax my rigid en garde posturing during the meal.
The events of yesterday evening play on repeat in my mind—the catty attack of Iris Roux and the cruel words of Omar Mubark. Mulling them over a glass of wine and pasta bolognese, I discover their barbed words fell wide of their mark. Those vampyrés meant nothing to me. As such, their words meant little to me as well.
“What trouble did you two get into tonight? How did you fair with the Ascania’s?” Vrana’s question is cordial, but a quick peek at his cool assessment lets me know he is all business. Any news about our encounter with the Roux twins and Omar Mubark last night will not be received well.
A fat pasta noodle finds its way into my mouth, and Ruby lets out a pointless sigh. “We debated with Fredrick for the better part of the night. And by we, I mean me. Irina’s German isn’t particularly good.”
“Nonexistent to be more exact,” I comment.
“And he wears a ring you were able to inspect?”
Ruby shakes her head. “Purely groundwork. Fredrick is fucking Hans at the moment, and Hans wears a ring. But Hans is so particular about who he socializes with, just as our files say. The best way to gain an audience with him is through Fredrick. Once we garner an introduction, I’m sure it will be smooth sailing.”
Vrana begrudgingly tips his wine glass in her direction. “Very good, then. Seb—”
“There are files?” I ask, my next bite stopping halfway to my mouth. “Where?”
“Not here,” Vrana states, voice flat. “And before you ask, no, you may not see them.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” he says, “they aren’t in the country. We would hardly benefit from any courtier stumbling across them here. You’ll simply have to learn the Dark Court's ins and outs as you go. Now, Sebastian?”
A grave impression of unfairness makes my throat tighten at his curtness, and I direct my glare at my meal. As it stands, I’m barely kept in the loop of things, and now Vrana means to keep information away from me that could help me avoid the more dangerous courtiers? The progression of this game of survival keeps stacking up against me. If not for Ruby's amiable nature and Nova's watchdog orders, I'd be cut down.
“Nothing yet, but I’m already familiar with several members of the Lamberg Household. We dined on a lovely French girl earlier this evening.”
My fork slips from my fingers at Sebastian’s deft response. It clatters noisily, slipping off the plate and staining the white tablecloth with bright tomato blotches.
“From the carotid or radial artery?” Ruby inquires.
“Femoral.” The two other vampyrés make sounds of appreciation that cover my discreet gagging. Nova shoots me a wry smirk from across the table.
“And you, little star? What of your progress?”
She shrugs and fingers her glass absentmindedly. “Nothing much to tell. I've been running errands for all of you. Although, I did come up with an idea of how I might be more useful and collect information.”
“Go on, then.” Vrana waves a hand in the air, setting down his glass and
giving her his full attention.
“I want to go back into the Pits and fight.”
Nova remains unfazed at the varying levels of disbelief turned her way. The moment after her announcement drags on, which is, of course, when Stormrow makes his grand entrance. A woman in tow right behind him.
My place at the dining room table provides a decent view of his arrival. Catching my regard, he shoots me a smirk. Then he pivots on the balls of his feet to plant a languid and somewhat noisy kiss on the woman.
“Don’t think you can distract me, Jax,” the woman says. She pulls back flaunting a coquettish smile, but with hard determination in her sky blue eyes. “You promised me—”
Jax presses a kiss to the moon tattooed across her right wrist, and then another to the sun tattooed on her left. “I always keep my promises, Valdora. Never fear. You shall have your staff before the big show next week.”
“Good,” she says. “I would hate to have to reprimand you, and there are so many other projects on my list for us to check off.” Jax presents her with a smile strained at its edges. He shoots a quick look over his shoulder at the table, his cheeks infusing with pink.
“I’m well aware of what happens to those who cross you, dearest,” he replies smoothly. “And in return, I can expect the tincture?”
They kiss once more. “Don’t be late,” Valdora says, a hint of menace in her voice. “I can’t stand to be left waiting.” Jax mumbles his agreement against her lips before gently ushering her away.
She departs with good humor. Her long, almost silver blonde hair with startling red tips, switches back and forth along her back with the swing of her hips.
“Making nice?” Ruby asks as soon as Jax seats himself. He grins.
“Always. Valdora not only holds the favor the court, at the moment, but favor with the gods. She’s… quite powerful and was blessed with extraordinary abilities from a young age.”
