Mr. Vrana (A Soulmark Series Book 4)

by Rebecca Main

  Sebastian plucks the blood cherry from my tentative hold, mulling over his answer as he chews. His head rests in my lap as we share a divan. “The cherries are pitted, soaked in blood, then have a blood gelatin mixture set inside them. Being so blood rich makes them possible to digest.”

  “Fascinating,” I murmur. “At least the smell isn’t as pungent.”

  “You won’t find such gory displays here."

  I can't help but look back over to the thrall draped along the daybed. One of the vampyré is settled face first between her legs. I blush furiously at the sight. The Lunarium might not attest to acts of gore, but it is host to numerous other sins.

  "If you're going to color like that, at least try pretending it is from something I have said," Sebastian drolls, his fingertips skimming the tops of my legs. "You're as red as a tomato and giving off enough heat to warm the entire room. You're supposed to be experienced—"

  I drop the next blood cherry onto his eye, and Sebastian hisses in return.

  “Oops.”

  “You’re supposed to be madly in love with me. At least show some modicum of obsession to keep up the rouse.” Sebastian gives a discreet sweep of the crowd to see if anyone noticed my “accident.”

  “It seems my obsession is in testing the limits of the renowned Vrana patience. How does the motto go, 'Patience Conquers’?” I meet Sebastian’s ire-filled gaze with a smart arch of one eyebrow. “You keep looking over at them. Why?”

  “Them” being the cluster of Roux sisters dominating one of the raised platforms on the opposite end of the room. The other two platforms, no doubt meant for the other Royal Households, remain empty. I watch the sisters through my lashes, keeping my chin tipped downward as if gazing adoringly at Sebastian.

  I can’t say I am shocked that his eyes keep wandering to them. They are mesmerizing, with their red hair and pouting lips. The thralls gravitate toward them, making several passes in hopes of capturing their eye.

  “There is bad blood between our family and theirs,” he says softly, then reaches up to twine a strand of my hair around his finger. He gives it a gentle tug, urging me closer so as not to be heard. “Has Jakob told you?”

  “When does he ever tell me anything?”

  Sebastian releases me, letting his finger drag along my jawline as I pull back. “Very well, then.”

  “You’re not going to tell me?” I ask when Sebastian says no more. Honestly. He gives a lazy shrug and looks toward the bowl of blood cherries expectantly. “What can you tell me?”

  I dangle the blood cheery above his lips, raising it out of reach when he does not answer. “Must you act like a child, Irina?”

  “Must you act like my grandfather, Sebastian?”

  Sebastian tries again for the cherry, snatching my wrist as I place it out of reach once more. He stretches upward to capture it, his lips falling around my fingertips to put on a show. And to make me uncomfortable. When he releases me, I discreetly wipe my fingers on the divan.

  “They say they’re the first hybrids,” he says.

  “Hybrids?”

  Sebastian hums and pulls himself up to my side. My back is cradled by his chest, and he allows his hand to trail up and down my arm in an absentminded caress. I try not to frown at the cold touch. Too many eyes are turning in our direction.

  “They say the first Roux was once a siren. After being turned, she murdered her maker and chose her own family.”

  “And she happened to have a fetish for red hair, or was her narcissism to blame?”

  Sebastian snorts in my ear and pinches my arm. “Behave,” he murmurs. “Rosemary was shrewd about whom she allowed to be given the gift of immortality. True, the hair is a bit cliché to some, but it’s their trademark. An ode to the siren blood supposedly lingering within them. The ruthless seductresses of the Dark Court. Many a men and women have met their end in their beds.” Classy.

  “All of them are hybrids?”

  “It remains unclear, and I suppose that’s the point. It adds to their mystique.”

  My mouth sets in a hard line. “It certainly adds something.”

  Sebastian ignores my clipped remark. “The twins are the last members to join their ranks, in 1841. Rumor has it they used to be conjoined and part of a Human Zoo in Paris. Sister Ren took pity on them, and with permission from the leading sister at the time, Orchid, they were separated and turned.”

  The hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end as Sebastian’s cool breath sails over it. “How very dramatic.”

  “The Roux Household is very old and very powerful, Irina. You would do well to remember that and stay out of their way.” Lips, pillow soft, brush gently over my shoulder, and I turn stiff. “Relax,” he whispers, a note of warning in his voice.

  But the wolf snarls its disagreement. This isn’t right. “I’m trying,” I hiss back, fighting for a more at ease composure. But the wolf resists. I resist. “Lay off.”

  Sebastian stiffens behind me. “I’m barely doing anything.”

  My eyes shutter closed. He’s right. Damn him. The truth triggers an increase in my heart’s tempo and makes me uncomfortably aware that I am one of the few people in the room to have one. The last thing I want is to have all the eyes in the room on me. Or worse, for anyone to notice my discomfort. Not even Sebastian could save me, then.

  “Who’s that girl?” I ask, shifting and rolling into his chest. Sebastian’s arm wraps around my waist, holding me against him like a steel trap. “The one with the white hair.”

  “Claire. The resident banshee.”

  I jerk back in Sebastian’s hold, mouth agape as I stare back at him. His chocolate eyes assess me with great amusement. “A banshee? You mean the kind that screams and the person who hears them dies? That kind of banshee?”

  Sebastian flicks my nose. “You're sensational, it’s unbecoming—ah!” He holds a cold finger to my lips, silencing my forthcoming indignation. “To answer your question: yes. She is exactly like that kind of banshee, not that I know of a different kind. Though, to my understanding, they sing as well as scream to announce a person’s impending death.”

  I smack away Sebastian’s hand. “How kind of them to serenade their victims before they bite the dust.”

  “They don’t kill. They’re merely the messenger. A herald of death, if you will. The Thorburn Household keeps her on.”

  “Why? To warn off legitimate impending death threats?”

  “Precisely.”

  I let my eyes roam over the girl. She’s quite petite, barely over five feet tall and almost as pale as the vampyrés around her. “Is she… dead?”

  “Not at all, though she does have a rather sallow complexion. The Thorburns have kept a banshee on their payroll for at least the last fifty or sixty years. When Claire’s mother died, she took over her mother's position.”

  The girl's stark white hair falls limply around her face, which only makes her dark eyes and red lips more haunting. She catches my stare, and the corner of her lips tilt downward. A man steps up beside her. His ink black hair is tied back into a tight ponytail, and his thin beard is fashioned in hard lines and sharp edges. Adrian Thorburn. He wears a suit of dark crimson and steers the banshee across the large ballroom.

  I find myself watching their movements—just like the rest of the room—when Sebastian catches my chin in the palm of his hand. He turns my head until our noses are but a few scant inches apart.

  “What?” I breathe.

  “I’m going to kiss you,” Sebastian murmurs. The muscles in my body contract simultaneously, a small gasp slipping past my lips. Sebastian predicts my reaction and pulls me closer. “Omar is speaking with Adrian, and they're walking in our direction.”

  I don’t have time to protest. Sebastian’s hand is at the back of my neck, dragging me forward the last few perilous inches until our lips meet. The chill of his lips skimming across mine draws an uncontrollable shiver down my spine. I squeeze my eyes tight
ly shut and move my mouth against his, almost giving a yelp in surprise when I feel his tongue run the seam of my lips.

  Sebastian’s grip on the back of my neck tightens in rebuke. Get it together. My mental scolding helps marginally. I force myself to relax into Sebastian’s stone-cold touch and allow him to lead the kiss. It takes everything in me not to push him aside and wipe my lips clean for he tastes of blood.

  When Sebastian’s lips inch away and up my jawline, I find myself shaking once more. My lashes flutter open, only to stare straight into the eyes of Adrian. The vampyré’s eyes are a dark reddish-brown with silver veins encompassing almost half of his irises. He smirks at my doe-eyed expression. Sebastian pulls back with an audible huff.

  “Can I be of service to you, Thorburn?” Sebastian’s question is flat and unaffected. Bored.

  “Merely observing,” he purrs, a touch of menace in his words. Sebastian makes a noise in the back of his throat and nibbles on my earlobe. His fangs scratch my skin. Adrian chuckles. “Dear God, man. She’s trembling like a leaf in the wind. Is she a lamb or a she-wolf?”

  I never knew eyes could laugh as cruelly as Adrian’s. The crowd around us erupts into laughter at his jeer, and I turn my heart as cold as can be. He doesn’t matter. None of them do. But it still stings. Hot shame turns my skin red. The dress I wear, with its daring and suggestive cutouts, suddenly leaves me feeling too exposed.

  Sebastian moves quickly. Pulling us both up to stand on the opposite side of the divan from Adrian. “I can assure you, I take great pleasure in the way she trembles in my arms.”

  “Ah, but does she? Perhaps the Vrana’s have lost their touch?” he says, the lilt of mockery still present in his voice.

  “She does,” I say matter-of-factly, unable to keep quiet.

  “She barks,” Adrian says. His eyes gleam with wicked delight. “Does she bite as well?”

  The room’s laughter follows us on our way out of the Lunarium, Sebastian’s hand a constant presence on the small of my back as he guides me to a quiet place.

  “I hate them,” I announce once we are enclosed in an empty room.

  Sebastian sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You have to be more relaxed. They can sense your distress and smell it too. Our vampyric senses might not be as honed as yours, but your flush was all but a staple upon your skin. Not to mention your body language. You were as stiff as a board in my arms.”

  “Pardon me, but kissing a corpse isn’t exactly a favorite pastime of mine.” Sebastian’s jaw drops, a snarl building in his throat as his brows cross. “Furthermore, you taste disgusting. Blood is not a staple in my diet if you recall. Having the taste in my mouth isn’t exactly a pleasant experience for me.”

  I watch Sebastian pace the room like a caged wildcat, his hands held clasped behind his back. “That can’t happen again, Irina. You acted adequately as we lounged—”

  “Lounged?” My scoff curdles with disgust. “I was a glorified monkey, feeding you like that. It was pathetic. They'll only view me as a thrall if I continue to act in such a way.”

  Sebastian stalks toward me when I cross my arms over my chest. “Our family’s survival depends upon us. We have to convince everyone here what’s between us is real. So do us both a favor," he goes on, getting more heated by the second, "and get over yourself.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” I seethe. “You’re not the one everyone looks at like some sideshow freak. I’m no better than a pet here and expected to fawn over you. Let's not forget they all think I'm sleeping with the whole lot of you!”

  Bitterness coats my passionate speech, and tears threaten my vision. My throat swells with tremulous emotion as I swallow the large lump blocking my next breath. I hold my regard firmly on the spot above Sebastian’s shoulder as I tame my wild heart. Playing this game with all the odds stacked against me is more than I imagined it to be. I swallow once more. Am I strong enough to succeed? Am I strong enough to survive?

  Sebastian reaches out a hand and pats me awkwardly on the shoulder. “I’m sorry the cards don’t favor you here. Hiding a relationship—a true otherworldly connection—between you and Jakob cannot be easy. But... but I might know someone who might help you feel more comfortable and confident here. Who can help you, ah”—a light color develops on Sebastian’s cheeks—“embrace your womanly wiles here at court.”

  My flat stare makes Sebastian fold his arms defensively in front of his chest in a mirror image of mine. “I know how to use my ‘womanly wiles,’ as you so put it. I’m just not used to being a simpering fool.”

  “Don’t think of it as being a simpering fool, then,” he counters. “Just play the part of a woman in love.”

  “Those aren’t the same!”

  We both growl our frustration, my eyes flashing gold as the wolf expresses its own anger. “Just try. Talk with my contact and see what you can learn. I’ll set up a meeting time and place with them, and no one will be the wiser.”

  My anger deflates slowly, but the tightness in my throat remains. “Fine,” I agree—even if agreeing feels like defeat, as if another piece of me has been taken away to be replaced by something hard and unfamiliar. If I do survive this place, how can I be sure I’ll come out the same?

  Sebastian’s shoulders sink as his arms fall to his side. “Thank you.”

  ++

  I’m angry at myself, and in a rare temper to boot. Ever since the fateful day in the forest, I’ve made misstep after misstep. From sealing the soulmark to bargaining my help for my freedom.

  I don’t know how to be here. And without a single member of my pack to support me, I’ve never been so lonely.

  I dress in dark olive pants and a cashmere sweater as I walk the deserted corridors to meet Sebastian’s contact. It is near sunrise, and the majority of Dark Court has retired to their quarters like clockwork. I glance at the crude map Sebastian has drawn me. Who exactly will I be meeting? What kind of connections does Sebastian have here at court that he wishes to keep secret?

  Perhaps another sorcerer like Stormrow. Or one of the shape-shifter courtiers. Or—

  “Oomph!”

  I stumble back with a yelp as I careen headfirst into another. My crude map fluttering to the floor between us.

  “Sorry,” a husky voice says. I snatch up the piece of paper before the woman can pick it up.

  “Are you all right?”

  The woman straightens and brushes her snowy hair from her eyes. I note with wonder they are of two different colors. One is a dark ocean blue. The other is a deep forest green. “Yes, are you?”

  I snap my mouth closed and give a short nod. The woman’s smile falters as she looks up at me, her eyes losing their friendly shine.

  “You’re—”

  “The banshee?”

  My mouth closes, then opens, head tilting a fraction to the left. “Claire, isn’t it? Or would you rather I call you ‘the banshee’?”

  Claire’s cheeks turn rosy, and she lets out a raspy laugh. “Yes, Claire.” Once more she fusses with her hair, making sure it is tucked securely behind one ear. “And you’re Irina?”

  “You’ve heard of me?” I keep my tone light and joking, all the while discreetly slipping Sebastian’s map into my back pocket.

  “Of course,” she says eagerly. “Everyone is talking about you. There hasn’t been a lycan at court in ages. Well, except for William Douglas,” she rambles. “But he doesn’t really count, technically.” Claire smiles, aware of the rushed cadence of her speech. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Maybe I’ll get the chance to meet the man myself and decide.”

  Claire smiles brighter, a happy flush to her cheeks now. She opens her mouth, ready to continue on when the color drains from her face with a suddenness I've never witnessed before. Her eyes look off into the distance, as if seeing something miles away, and then she opens her mouth wide. As if to scream…

  But nothing comes out. Nothing I can hear, anyway. Tha
nk God. The tendons of her neck strain and her lips quiver as she releases her silent scream to the deserted corridor. Slowly the tension drains from her until she is left panting from the exertion of her mute cry. I can’t help but wonder who heard the banshee’s call.

  “Claire, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. You didn’t hear it, did you?” A note of hoarse panic rings in her voice. I shake my head, and she visibly relaxes. “Oh, good. It would have been such a shame if you had been able to hear me. I thought we were getting along quite well. Besides the whole, running into you. Did I apologize for that?”

  I nod and smile kindly. “Yes, you did. You talk a fair bit, did you know?”

  “I don’t, actually.” Her smile falters, and a subtle change occurs in her scent. Sadness. “No one really likes chatting with the girl who might announce their impending death with a scream or song. When I do get the chance to talk to someone, it all just sort of spews out.”

  “I understand. Maybe we can continue chatting another night. Or day? I’m—”

  “Oh gosh.” Claire holds up her hands in apology. “I’m so sorry. You were going somewhere, weren’t you? Of course, we can talk later. If you want to.”

  I nod. “I’ll see you around, then?” I ask, already moving to walk by her.

  Claire nods back, but her breath catches halfway in her goodbye. “Irina, about earlier tonight,” she begins. “You seemed… uncomfortable.”

  I freeze midstep, quelling the fright that stirs in my stomach. I raise an eyebrow in Claire’s direction. “I abhor public displays of affection,” I say haughtily. “Sebastian is well aware of the fact. I don’t know why he persists in doing so.”

  Something akin to relief runs across Claire’s face. “They’re very fond of public displays of indecency here.” I crack a smile, and a laugh rips out of Claire, followed by a snort. She claps a hand over her mouth in disbelief. “That was embarrassing. Sorry about that.” I open my mouth to respond, but Claire barrels on “I just wanted to tell you not to let them bother you. It takes the fun out of it for them if they don’t get a rise out of you.”