by Rebecca Main
Jax hums some noncommittal noise.
“How? I don't understand,” I say.
“William Douglas’s family was taken captive decades ago by a rogue vampyré named Martin Allves. Allves himself was a disgraced courtier who was out for revenge against the Dark Court. He performed experiments on the family to turn them into vampyrés, but William was his only success. The rest died.”
“He did all of that... for revenge?”
"It's a favorite pastime here at the Dark Court," Jax says, his voice holding a teasing quality.
The affirmation draws a shiver down my spine, and at once, I am oddly alert. The skin on my arm breaks out into goose bumps as a strange heat begins to unfurl in my abdomen. Someone is watching. Someone is listening. I am sure of it.
I scan the growing crowd of vampyré, shape-shifters, sorcerers, and other strange creatures that take immediately to the shadows. They fill the room until not a seat is left. Anyone of them could be spying on us... and then I find the source of my discomfort. Vrana. His honey wheat hair and tall figure stand out as the tide of the crowd moves around his stoic form. His crystalline eyes pin me from afar, and a short pulse strides through the soulmark.
I turn my attention back to Jax. "Tell me more," I ask in a husky whisper, pivoting my body toward him.
Jax smirks. “Martin intended to use the vampyric sire bond to control William and have him attack the court. Except for the sire bond never manifested after William’s change.” My mind whirls with the information. Why? How? Jax reads both questions on my face. “They believe the presence of his ‘pack’ bonds negated the sire bond. William, of course, killed Martin. He attempted to return to what remained of his pack, but they would not accept him.”
“And so he came to the Dark Court?”
“His presence was quite contested at first. The Celestial Court wanted to put him down, but he gained sponsorship by one of the last Greater Households, the Gunwyns. Interestingly enough, William is one of only five men to earn their place here through fighting in the pits. Now he only does so for sport.”
“I’m surprised the Celestial Court didn’t have their way,” I say.
The Celestial Court is a figurehead for the supernatural community—one I learnt about at a young age. They meet rarely nowadays, as each faction of supernaturals governs their kind. Apparently, the Beast's creation warranted their involvement.
“Count yourself among the many who believe the same,” Jax says. “Here he comes now.”
The room goes oddly silent at the arrival of the Beast. There is only the sound of his heavy footsteps slapping against the stone floor. The onlookers part for him like the Red Sea for Moses.
William Douglas is a mountain of a man. Well over six feet tall, he enters the room in only dark cargo pants and military boots. His torso and arms host too many tattoos to count. Like Keenan. The thought goes as quickly as it came because his size and tattoos are where the resemblance ends.
The man sports a strong, square jaw, Roman nose, and full lips. His copper hair brings to mind the barbaric style of the Vikings. The sides of his head are shaved, leaving the length that remains on top to be braided back.
The room fills with electric anticipation as he stops before the Pit. It throbs through the air, and even I am not immune to its effects. It rouses the wolf, my instincts warning me another of my kind is near.
A clatter sounds, stealing the crowd's attention. Wails and growls ring through the corridor, growing closer and closer to the room. Alongside the terrible shrieking is the unmistakable clanking of metal.
The pets.
For some reason, I seek out Vrana. His gaze has not left our direction, and he tilts his head in acknowledgment to my stare. A smirk sits on his face, one that grows at my small show of discomfort. I thrust my shoulders back and pin my sights back on the open entrance, my clenched hands unraveling from my lap to project an image of ease.
Count Thierry Delacroix enters. Dressed in all black and a brilliant scarlet suit jacket, he laughs as his pets—the same twin girls present at our arrival to court—jerk against their restraints. Both bound at their wrists and neck by thick chains.
“Are you ready for my champions, Beast?” he calls from the entryway.
William answers by stepping down into the gory cavity.
Another gleeful laugh pitches from Count Delacroix. He yanks the vampyrés to heel and kneels before their panting frames. The count whispers to them, and the girls go marble still. Silence reigns before the girls respond back with a high-pitched chittering sound. Their heads whip to stare at the Pit with undisguised lust.
Their concentration set, Count Delacroix unlocks their chains.
I’m surprised at how well my eyes can track their rapid movements. One second they are on their hunches at the count’s feet, the next they’re inside the Pit, one on either side of the Beast.
“The girls were part of a nest of vampyrés found in the Hungarian hills fifteen years ago. Rather than kill them, Count Delacroix kept them as his pets. He makes them fight for his amusement, just because he can—like it’s all a game.”
Jax’s voice is devoid of emotion, and I shoot him a sidelong glance. A thick line rests between his brows, and his dimple is gone.
"I don't like the games they play either," I murmur.
Jax stays quiet a moment. "Agreed... but one day things will be different. We've only to be patient a while longer."
I release Jax's hand and turn my attention back down below. What crowd is left standing swarms the edges of the ring, coarse and vulgar encouragement for either opponent building in volume.
The roar of the crowd swells in my ears as I trace the fighters’ movements. The girls are a reckoning force. They hurtle their tiny bodies at William, mouths open and foaming with blood. They are wild, and it shows in the way they attack. But William... William is the true animal, and I quickly learn how he acquired his title.
He moves with power and grace, sizing up his opponents' weaknesses and attacking with ruthless abandon. When his jaw snaps closed, and his fists fly out... they never miss their mark. The Beast lets loose a howl that shakes the room, and in a flurry of movement, one of the twins flies from the pit.
She slides across the floor. Her eyes vacant and her neck—
Delacroix's second pet unleashes a cry so shrill I must cover my ears. She launches herself at the Beast, but her fury leaves her vulnerable. The young vampyré follows swiftly in her sister's footsteps, her pretty young neck the victim of the Beast's ferocity.
The room fills with applause, and those in the stands jump to their feet. I cannot take my eyes off the Beast, though I feel the familiar weight of Vrana's gaze from afar.
“I want to meet him,” I say into Jax's ear. “I want to meet William Douglas.”
“Good luck with that, sweetheart,” Jax says with a snort. We watch in silence as the victor climbs out of the pit into the awaiting mob of admirers.
I will meet him, I think stubbornly. What better supernatural to enlist for help than one of my kind?
++
Nova gives me directions to William’s apartment suite after the fight. I wait patiently in a minor hallway lacking the usual flamboyant decadence of the Dark Court’s style. It also smells of real food, like seasoned vegetables and beef. A marvelous feast being set for the victor. With an absent mind, my hand traces the skin where my gold lariat necklace should lay. Instead it is with Jax. My lips pinch together at the reminder. Before I could excuse myself from the rowdy audience at the Pits, he confiscated the jewelry from me. He claimed it needed to be enchanted once more, and though I recalled such information being passed to me before, I could not help but hand it over to him reluctantly. I feel oddly bare without it.
“I ain’t interested in company, lass,” a gruff voice announces.
I startle and peer down the hallway. William is striding toward me, his body still stained with blood and bruises. But the major
ity of cuts and scratches have already healed.
As he draws near, I note his eyes are unlike any other I've seen: brilliant copper. No hint of silver in sight. They skim over me briefly before setting upon his household’s entrance.
“I only wanted to introduce myself.”
“I know who you are,” he says. “And I want nothin’ to do with you.” I flinch at the severe disapproval in his voice.
“Excuse me?” Disbelief coats my sputtered response.
He stops a few feet away from me. “You’re a disgrace to our kind, choosing these lifeless bastards over your pack.”
My mouth drops open, and I begin to swallow convulsively. The truth burns at the back of my throat, but the look on his face leaves me hesitant. Would this man help me to escape if I asked? Would he find a way to get word to the pack he thinks I've betrayed?
William's gaze burns. His upper lip curls back to reveal a vicious set of double fangs. “You ain’t nothin’ but one of them blood whores. A fuckin' thrall for an entire household. I know your type, and I’ll say it again. I ain’t interested.”
“I assure you—”
William steps forward aggressively, and I jump back. He gives a sharp shake of his head, and I am rendered speechless. Eyes ablaze, he points an accusing finger at me. “I. Ain’t. Interested.”
He walks off before I can say another word. My mouth hangs open in his wake. So much for finding an ally...
The slam of his door makes me flinch a second time before my shoulders sink in defeat. Another avenue closed. How am I ever going to see my brothers again? I lean against the cold hallway wall, knocking my head back against it in frustration.
Why haven’t they found me?
Bitterness fills my mouth. I can’t venture down that path. There is too much at stake to lose my nerve now.
As my feet take me back to our apartment suite, I dwell on the Beast’s harsh words. A disgrace? A blood whore? The Vranas had spread their rumors well.
My teeth grind together as I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat. There is no other choice for me than to endure their judgments... and no other choice for me than to find the damn rings so I can reclaim my life above ground, once and for all.
Vienna | Spring 1833
Winter kept Vienna in its clutches for the better part of April, but that was fine with Jakob Kysely. He enjoyed the long nights and how overcast the days could be.
Some evenings Jakob awoke early from his slumber to test the limits of the sun’s prowess in the dying daylight when the clouds fell upon the sky like a plush duvet. His experiments, much like Cecil’s in the kitchen, proved to be more unsuccessful than not.
Jakob enjoyed spending time in the giant study located on the fourth story of the house. Whether it was to read amongst its sprawling two floors or to play chess against Jasper, in the study, he found peace. The room was full of windows, and at the end of a sunny winter day, Jakob liked to think he could feel the sun’s warmth lingering in the air.
“This Dark Court you visit,” Jakob asked lightly, leaning against the chilly window pane and peering outside to the street below. “Is it composed only of vampyrés?”
The elder vampyré paused in his reading, and his idle fussing with the end of his peppered mustache stopped. Max shut his book and pondered how to proceed. Jakob had refrained from questioning the growing length of Max’s absences, but tonight felt different. Tonight he would ask his mentor the questions he longed to ask.
“The Dark Court’s composition is a peculiar thing. The only permanent fixtures there are the Roux, Delacroix, and Thorburn Households. They are known as the Royal Households. It was these three families that built the underground palace that is the Dark Court. And it was also these families who set out to eradicate the threat of the rogue and fledgling vampyrés who caused the Great Hysteria.
"They sacrificed some of their finest warriors to take down these feral beasts. In such sacrifice, they built themselves up in both name and power. All others who attend the court are merely courtiers.”
“And these courtiers, are they all vampyré?” Jakob inquired, taking note of Max’s deft dodging of the original question.
Max allowed his book to rest in his lap and steepled his fingers in thought against his pressed lips. “There are some other supernaturals. But they are very far and few in between.”
“I’ve read of other creatures,” Jakob confessed, his voice smooth and unimposing, but a strange hope tugged at his dead heart. What if one these other supernatural creatures could explain his strange marking? “Of golems and goblins. Sirens and harpies. Lycans and shape-shifters. Demons who can move amongst the dark—”
Max held up a hand to Jakob's rabid enthusiasm.
“The only other supernaturals at court are a handful of sorcerers, and their entry is precarious at best. They perform services for the Royal Households. The Dark Court is intended for those bound to the night, hence its name and the breed of its members.”
Jakob remained silent, turning his thoughtful gaze out the window. Few people walked the lane nearby, the night’s chill too cold for comfortable strolling. Beneath his lashes, Jakob extended his gaze back to Max and the amethyst ring he wore.
“Do these Royal Households know of your ability to walk in the daylight?”
“Sit,” Max commanded with a deceptively light voice.
Jakob straightened, a flicker of doubt spidering across his skin. Seated upon Cordelia’s favorite chair, Jakob waited politely for Max to continue. His doubt lingering on.
“I apologize—”
“Don’t apologize,” Max cut in with ease. “I am not blind. I’ve noticed you testing your limitations in the sunlight. I know you’ve been too polite to ask how my family and I manage such a feat. Is that right, Jakob?”
Jakob’s hands itched to smooth the fabric of his pant leg, but he refrained from the nervous habit. Instead, the younger vampyré rolled back his shoulders and responded with a delicate nod. Jakob's blue eyes, still only faintly lined with silver, met the elder man’s gray gaze that was far more plagued with mercurial streaks.
“This ring allows me to walk in the sun,” Max said. “It is called the Amethyst of the Aztecs. The amethyst is said to come from a world not our own and allows those of our kind to walk in the sunlight unharmed. They are very rare, and my love Cecil and I came across them quite by chance. A merchant on his way to sail the Mediterranean, and oblivious to our hunger, fell to our fangs. On his person was many trinkets. Most of what he toted along was swill… but these rings….”
Max gained a far-off look to his smoky eyes. His captivating gaze drilled into the wall of shelves located behind Jakob as he lost himself to his memories.
“We could not believe our luck... and of course, we shared our good fortune with Cordelia.”
“How many do you have? How long have you had them?”
Jakob’s fervent questions drew Max from his reverie. “Some seventy years, give or take,” Max replied with nonchalance, though a victor's gleam was toted in his eyes. “We’ve enough for the members of this family, but that, my dear friend, is our family's secret.”
“I would never betray your confidence, Max,” Jakob insisted after the meaningful pause that ended Max’s answer. “Not after everything you’ve done for me.”
Max contemplated the sincerity of Jakob’s words before finding them satisfactory. The elder waved a hand dismissively. “Of course, of course! I would not have shared this information with you if I didn’t trust you with the information, my friend. I can trust you, can’t I?”
“Yes!” Jakob replied, feeling a strange tightening in his muscles as his eagerness was flooded swiftly by embarrassment. “Yes, of course, you can trust me, Max.”
“Good,” Max said, the sound of his voice taken down a notch. “A time after, perhaps a year or two, and I was extended an invitation by an old friend who was a courtier—Adalwin Gunwyn—to attend a soiree at the Dark Cou
rt. I went… and my eyes were opened to a new way of life. I was enthralled. But the enchantment grew weary after a decade of existing as merely a courtier’s guest.”
Jakob tried not to let his eyebrows knit together, but his puzzlement over Max’s growing contempt could not be contained. “Are you not a courtier? After all these years?”
Max scowled. He stood, then flew across the room with his vampyric speed to the bar cart in the far corner of the room. “I am,” he spat and poured himself a heavy hand of blood. “It only took flashing my amethyst to prove my worth.”
“And the others?”
Max gave a sharp shake of his head. He strode back over to his seat and sat with a dangerous look in his eye. “No.”
“But surely with their rings—”
“They do not present their rings to the Dark Court. It is far too dangerous for the Royal Households or courtiers to know just how many rings my family possesses. We would be slaughtered. Our rings would be stolen from us like we were peasants.”
“Then why go to the Dark Court at all?”
Max lost a touch of his bluster and sank into the velvet cushioning of his chair. A thoughtful look came upon his face. “We uprooted our lives to Vienna for the Dark Court because it is only there we might elevate ourselves to something greater. Knowledge, power, and strength touch every inch of their palace. Every vampyré. I seek this greater life for my family, for I want the world for them.”
Jakob’s dead heart gave a painful lurch at the longing in his mentor’s voice. “Would they truly kill you for them?”
Max released a coarse laugh. “I have seen an ancient, with eyes of only silver, sit as the head of the household for the Thorburn house for over sixty years... only to watch a power-hungry babe unseat her in the most underhanded of ways. I do not doubt for a second what would happen should they learn of our treasure. There is only one way to secure my family’s safety.”
The elder vampyré, with his salt and pepper coiffed hair and coiled mustache, hardened bit by bit with resolve, until the younger finally asked, “How?”
