by Rebecca Main
“All disputes and trials are held in the Pits, Irina,” Ruby explains.
“And based on what you heard, you think the rings are hidden in the old Pits?" I ask. The reasoning still lost to me. “If you ask me, waiting over a century to take vengeance is being patient.”
My commentary earns wry grins around the table. “That is precisely why I believe they may still be in the Pits. But there is one glaring flaw to this assumption: Omar Mubark. It was he I heard speaking, and I’m quite sure he knew I was listening in, which is why his commentary was so pointed. Regardless, I do think Omar knows something.”
“I don’t like this,” Ruby announces with quiet contempt. “I don’t like him, or any of the Mubark for that matter, but especially him. He’ll bend the knee to whoever offers him the most advantage, even if it is against his head of household’s wishes. Not to mention the fact he is always in Adrian’s ear. It makes me uneasy knowing he has a Royal in his pocket. Why bait you with the information?” Ruby strokes the ends of her short hair thoughtfully. The inky black strands swaying under her touch.
“Why, indeed,” Sebastian murmurs, equally thoughtful.
“Their family motto is ‘Seek Greater Things,’” Nova says. Her cheeks flush faintly as the attention of the table falls upon her. “Maybe he did take the rings. More rings equal more power, right?”
“Not entirely,” Jakob corrects, coming to stand behind his high-backed chair. His forearms rest atop the sturdy wood, his eyes still staring out into the distance. “Rings certainly elevate a household’s rank, but it is the quality of a household's members that make the real difference. The Mubarks lack the quality necessary to be a true powerhouse among the Dark Court, even with an abundance of rings. Regardless, something tells me he or his family aren’t in possession of our rings.”
“Why?” I ask.
Jakob's dark eyes turn my way. “He’s hardly what I would consider a humble man. If he had them, he would be showing them off. The possibility of the rings being hidden is becoming more legitimate in my mind as the nights pass.”
“The trial records specifically state the rings were undiscovered,” Sebastian says.
“If they are hidden... are we sure they would be hidden here? Wouldn't it be smarter to take them out of the Dark Court?”
Jakob downs the remainder of his drink. “Yes,” he hisses. “I’ve spent decades following every clue and crumb to where they could be. All of my searches led me back to one place. Here. They are here.”
A stillness echoes through the room, Jakob’s fervor stunning us all in its ferocity. He pours himself another drink—three fingers full—and stands stiffly behind the ornate high-back chair.
“Well,” I begin, making sure my voice is even, “it was Omar who set up Sebastian and me. And now this blatant baiting? Perhaps our focus should be directed more fully on the Mubarks.”
“Oh! I agree with Irina!” Ruby exclaims.
“No,” Jakob says, voice flat, his patience waning. “Too much focus on one household draws too much attention. I’m tempted to pull Ruby as it is based on Omar’s conversation. He might be on to us, and I won’t have us derailed when we are finally making progress.”
“What now?” Jax asks. He slouches in his chair, hiking one leg up over the other.
Strange energy fills the room, one that infects with its electricity and urgency. It pools in my gut and flows through my veins with a life of its own. The slow build of adrenaline. Before now, the search for the rings seemed intangible. Always out of reach as we marked off household after household. But this… this feels like the beginning of the end.
“We carry on,” Jakob instructs. “Ruby will be mindful of her approach and method with the Mubarks. Sebastian will work on the Roux Household. Nova will play nice in the Pits”—Nova snorts at the oxymoron—“and Jax… I’ll need you to stir up some commotion in the other households. Target the Habsburgs and Lambergs. Be sure nothing can be traced back to you. We need the courtiers distracted.”
“Roger that, captain,” Jax says. A smirk lifts the corner of his mouth, and he props his chair back onto its hindquarters.
I spear Jakob with a glare as he stays silent. “And me?” I ask tersely.
Jakob shushes me, and I let out an indignant squeak. I ready my venomous rebuttal, when Jakob holds up a finger in anticipation of my protest. “Don’t let what others have to say distract you. Rumors and gossip are the lifeblood of the court. The echelon approves of my return—of this family’s return. If for no other reason than to watch us fail and be banished once more. We must all remain on our best behavior so as not to draw undue suspicion our way. No provoking—”
“Are you planning to tell me what my role in all of this scheming will be, or do I have to guess?” I ask.
Jakob lets out a frustrated growl. The candlelight behind him flickers angrily, as if incensed on his behalf by my interruption. I seal my lips in an unhappy line at his glower.
“As I was saying,” he continues, his voice hardened to stone and his eyes boring into me. “Best behavior. Everyone. Once we’ve eliminated every ring publicly in court, then we’ll turn our search to the court's darkest corners and inside household's personal quarters. It will be a far more dangerous task than what we face now.”
“And me?” I ask again, unable to stay silent and tired of being ignored and left out of the loop.
“Leave us.”
The others go without a word, amused rather than concerned at our standoff. The three vampyrés couldn’t very well disobey Jakob for their sire bond, but Jax wisely knows better than to stay and poke at the angry bear… I have no such qualms.
“I understood the need for me to be in the dark to further the legitimacy of our 'innocent' arrival. But if you think my relationship with Sebastian is compromised, can't I be let in on the information I've been denied so far? Like information on the courtiers and the full story about these rings? I need to know the big picture if I’m going to be able to help.”
“You’re not going to be helping anymore.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’ll be keeping a permanent residence here in the apartment suite. You are not to leave. You are not to interact with any of the other courtiers. If I find that you have left, I will instruct Jax to leash you here magically. Am I clear?”
“No,” I grind out between clenched teeth. The chair screeches against the floor as I rise. “Why? Why am I being kept away now? If you wanted a distraction from Ruby and Sebastian’s investigations, then I'm obviously the best candidate. Things are different now. I know how to act. I know how to play the game—”
“You are the game.” Jakob slams his drink down on the table. Crystalline shards scatter in the air like fireworks. “Do you fail to see the implications of Sebastian openly consorting with the Roux Household?”
“He hasn't done anything yet.”
I take a step back, placing the Baroque high-back chair between Jakob and myself. A feral look possesses him at my movement, and a deep chuckle emerges from his gut. Jakob’s head ducks a moment before looking back at me. His laughter ends, and he drags his tongue across the front of his teeth.
“A night will be all it takes to undo all your work. A new game is already afoot. One where you, dear heart, are the prey.”
“It’s the game I’ve been playing all along,” I say. “Like I said before, I know how to act now. I know how to play the game.”
Jakob lifts an eyebrow to mock my earnest rebuttal. “The rules will change,” he tells me in his smoothest voice, and the hair at my neck stands to attention. The wolf, content to be off guard during our family meals, becomes alert. It presses at the forefront of my mind, a growl simmering in its throat as it analyzes Jakob’s body language.
He leans against the chair once more, forearms braced against the edge of the chair, his shoulders edging toward his ears. Like a big cat patiently stalking its prey. The intensity of his regard brings the wolf
to a bristle. I scoff and glance away, making sure to keep Jakob in my peripheral vision.
“The rules are always changing,” I say, words as stiff as my spine. “Speaking of change… Ruby made a comment earlier that piqued my interest. Something about securing the rings and leaving the court?” Jakob remains silent, but he does lose the sharp predatory edge to his posturing. “Was this your plan all along? Get back your precious rings, and we leave? I thought the whole point of our deal was for me to live above ground, while you stayed down here in this glorified coffin. So we can be apart.”
When he doesn’t answer immediately, I shoot him a razor-sharp glare and march toward the double-door entrance of the dining room.
“It wasn’t,” he says quietly before I can step past the threshold. I pause. The floor beneath Jakob creaks, and I look over my shoulder to see him standing tall and somber, his unwavering gaze pinned to my back.
“It wasn’t,” I repeat slowly and cross my arms over my chest. I do not turn around entirely to face him, choosing to remain uncomfortably twisted, my intent to leave unmistakable.
“No,” he says, voice still quiet, but full of meaning. “It wasn’t until recently I made the decision. A life lived in the dark has become quite unappealing to me. I believe I'll find far more pleasure in the sun.”
The seconds pass like a year. My pulse becomes rapid and uncertain, and the ability to form a coherent thought—even a simple word—is lost to me. The air leaves the room, my lungs lurching as my breath stalls again and again in my chest.
“You don’t mean that,” I tell him forcefully.
But the soulmark tells a different story. It warms against the inside of my wrist, and I latch on to it angrily with my hand. Jakob watches me with all the likeness of a man in love—no, not love—of a man infatuated. One controlled by a higher power.
In his eyes rests a pang of hunger that leaves me unbalanced.
“You don’t want me,” I say to his silence.
Jakob’s mouth pinches together. “I’ve lived centuries, Irina. Do not pretend to tell me what I do and do not want. I’m not some fickle-hearted boy”—he spits the word like some disease—“whose heart lies in a different pair of legs every other night. For decades I’ve abstained. I've denied myself with a foolish promise….” Jakob’s words trail off into a distorted growl. “No longer.”
I take a cautious step forward and out of the dining room. My eyes are as round as the full moon as I curb the trembling emotion curling up my limbs. “I—”
“You cannot outrun fate, dear heart.” The endearment, so often spoken with malice and contempt, falls softly from his lips. I swallow, my knees threatening to buckle beneath me.
“I can’t.” It’s more an apology than a reason, but the words slip out regardless.
My brows are drawn remorsefully together as I spirit away toward the safety of my bedroom. Jakob doesn’t follow, but his frustration does through the bond. When my door is safely locked and at my back, I can breathe again.
I take several ragged breaths, eyes shut against the world. My pulse is a wild stallion running and thrumming across my entire body. It is difficult to rein.
“Are you all right?” The disembodied voice draws a startled scream from my lips—but only just. Faster than I can blink, a cold, hard body is pressed against me. A hand clamps around my open mouth to cut off my cry. “It’s all right,” Sebastian whispers frantically. “It’s just me.”
I shove him away, glaring. “What the—”
“There’s a problem,” he interrupts, eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion and pain.
Another ragged breath enters my lungs as I curl my hands into fists at my side. “What?” I snap.
“Briar.” Her name cracks on his lips, and he bows his head. His features are drawn and pale. He looks as if he is lost.
“What about her?”
Sebastian raises guilty eyes to me. “She wears our ring.”
The Dark Court | 1851
It was easy to become ignorant of the world outside when one was a courtier in the Dark Court—even if those events were war. While change came swiftly in the form of vampyré diversity and the expansion of the courts’ elite, it was far behind the fashions above ground.
No one marveled over the growing sensation of photography.
No one bothered with writing letters or correspondence via typewriters.
However, the Dark Court was able to mimic the growing tensions above ground, with its own sense of style and grace. Where resentment above ground laid heavily in a conservative mainstream and restricted freedom of the press, below bad blood between new and old threatened to boil over. Bad blood also brewed within the Royal Households, particularly that of the Roux.
Orchid Roux, the Roux Household's matriarch, was going mad—or so the courtiers whispered—and her upper echelon, those closest in influence and power to her, were plotting against her.
Or so she thought.
The promise of such a fall left the court riveted and dreaming of their own revolutions while the one above ground came to fruition. Jakob roamed the corridors and minor hallways with ears wide open. He was well aware that his previous status of rogue earned him little favor to some members of the court, and he sought out those he should not trust in these fragile times. Jakob stretched the limits of his vampyric senses, homing in on conversations not meant for his ears. While several pieces of gossip passed him by, one, in particular, took his interest.
And made him see red.
“She’s pathetic,” a woman snarled behind a half-open door. Jakob planted himself nearby, his eye struck on dark red hair and the glimpse of an emerald eye. “Useless.”
“Calm down, sister. Please,” an identical voice answered. The twins, Jakob thought and dared closer.
“I hate her. I hate her! I hate—”
A sharp slap ended the manic tirade. “Enough.”
“You don’t understand,” the other bemoaned. “How could you? You’re perfect, and you’ve always been everyone’s favorite.”
“You’re my favorite. You will be my one and only companion throughout the remainder of time, and we shall never be alone again. Don’t you see? We have been blessed.”
“This place is wrong,” the other announced, a quiver in her voice.
“We’ll be all right. As long as we have each other, we don’t need anyone else. We don’t need her.”
A stifling pause and then, “You're right. We’re better off without her.”
Jakob was left frozen to the ground at the harsh reply, for in it was intent…
A whisper was muffled by fabric. Footsteps, softly trodden, reached Jakob’s ear. In an instant, he was at the far end of the hallway. His blood stirred to a frenzy, and his mind abuzz with worry.
With effort, he refrained from rushing off further. Jakob had no desire to arise suspicion or cause gossip from his panicked state. He forced his feet to walk, one in front of the other at a steady beat, despite the frantic want to charge ahead. Though he acted with the relaxed ease of a vampyré secure in their position, Jakob’s thoughts warred inside of him.
So consumed, he failed to notice the shadow following behind him from a distance.
Chapter 13
Present
My dinner curdles in my stomach at Sebastian’s confession, the world tilting on its axis once more. I walk in a daze to my vanity, resting hand and hip against the cold metal.
“What do you mean?”
“I know you know about us,” he says, plowing over my shaken question. “I know you… you know. You know what she is to me.”
Sebastian’s back bends forward, and his head falls to his knees. His long fingers pierce his hair, grasping onto the curly ends and pulling them tight.
“Sebastian.” The call of his name does nothing to rouse him. I cast a worried look at the door, stomach clenching tight at the thought of being overheard. I try to keep my voice to a whisper. “Sebastian,”
I hiss.
“I shouldn’t have trusted her. I knew the rules. I never break the rules. This is what I get—this is what I deserve,” he rambles on, more to himself than me. The lump in my throat is difficult to swallow, but I manage. “She betrayed me, Irina.”
His heart breaks in the words, the crush of love dashing to pieces at his hushed confession.
“Sebastian, listen to me.” His fingers pull tighter. “Bash!”
My stage whisper startles him, or perhaps it is the use of his moniker that does the trick. I’m certain it’s the former. I move away from the vanity and take a step forward.
“Tell me what happened.”
He collects himself with some effort. Back still hunched, his elbows dig down into his thighs as he stares resolutely at the wall to his right. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as if it were caught in troubled waters.
“We were… together.” His eyes skirt quickly to mine, then back to the wall. “I had stripped her of all her possessions and—”
“I don’t need that many details, Bash,” I interrupt quickly, screwing my eyes shut.
He pauses, then rubs his jaw. His body is still fraught with tension. “While she was away for a moment, I examined her ring. I didn’t think—I almost didn’t look. I was so certain she would never be suspect.”
“And the insignia was there?” Those red-rimmed eyes turn back to me, heartache etched into them. It is all the affirmation I need. “What happened next?”
“I left. She doesn’t know I know about the ring’s origin.”
I chew thoughtfully at my bottom lip and take another step toward Bash. “Maybe she doesn’t know about the ring’s origin either?”
The glare Bash levels me with is so severe I flinch. “Don’t be naive.”
“I'm not naive,” I say, followed by a low-pitched growl. Again, my eyes dart nervously toward the door. My feet bring me another step closer to Bash. “I just happen to believe that her feelings for you are genuine, you ass.”
