by Rebecca Main
“Let us—no!”
Too late. Sebastian was down the alleyway in search of his next meal before his sire’s command reached his ears. Jakob found him crouched over something broken. Someone, he realized after a second examination of the scene.
“Who would do this?” Sebastian croaked, his hand held tentatively above the head of ebony hair.
“Back away,” Jakob commanded. The childe slipped aside, but his distressed examination of the girl did not lessen.
“She’s still alive, Jakob. I can hear her heart,” Sebastian said. He was at the girls' feet, his body trembling as he used all his strength to disobey his sire’s order and tug down her dress. “We must take her to a hospital,” he continued, the red fading and then bleeding into his eyes over and over again. “You must—”
“No,” Jakob said. He knelt by the girl’s head and brushed aside her black hair. Her features, though distorted and bruised, hinted at an exotic beauty. A young exotic beauty. “She is too far gone. She will not survive.” Jakob straightened and gestured to the girl’s abdomen where the majority of her blood abandoned her.
“Please,” Sebastian begged, outraged on the innocent’s behalf. “She has been defiled. We cannot….” Sebastian stopped. His eyes once more lost their red vignette, and he stared at Jakob with such hope. “Turn her.”
“No,” Jakob growled. “She will not survive the transition.”
“She is alive now!”
Jakob cast a surreptitious look over his shoulder, then a meaningful look back at his childe. Sebastian’s body hunched forward, his lips pulling downward.
“She isn’t strong enough to—ah!” Jakob’s awful cry pierced the alley like a shot gone off. “You….”
Jakob took several steps back, his retreat marred by a limp. Bending, he plucked the large shard of glass from his foot with a grunt and tossed it aside. The girl looked back at him, her gaze resilient.
“Stay back!” she shouted alongside a hacking cough. “Back!”
Jakob sank to a crouch and eyed the girl more closely. Perhaps… perhaps she would survive it after all.
Chapter 18
Present
“After seeing the damage done to her brother, Sebastian, you can assume where the course of her emotions led her,” Jakob explains to Count Delacroix.
The ancient vampyré stood before the apse hovering near Iris’s severed head. He did not bother to turn around, his steel-toed boots lingering closely to the pool of blood surrounding her downturned face.
“She confessed readily, as the Corvina flock can confirm, as well as instigated the events that followed.”
“You mean to say, she drew first blood?” Count Delacroix inquires, the doubt in his voice palpable, but not menacing.
“Correct, Your Excellence.”
Count Delacroix stands straighter at the flattery, which does not go unnoticed by the other occupants of the room. The raven shifters, five in total, huddle near the chapel doors. They wait for their next command—to speak testimony again or leave. They receive neither, but their dark eyes watch with a strange intent on the proceedings.
Count Delacroix spares a look at Ruby.
The petite Chinese woman is dosed in blood, a mixture of her own and Iris’s. Her clothing is badly torn, and her wounds look to be healing. The worst of her lot being her arm, which is held at an awkward angle by her side and legs, which cannot stop their trembling. Jakob’s bloodied forearm and extra pale pallor stand to reason for her rapid recovery.
“And how did you happen upon them?”
“Iris was set to deliver the killing blow when my entrance distracted her. It was all my childe needed to take advantage of the situation and put an end to her malicious and vindictive plot,” Jakob replies.
Count Delacroix turns to face the grouping, his hand slipping into his pocket to divest his watch. He opens and closes it with an exaggerated sigh.
“As if tonight’s events weren’t traumatic enough,” the count mutters. He pockets the watch before turning his mostly silver eyes in the direction of the shifters. “Ronan Corvina, your household was the first of shifterkind to be allowed entrance into our fair court. By way of your great-grandfather’s talents, talents I once benefited from greatly. While I do not easily give credence to shifter or sorcerer testimony, your household has earned an ounce of respect from this humble household.”
Count Delacroix gives a mild bow, his hand resting above his heart. He dashes forward using his vampyric speed, eyes glinting like magic when he asks his next question.
“Do you attest to Jakob Vrana’s word?”
Ronan steps forward, whether inclined by the old vampyré’s compulsion or years of rapport, the other two vampyré do not know. Ronan is lean, well muscled, and imposing with his steel gray eyes. Not to mention his close-shaven head and five o’clock shadow. At 6’1”, he nearly matches Count Delacroix's height, but with a submissive tilting of his head, the possible threat is extinguished.
“I do. The Lady Roux came upon the chapel first, rambling and muttering to herself, but causing no harm. My kin and I remained undisturbed by her odd behavior, and she, oblivious to our occupation of the room,” he explains, his voice rich and intoned. “It was a time later when the second childe of Jakob Vrana entered the chapel. Coarse words were said, both meaning to bait the other, but it was Lady Roux who acted.”
The elder vampyré waves a hand dismissively, a great sigh brewing in his chest. “And she drew first blood?”
“Yes,” he says, keeping his head bowed. “Her confession was delivered in false confidence.”
“And she lost the upper hand in a singular moment?”
Ruby and Jakob stiffen at the sly implication in the count's voice. The vampyré curls his body nearer to the shifter, the cold presence of death and power encroaching on the living’s space. Ronan remains unmoved and submissive, though his kin shift restlessly behind him.
“No.”
Count Delacroix snaps upright, his spine straight as an arrow, and belays a grin to Jakob and Ruby that is both victorious and vicious. “Do explain,” he commands, but it is Ronan who answers.
“She was playing with her food, as usual. When the young vampyré was able to get in her hits, she made them count. Simply put, the Vrana vampyré fought wisely while the Lady Roux was more… frenzied in her attacks.”
Count Delacroix's grin transforms into a sneer so foul the Vrana vampyrés avert their eyes and dip their chins to their chest.
“Insolent child,” he snaps. “She’s been making a mess of things for the past century. Madame Roux will be furious when she learns of her treason. I won’t hear the end of it for the next three decades, I’m sure. Fetch her twin,” Count Delacroix orders the flock. “Briar will manage this mess for her household. It’s only fair.”
Ronan bends at the waist, then rises with the utmost dignity. Wordlessly, the other raven shifters follow him out of the chapel in search of the other sister.
Jakob’s head slowly rises to assess the turbulent emotions of his superior. Count Delacroix catches the questioning look in Jakob’s eyes and finally releases a grand sigh. The elder wears upon his features a look that is both flippant and condescending, featuring an insincere rise of his brows and a half-hearted placating smile.
“As you know, I’ve never been truly offended by your family’s original entrance into the Dark Court. After all, you won your fight fairly,” he says magnanimously. “But there will always be those who hold on dearly to their grudges—whatever they may be. And who am I to deny them that which brings them purpose to this long and monotonous life of ours, hmm?”
“Well said, Your Excellence,” Jakob submits respectfully. “However, I would be remiss in abstaining from asking what will be done about her accomplices?”
“Omar Mubark?”
Jakob’s eyes narrow as he nods. “As well as, Adrian Thorburn.”
“Ah, yes,” Count Delacroix murmurs, a
pensive frown coming to his brows. “It seems Adrian Thorburn’s great rise to power in 1819 may have been more calculated than we ever thought. He has always hosted an unusual appetite for power… and an easily bruised ego. Unlike myself, of course,” he says with the airs of humility about him. “Not all are meant for positions of great power, and it seems Adrian has outdone himself. Explain to me once more his role in all of this.”
Ruby limps forward a step, favoring her left leg heavily. “Iris said he took her under his wing in 1865 because he saw himself in her. He told her they possessed the same drive necessary to make great change, but it was their hatred of the Vranas that brought them together. Adrian never approved of the Vranas’ arrival, and Iris was convinced Jakob was to blame for her sire's negligence—her mind tainted by madness from an early age," Ruby adds.
"They set the board of the game expertly," Jakob says, taking over the tale. "They managed to convince my head of household to send me off in search of an amethyst ring, and while I was conveniently gone, they sent a demon to kill them."
"Why not kill you all together?" Count Delacroix asks. "And how did a demon slip into the Dark Court without notice?"
Jakob's face grew dark. "They move by shadow, Your Excellence. It would have been quite easy for the demon to enter. As for me, they wanted me to be hunted down... like a rogue. They did not expect I would come back, but my arrival did not taint their plans. Adrian and Iris always planned on pinning my family's death on me."
“They went to great lengths to see your family destroyed,” Count Delacroix murmurs, the line between his brow growing deeper.
"Yes," Jakob continues. "And to take the family rings." Count Delacroix clicks his tongue in disapproval. "They used Omar Mubark's family connections with demons at the time to orchestrate the attack... and to be their scapegoat should the need arise."
Several lines draw upon the count's forehead. “How unfortunate."
“Of course, there was still the matter of Ren to take care of. Iris knew her sire would not allow such an attack to go unpunished and set up her sire for a different crime. As you might remember, at the time the Roux Household was in disarray. Many of its members were lost in the crossfire of their inner turmoil... and Ren among their numbers.”
Count Delacroix heaves another sigh, one worthy of a Shakespearian drama. A pale and blue-veined hand comes up to stroke his goatee. “The mind is such a temperamental thing when one does not exercise it properly. Jealousy has always been the downfall of many a vampyré, and it seems Iris Roux is its latest victim.”
The chapel holds a moment of silence in cool regard, though none of the occupants hold an ounce of remorse. Instead, their minds whirl with the countless possibilities of what may come next. The count captures Jakob’s gaze once more.
“Adrian will be dealt with by the Tribunal, but not before we sniff out any other coconspirators to this melodrama and the right evidence. Until then, the blame will rest solely on Iris’s shoulders, do I make myself clear?”
Jakob bristles, but nods along with Ruby.
“Leave all matters to me,” he instructs. “I shall—” A knock at the chapel doors interrupts further instructions, and the room’s occupants turn their attention to the mighty oak doors. Without preamble, Franklin opens the doors wide for Briar Roux. The congregation stares at the newcomers with similar looks devoid of emotion.
“Your Excellence, I was intercepted by this owl shifter with urgent news concerning my si—”
The rushed words halt as Briar's gaze travels the length of the room. She stumbles forward a step, her indifferent and slightly exasperated demeanor gone.
“What…?”
“Ah, Lady Briar, I have the utmost misfortune to inform you of the death of your sister. My condolences to the Roux Household, they have lost one of the fine members of their echelon, and one of the most tenacious vampyré to walk the earth.”
Count Delacroix crosses the space between them and gently clasps her upper arms. Genuine sympathy creeps into his tone. “This grief you know will pass with time’s healing hands. Let us only be thankful that you were not caught in the crossfire of your sister's heinous crimes against the Vrana Household.”
Briar stiffens in his tenuous hold, her wide eyes shifting from her sister’s corpse to Count Delacroix. The moment between the two stretches on, and in its reign, an equally silent and weighty look is passed between the owl shifter and Ruby. The shifter spares the beaten woman a dim inclination of her head. Her lips twitch to suppress a smirk, and she leaves. Her debt paid.
“What happened?” Briar asks, her voice finding strength despite her shaken form. The count spins around with a flare and steps in the direction of the apse.
“A nefarious plot gone wrong, do keep up, Briar. Shock is so unbecoming for one of your age.” A crooked smile is passed over the count’s shoulder, and a more sinister tone comes to pass. “Unless that is, you were privy to—”
“I wasn’t,” she interrupts sharply. “My sister and I are not one entity.”
“Very well,” he proclaims and begins the lengthy tale of what occurred. Briar remains impassive during the count's retelling, though the far-off look that fades in and out of her eyes does not go unnoticed by Jakob.
“On behalf of the Roux Household, I acknowledge the fault and shortcomings of my sister... and how it harmed the Vrana Household. Upon my honor, I will bear each act done upon your family onto my own flesh,” Briar states, a hollowness rocking her tone.
Thierry Delacroix turns unabashedly giddy at the prospect.
“A more suitable outcome would be an assurance from the Roux Household to seek out any of your sister's accomplices, if any should exist,” Jakob says.
The count loses his excitement.
“But if penance drives you to act sooner, perhaps an explanation to Sebastian, who has suffered greatly this night, by your person would be a reasonable start. Our families have long held resentment against one another for the fate of Ren Roux and my false connection with her. An apology offered to my childe would see the first steps of our burned bridges mended.”
Each vampyré wears their surprise differently at Jakob’s offer, but none more so than Briar. Her mouth gently opens and closes, before a fang digs into her bottom lip to cease the movement.
“Your gracious forgiveness will not be forgotten by my family or me. Of this, I swear.”
Something passes between the two vampyrés, a look that Count Delacroix cannot come to place. It passes in a second, and then Briar’s shoulders relax. The tension and buildup of the hour slipping away without a fight. Words no longer necessary, Jakob and Ruby make their departure to allow the Royal Households to collude in peace.
Their work is done. Or so they thought.
++
It is with little surprise when they return to the apartment suite that Ruby darts to Sebastian’s prone side on fawnlike legs.
“Bash.”
Her hushed remorse earns Jakob’s steady hand on her shoulder. “You should rest.”
“Then I will rest by his side, and we will heal together.”
Jakob’s grip tightens. “So be it. He looks better.”
He does. The toxic black tendrils scoring his skin now a distant dream. His wounds, however, still gape and weep a bloody discharge. Jakob frowns, running both hands through his blond hair and ruining whatever style it once held. His eyes run the length of his bloodstained forearm, still tender from Ruby’s feeding. Jakob steals his resolve once more to attend to his first childe—
“You’re back,” Jax croaks. He leans against the hallway wall, his pallor close to that of the vampyrés in attendance. “Good.”
“What hap—”
Jax shakes his head and takes a step forward, shrugging his shoulders back and tilting his chin up. “I’m fine. Just suffering from a bout of magical backlash from using another sorcerer’s instrument of choice. Bash will be fine, but I wouldn’t rush the healing proce
ss. Let his body and the magic do its work.”
“Thank you, Jax,” Ruby says, looking decidedly small and fragile next to her brother. The tension riding between her shoulder blades softens, as well as the rest of her muscles. She sinks into the side of the couch more heavily. Her eyes drift halfway shut as she finds an ounce of comfort to lean on.
“Whose instrument did you use?”
Jax looks to Jakob and attempts to straighten under his intense regard. “He goes by Erik and is kept on the Mubarks’ payroll. Apparently, they don’t pay enough. He gave up information easily enough after some convincing from Nova and myself. Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Yes,” Jakob replies, his features tightening. “We found the truth. It appears the grievance against the Vrana family began far earlier than my dalliances with Ren Roux… My father made an enemy of Adrian Thorburn long before we earned our entrance into the Dark Court. When he found another who abhorred our family, he took the opportunity to bring us down in one fell swoop. But his plan did not finish as expected, for though my family was slain, I was not."
“What about the Mubarks’ and Rouxs’ involvement?” Jax asks with a growing frown.
“Omar has forever lived in Adrian’s pocket. While Iris's hatred for her sister and me proved to be the perfect companion to Adrian's own hate.”
"And what of Briar?"
"Innocent."
They stand in silence a moment, both watching the siblings sleep upon the couch. Jakob takes a step toward Jax, rolling down the sleeve of his ruined shirt. “Where are Nova and Irina?”
The sullen room seems to darken further. With the fire down to glowing coals and fevered embers, the shadows steal what warmth is left to the room. Ruby shifts closer to Sebastian.
“They’ve gone to fetch the rings.”
The air, pungent already with magic and blood, admits another pheromone to warn the room’s only mortal of impending danger. Before the tenuous moment can linger on, Jax finds his back slammed against the wall behind him and a cold hand wrapped around his neck. He bats uselessly at the chokehold, eyes flexing in surprise.
