Slowly, Henri turned to her. “It seems like I must cut our dinner short,” he told her. “If you gain an appetite, I can have food sent to your room for you.”
He didn’t have to say a thing more. Haven knew that he meant for her to leave them alone.
Does he know? The thought overplayed in her head.
As she went to stand, Henri snatched her by the elbow and pulled her in close. His lips hovered near her ear. “I want you to come to my bed tonight,” he whispered, and Haven’s heart dropped. “I will call for you.”
When he let her go, she rose on trembling legs and went to the door where the guard, Lysander, stood. The clicking of her heels cut through the silence of the room. She wondered if Avrum had heard what Henri had said too, but she didn’t look back at him again. All she could do was hope that all wasn’t lost.
* * *
Avrum hated to watch her walk away from him. She looked stunning in her deep red gown that swept the mosaic floor in a long train behind her. Elegant black lace covered what was exposed of her chest, crawling up her neck and down her arms. He still couldn’t believe that he got to see the smooth skin that lay hidden underneath and feel it against his.
The moment Lysander closed the door and her vision was gone from sight, he became aware of Henri’s presence again. In between Henri’s two fingers, a glass of wine was perched and with a simple twist of his wrist, the goblet swayed back and forth.
Avrum had heard Henri’s request to Haven. It was as if he had said it loud enough, just to make sure he could hear. Avrum gritted his teeth, wanting to take the glass from his hand. He wanted to break it against the table and use the biggest, thickest piece to plunge into his neck. Or better yet, the knife lying innocently across his finished dinner plate, or even the sword at his hip.
How could he have ever loved this man? Everything about him made Avrum on edge. Now, he wanted nothing more than to kill him.
Avrum glanced at his friend at the door. Lysander’s nostril’s flared and his stare hardened on him. A warning.
Henri cleared his throat. The side of his lips twitched.
Avrum bowed his head again, using the moment to compose himself. Now wasn’t the time. They still had two days, and only then could he act on his thoughts.
“So,” Henri began, his voice full of impatience, “tell me what you need to.”
“I have prepared for as many guests as you entertained last party,” he replied. “About fifty or so.”
Henri grinned. “Good.” But after a brief pause, he added, “Although I have only invited four guests this time.”
Avrum stared at him, confused, and to his amazement, Henri laughed.
“Yes,” he said, “but I am glad you have prepared for a party that large. These men are my equals or superiors and should be treated as such. So keep your plans. I need this evening to be grand.” Henri pushed out his chair and stood, the glass still swinging between his fingers as he spoke. “These men I want to introduce you to. They are great men, men of power, experience, and wisdom. One in particular―Malcolm―was my father.” His eyes snapped to Lysander.
When Avrum followed his gaze, he saw his friend frozen in his place, face even paler, and his mouth open.
“I mean father in the sense that he gave me this immortal life, as I have given onto you and as he has also given to others. It is crucial that he see how I have used this gift, how I have helped so many.”
Avrum said nothing.
Henri walked around the table and went down the two steps that held it higher than the others. “I will have you on my right hand and Haven on my left―the epitome of excellence.”
Not sure what else to do, Avrum bowed again, his eyes flickering back to Lysander. His friend had recovered from his partial paralyzed state, but was now mouthing the name “Malcolm” to himself, as if in disbelief.
Avrum had never heard the name before, but from Lysander’s fierce reaction, worry began to wind its way around his insides.
“Now go,” said Henri. The sudden volume in his voice made Avrum jump. “Prepare four rooms in the east wing. I am sure they will be staying a night or two.”
As Avrum went to the door, he and Lysander locked stares. Was that fear he saw in his friend? Dread? With his throat tight, Avrum walked past him, wondering if the presence of these four men really meant the end to all their hope.
* * *
Haven stood before her bedroom door, her hand hovering over the handle and her eyes staring straight into the wood. The need to cry again was becoming too great, and she squeezed her lids closed to try and keep the tears at bay. Why had she believed that she could stay away from Henri’s for two nights? Why had she thought things could get easier?
At the sound of hurried footsteps, she turned toward the stairs. It was Avrum, and from the look on his face, he wasn’t as confident as he had been when she had left him. Tears began to rise in her eyes, and she looked away from him, afraid he would see.
Suddenly, his arms were around her, bringing her close to his chest. She buried her face in his vest, enjoying the feeling of him surrounding her like a thick wall.
He kissed the top of her head.
“It’s over, isn’t it?” she said, her voice muffled by his shirt. “He knows.”
He squeezed her a little and it soothed her somewhat. “No, no,” he whispered, kissing her again. “He doesn’t know about us.”
Haven looked up at him, and his hold loosened. “But he wants me to go to his bed, Avrum. If I go, he’ll drink from me and he’ll―”
“No.” His voice was sharper this time. “I won’t let him.”
She wanted to tell him that it was foolish to think that he could keep Henri from her, but she didn’t say anything. A part of her wanted to believe it wasn’t true.
He stepped back. Haven wiped her face with the back of her hands, hearing the creaking of the wooden stairs. Avrum’s expression was serious as he looked over his shoulder.
Lysander appeared then. His nostrils flared at the sight of them.
Avrum moved to stand at Haven’s side. “Malcolm?” was all he said.
The name rang familiar with Haven. Henri had said it to her before. Lysander only blinked.
“Do you know him?”
The blond Frenchman glanced at Haven. “Yes,” he said with a short sigh. His hand began to fiddle with the cuff at his left wrist. “I know him.”
“Who is he?” Avrum asked.
Haven could see Lysander’s discomfort with the question from the stiffening of his spine.
There was a moment of silence.
“He is my father,” he said. “My creator.”
Haven looked at Avrum, whose eyes widened in shock.
“You and Henri share the same creator?” Avrum’s hand grabbed hold of Haven’s.
A growl rumbled in Lysander’s throat. “What does it matter?” he replied, his voice lowering but not losing any of its intensity. “Our creator is the only thing that links us. Nothing more.”
Avrum’s hold didn’t waver. Haven didn’t know why it mattered either, but apparently to Avrum it did. “You’ve never told me this,” he said.
“My life is no concern of yours, Avrum.”
There was another pause between them.
“Like I have said,” Lysander went on, “we share a creator. That does not mean I could be called his brother.”
“Then why are you here?”
The strength in Avrum’s tone startled Haven. She looked up at him to find his brows knitted together in thought and his eyes growing a shade darker with his suspicion.
“I needed a place to stay.”
Haven didn’t believe him, and from the tension in Avrum’s shoulders, he didn’t either.
“Will Malcolm be a threat to us?” Avrum asked. “Better yet, will you be?”
“I surely won’t,” Lysander said. “Whether these guests of Henri’s could be used to your benefit or not, I cannot say. They could provide a distraction for Henri,
but they are far older then he, and therefore, far wiser. They could also make things difficult.”
Haven felt ill again. Lysander was much older than he looked. If he and Henri shared the same maker, did that mean they shared a past? “Who is Linna?” she asked him.
Lysander looked taken aback by her question. “Linna? Do you mean Lady Caroline Beatrum?”
“Who is she,” Avrum snapped before she could answer.
“She became Henri’s mother through marriage, but she became Henri’s lover not long after,” he replied. “Henri’s love for her was obsessive.”
“Henri calls me Linna,” Haven muttered, a chill shooting down her spine. She stepped closer to Avrum.
Lysander’s gaze shifted between them. “It seems Henri has made a connection between you and her.”
Henri thought she was a woman born centuries before her? He had taken her from her home and her father because of a past lover? “Henri is raving mad!”
“Completely,” Lysander said.
Avrum turned his narrow eyes back to Lysander. “How do you know all this?”
“Henri and I met soon after I was changed by Malcolm in the year sixteen hundred and three. We both craved revenge for what he had done to us, what he had taken away. We went our separate ways and had no contact for hundreds of years.”
“Not until you came to Greystone Manor,” Avrum added in.
“Yes, a little over two years before you arrived.”
Malcolm did not sound like a man Haven ever wanted to meet. “What will we do?” she asked both of them.
“We will have to be twice as careful,” said Avrum. He let go of Haven’s hand. His eyes never left his friend’s. “That’s all.”
“What about tonight?” Haven questioned, remembering Henri’s order to have her come to his bed. “If he drinks from me, then we can’t…”
“We will have to come up with a distraction tonight for Henri as well,” Lysander interrupted. “Until then, you should be hidden.”
Avrum grunted. “He’s right.”
“She can stay in the attic until we know it is safe.”
The attic? Haven thought. “Now, wait just a minute―”
Avrum moved in front of her. “Do you have the short sword that I gave you?”
“Yes,” Haven choked, her throat suddenly dry, “in my room, hidden in the armoire.”
“Keep it on you at all times,” he said, his gaze holding hers firmly. “If someone finds you there, don’t hesitate to use it.”
She just stared up at him, unmoving. This was all happening so fast. The thought of hiding out in the attic all night, just waiting to be found, and then using the sword to kill someone made her head whirl.
Avrum gave her a swift kiss on the lips. Lysander made a snorting sound nearby. “Go into the attic and do not leave. I will come for you,” said Avrum to her.
“But―”
“I will come for you.” And before Haven could blink, he and Lysander were gone.
* * *
Avrum burst through the manor’s back doors, the freezing night air hitting him in the face and leaving his skin prickling. He struggled to keep up with Lysander’s pace. His blond hair whipped side to side as he ran ahead. The snow still fell from the dark sky above them, the thick flakes clinging to naked tree branches and sticking to the ground at his feet.
At the forest line, Avrum could see a group of rowdy men already gathered in a thick circle. Their heads bobbed up and down, their shouts sounding more like explosions in the late-night silence. When they reached the crowd, Lysander slid in between the close-knit bodies.
Avrum followed. He pushed his way to the front, ignoring the angry protests of the others. He shot Lysander a sidelong glance. He didn’t understand why they had come here in the first place. His friend’s eyes focused on the two men locked in battle. There was a flash of silver as swords whipped through the air, a loud, beastly grunt, and then a clash as the metal crossed.
Avrum knew that animalistic sound. It was Cornelius. His broad, heavily muscled arms and chest were bare, his hair tangled and wild in his face. Cornelius’ opponent, a younger man than Avrum, took a short step back, his much smaller arms shaking with weakness. Avrum began to wonder what Lysander’s true reason for bringing them out here was. Surely he wasn’t thinking of sport or rivalry when so much was at risk?
Lysander unsheathed his own sword and stepped forward.
“Enough with this petty quarrel,” he shouted, his voice sounding louder than anything else to Avrum’s ears. “It is more of a lover’s waltz then a duel between men.”
The crowd fell silent. Cornelius’ weapon hovered in the air, his eyes darting to right. His competitor stood locked in his place.
“Oi! Get out of the circle,” Keagan called from the opposite side. “This isn’t your fight.”
“I want it to be,” Lysander replied and turned his attention to Cornelius. “What do you say about a little rematch?”
Avrum’s eyes widened. Has he gone mad?
Cornelius’ blinked and his eyes flashed black. He waved his hand at the boy, as if he was shooing away a mere fly. “Get out,” he growled. A monstrous grin transformed his face.
The boy gathered up his weapon and threw a hard glare at the two before disappearing into the crowd.
Lysander took his place, his expression as still as stone. “Have you prepared yourself to be embarrassed for a second time?” he said.
Cornelius’ skin gleamed with a thin layer of sweat, and his mouth stretched as his smile grew even larger. “Stop your talking. And raise your sword.”
As Lysander’s arm lifted, Cornelius lunged.
Lysander’s sword caught his just above his shoulder before it met skin. He let out a mocking laugh. “You’re right. There is no need to talk. Your lack of skill speaks for you.”
Keagan shook a fist in their direction. “Shut him up for good!” The crowd shouted in agreement.
Cornelius roared, going forward again with his sword swinging.
Lysander dodged the first blow, keeping low. Avrum could see his gray eyes―full of mischief―roaming Cornelius’ stance, studying him. When he jabbed at Lysander’s middle, he spun away with ease. Instead, he laid a hard kick in the center of Cornelius’ back.
Cornelius lurched forward, stumbling over his own feet. He whirled around and came at Lysander full force, his blade moving too fast for Avrum to see. Sparks flew with every block, igniting the darkness. Cornelius took a great step forward with every strike, causing Lysander and the circle to shift back. For once, Avrum could see strain in Lysander’s stance, tension on his brow. His own stomach twisted with worry.
Cornelius’s sword slashed through the air. There was a terrible ripping sound and Lysander gasped. His sword fell onto the snow-covered ground.
Avrum leapt forward. “Lysander!”
No one moved. Lysander stood there, his arm extended. His sleeve was cut from the elbow to the wrist, the loose material dangling there from the arm. Blood? Was there blood? Avrum saw none, but what he did see was appalling. Jagged, fleshy scars ran up and down Lysander’s forearm, intertwining and circling in an artistic way. In a pattern of some sort. But their kind didn’t scar after being changed. This must have been done before, when Lysander was still human.
Good God… What is that?
Avrum reached out to help his friend, but he held out a hand to stop him. Lysander’s shoulders rose and fell with his labored breathing. Slowly, and as if nothing had happened, Lysander took his sword again. Avrum could see the muscles of his jaw working, but this time, he said nothing.
Cornelius’ laughter boomed, followed by Keagan’s high-pitched cackle.
Lysander’s face smoothed over and his stormy eyes looked over the two of them. His pale cheeks and hair shined with melted snow. “That was quite unnecessary,” he murmured. He adjusted his feet and raised his weapon higher. “But I suppose that is my fault for allowing this to go on for too long.”
He s
truck first, aiming for Cornelius’ side. He blocked the blow but barely, causing more violet and blue sparks to burst in between them like miniature fireworks. Lysander went after him again and again, reminding Avrum of their lessons in the attic. Metal clashed and the crowd howled with delight. Cornelius twisted to avoid the blade, but Avrum could see his feet tangling up from Lysander’s random, unpredictable hits. It wasn’t long before Cornelius had stumbled over himself and landed on the ground with a hard thud.
Lysander stood over him, the tip of his sword pointed at Cornelius’ chin. The memory of their previous duel came back to Avrum, and he was sure many of the others were thinking the same thing. When Lysander met eyes with Avrum, he noticed that his expression was no longer mischievous or bored like it had been. There was a sadness there. A hint of regret too.
But why?
Then Avrum realized―
“Lysander, no!” he shouted, but his cry was silenced by the whistling of Lysander’s sword. There was a blood-chilling scream, a terrible sloshing sound, and then a soft thump. Cornelius’ body fell limp on its side, warm blood spilling from his open neck and melting the snow around it. His head had landed nearby, the wide eyes still staring up in surprise.
Lysander turned around, and everyone else took a step back. His shirt, black jacquard vest, and pale face were splattered with blood. He looked at Avrum.
Avrum couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.
“Get Henri,” Lysander mouthed to him.
Avrum must have read his lips wrong. He couldn’t be serious. Lysander had just murdered one of Henri’s guards. If he got Henri, Lysander would be severely punished.
Suddenly, Keagan’s sword was at Lysander’s throat, and the other members of the guard in the group stepped forward with their weapons raised.
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