by Rye Brewer
“I said no.” Instead, I leaned over the table, my palms pressed flat against the surface. “Where is Genevieve? What have you done with her?”
Margaux tossed her dark hair over her shoulders as she looked around the table, with the others shrugging and shaking their heads.
“Who is Genevieve?” Dorian asked, narrowing his eyes.
Could I believe them? Why would they lie? If they had secured her elsewhere or—I hated to think it, but it was possible—if they’d killed her, why not lord it over me that they’d won? I didn’t think even my mother was a good enough liar to be convincing.
Rather than explaining who she was, what she meant to me—they would not have cared if I had—I asked, “Has anyone been captured on the estate recently? Trespassers? A vampire, perhaps?”
Margaux scoffed. “As if I would care about such petty matters. This is why we have guards, dear boy. To handle such things for us. We have trespassers from time to time, I’m certain—it’s bound to happen, is it not?” She glanced around for confirmation, and the heads of the other two clans nodded in agreement.
“Besides,” she added with a sly smile, “whenever a trespasser or vampire are found in the vicinity, they are usually killed. No questions asked.”
She chilled me to my core. There was no question my mother knew exactly what she was saying, and how it would land on my ears. She was determined to believe I’d had a guest in the cottage, and that guest would have been a trespasser.
And trespassers were killed.
“I want to talk to the guards on duty last night,” I demanded.
“Who was it you had in the cottage, Anton?” she asked rather than giving me the answers I needed.
We held each other’s gaze for a long, silent moment, daring each other to push just a step further. Would she come out and accuse me? Would she announce that Genevieve had been captured?
If anyone else at the table other than my father understood, they managed to pretend not to.
“Well?” Mother prompted. “Who was she?”
“No one,” I snarled, turning and leaving the room.
I was halfway down the stairs before any of them called after me, but there was no way I’d go back until I knew who’d taken Genevieve. Whether my mother knew or not was still a mystery, but I would not play her game when there was so much hanging in the balance.
The guard tower sat at the east corner of the castle, and I stormed in without announcing myself. The handful of guards seated around the place—all of them lounging, currently off-duty if they weren’t at the top of the tower or patrolling the estate—sat up a little straighter.
“Who was on-duty last night?” I growled, looking from one of them to the other. They’d been in the middle of a game of cards. I would overturn the damned table if they didn’t give me what I wanted, and they knew it.
One of them—I thought his name was Viktor—stammered. “I believe it was Lars and Liam on the grounds, Finn and Luuk in the tower.”
“Get me Lars and Liam,” I ordered, sitting at the table.
Viktor’s jaw muscles worked, while the others stared at each other. “They were on duty all night. They’re sleeping in quarters.”
“Bring. Them. To. Me.” It came out as a snarl, and was enough to spur Viktor into action. He hurried through a door and up to where the guards slept.
It was a long several minutes before two bleary-eyed men appeared before me. They were brothers, I remembered, nearly identical twins.
“What can we help you with?” Lars asked.
I reminded myself to take my time, to be fair and reasonable. Shouting would get me nowhere. “Were there any intruders last night?” If they knew she meant anything to me, they would undoubtedly report to my parents.
The two of them jeered, elbowing each other. “Oh, yes,” Liam replied. “There was. A bloodsucker. A real piece of work, that one.”
Damn it. My wolf was all but ready to burst loose and punish them for laughing over her. The two of them put together weren’t worth her pinky finger.
“Where is she?” I growled, though I could barely hear them over the roaring in my head.
They’d taken her. Dared lay hand upon her. I saw red, thirsted for blood.
“She was transferred,” Liam reported.
“Where?”
“To Bertrand lands,” Lars explained.
I frowned. Of all the things I could’ve expected, this was the last on the list. “Why?”
“Orders,” they replied in unison.
I was barely able to speak without yelling. It took supreme effort to ask, “From whom?”
“Above,” Liam shrugged. “We’re not in the business of asking where our orders come from. We simply follow them.”
I shoved myself away from the table before I hurt any of them, or worse, and headed outside. I breathed deep, looking up at where the spire’s steeple peered out from above the tree line. Were they still up there?
Why the hell would Todor Bertrand order a vampire be brought to his lands?
I had to get to her, somehow, to breach the border and make my way to where she was being held. She needed me. I couldn’t let her down.
I left the building and made haste toward the trees.
Rage surged through my veins until there was no choice but to shift, so I did.
My wolf sprang free, eager to give voice to the turmoil inside, my clothes tearing to shreds and falling around me.
I lifted my head and howled at the cloudy sky.
I had to find Genevieve. I would find her. I’d kill anyone that got in my way.
Keep reading for an excerpt from the next in the series!
Vexation
The ninth book in the League of Vampires series brings you more witches, vampires, fae, shades, and sexy characters in swoonworthy romances and nail-biting action.
Follow Carissa’s battle to free Gage, Naomi, and Raze from her father.
Join Anton as he fights to find Genevieve before the shifters can bring harm to her.
Stark’s love for Branwen is in conflict with the feelings he thought he had for Sara, who now wants nothing more than to destroy the Starkers.
Jonah needs the League of Vampires help its own kind by coming to the aid of the fae, but he faces obstacles within the League itself.
Vexation pushes clans, covens, and coalitions to extremes as secret agreements and new arrangements test each one’s strength.
Foreword
1
Anton
I had to think clearly. Sanely, rationally.
My wolf was no good at that sort of thought, not when the end of the world was upon him. And losing Genevieve, the light of my life, certainly marked the end of everything.
My wolf lacked the ability to reason, moving purely on instinct and powered by needs and desires. If Genevieve’s scent was long gone and I had already combed the estate overnight in search of her, there was little reason to travel in his form.
Though he was still good for one thing, speed. I ran through the tall grass between Shifter’s Spire and my family’s castle, legs pumping, heart racing, with only one name in my mind. One name which pushed me forward, always forward, for she was the only thing in the world that truly mattered.
Genevieve. Only Genevieve.
I could still almost smell her, could almost feel her skin, taste its warmth. This was all illusion, of course, or wishful thinking. Unhelpful, too, for the illusion of her scent would do nothing to help me find her. The illusion was no use to me.
How could anyone be so cruel? My wolf did not possess the ability to understand the motivation, nuances, and foibles of mankind. He understood nothing but need, hunger, and power.
Then again, perhaps this nightmare had to do with little else. I could not grant my mother— Margaux—too much credit. She wished for power—grasping, greedy, clawing.
Reaching one of the old, rusted doors concealed by an overgrowth of withered, browning vines took little time, thanks to my
wolf’s speed. Opening the door, however, was a matter for a man.
I shifted from my wolf, almost sorry to reenter my human form, as it was my human consciousness which felt most acutely the loss and pain and horror of that which spun out of control around me.
Little time to think on that, when I had the matter of reentering the castle without dozens of pairs of eyes following my every move.
One step at a time, I told myself. One step at a time.
I cleared away enough of the dead overgrowth—truly, someone needed to see to the upkeep of the grounds, or perhaps Margaux preferred to keep the long-forgotten doors concealed—that I could make out the shape of the rounded door fit into the stone arch. I might have made my entrance easier by revisiting the door I’d used to exit the castle, but there was too high a chance of being spotted.
If anyone in the guard tower had seen me slipping out, they would be more likely to keep watch on that same spot, hence my choosing a spot on the far side of the castle.
For I now understood that my movements might be of much greater interest to my mother than I’d ever considered. How could I have been so insolent as to believe she had no true power over me? How could I have placed Genevieve in such danger?
With my fingers wedged just far enough between the stone and the metal, I began to pull. Even in human form, my body possessed greater strength than the strongest man, yet I still exerted much effort to swing the door wide enough to pass through. The screaming hinges set my teeth on edge and left me glancing about.
I exhaled a sigh of relief as it appeared I was alone, and as yet unnoticed.
The stone floor was nearly icy cold beneath my bare feet. Bare because I had no shoes. Or even clothing. If only I hadn’t flown into a fit and burst into my wolf form—it meant making the trek to my chambers unclad. While the secret staircases built into the walls would conceal me, they couldn’t protect me from walking through centuries-old standing water, with nothing between it and my skin.
I turned my mind away from the myriad diseases I might be walking through and pressed on, dashing down empty corridors between cells I had only just visited in my search for Genevieve. Though now, with less hope than ever of Genevieve being safe and well, their presence only served to remind me of what she might be suffering.
Who was I kidding? She might well be dead already, her body floating in the waters beyond Bertrand lands. Black hair spreading in a fan around her head, pale skin now chalk-white. Ruby lips would be blue, and eyes capable of holding both steely resolve and searing heat would be blank. Sightless. Empty.
Charging up the stairs two and three at a time brought me to my office. Only with the heavy wooden door closed tight behind me and a glance at the door leading out to the hall confirming I’d locked it prior to leaving was I able to take a deep breath. There was at least a modicum of privacy here.
Another shower, this time to wash off anything I had picked up during my trek through the forest and the dungeons. Next, I dressed in a pair of dark slacks and a deep green shirt with the understanding that I might need to conceal myself or blend in with my surroundings.
If the Bertrands still had her and she was still alive, where on their lands would they hold her?
I’d so often heard of searching for a needle in a haystack but had never truly understood the meaning of that old expression until I gazed out one of the windows which looked to the west, where our land ended, and the Bertrand estate began.
When I divorced personal concerns from the situation, I could even understand Margaux’s obsession with uniting the De Clerq and Bertrand names. With the lands combined in a single parcel, we would literally control everything as far as my eye could see.
This was enough to cause even my most mercenary tendencies to bubble to the surface, enough to make me imagine what it would mean to control that much property and that much wealth. Not mere money, not mere riches. True wealth. The Bertrands made the bulk of their fortune from importing and exporting valuable goods, the southern border of their property running alongside a major shipping route. It was enough to earn them a reputation both in the human world and in ours.
Perhaps this would have appealed to me at one time—prior to meeting Genevieve—the promise of so much power, so much absolute mind-boggling wealth at my disposal might have turned my head and convinced me that marriage to a beautiful, cultured, brilliant woman like Isolde was the best course of action.
I might very well have gone along with my mother’s scheming. I might have allowed myself to be used as a pawn in her game, like a horse following a carrot at the end of a stick.
Genevieve was responsible for my ability to see clearly what mattered and what simply did not. I owed it to her, then, to find her and bring her to safety. Not only for myself, that I might have her and claim her as my own, but for her sake. She deserved better if only because she’d opened my eyes to that which I’d never known before.
The Bertrand land was lush, green, thick with tree cover. To the south glistened a wide ribbon of river, part of which ended at the waterfall where I’d sent her in hopes of keeping her safe. The very thought sent a bitter laugh to my lips. I’d sent her away, into the hands of the enemy, all in the name of protecting her. What a fool I’d been. Too naïve to see the larger game at play, to know I was merely a piece being moved along a board.
I would not be so foolish again. Never again.
The verdant forest would provide plenty of cover as I searched the grounds, but it also hid a plethora of threats, foes, not to mention hiding the very spot where she might be hidden.
If she was still alive.
I gripped the window sill, my hands tightening until the very wood beneath them splintered. She had to be alive. I could accept no alternative. She would be alive. And waiting for me.
It hit me then that I might never see my bedroom again. My library, my office. If I was successful in freeing her, there was no way I could return to my family home. The Bertrands would know, naturally, and they would undoubtedly report to Margaux. All hell would break loose.
“And if I’m unsuccessful, I’m never returning,” I murmured, looking around.
Yes, it was clear. I could never come back. Not when every glance at my mother, every smile my supposed bride-to-be flashed my way would remind me of what they’d taken away. Not with the understanding that my father would have to know something of this, that he’d allowed it to happen out of either weakness or greed.
I would never step foot on the estate again.
With that in mind, I took it all in. The grandness of it, the luxury. I could have it all again, there was no doubt—I was hardly a newcomer to the business world and could make a fortune if I so chose to. Yet the knowledge that I would not be forced to live on the street was not what left me feeling rather detached and hollow as I soaked in my surroundings one final time.
It was the fact that it all meant nothing. I had no real attachment to it, which might have been why I normally traveled so widely. There was so little for me on the estate. I’d been raised as the younger son, and thus none of it was meant to be mine until Dietrich’s murder and my ascension to power.
I had never wanted it. I was not one of those greedy, jealous younger brothers, always wanting what could never be mine. I’d wanted something that was mine alone, not the cast-offs left behind by a dead heir. Genevieve had been the first step toward something real.
This was what propelled me from my office and down the dark, winding staircase. Through the dungeons, their silent screams echoing in my head nonetheless, then into one of the tunnels I knew cut to the south. To the Bertrands and their palatial estate which came second only to that of the De Clerqs.
There would be dozens of smaller buildings all over the property, I knew. Genevieve might be in any of them. I decided to start close to the river, where it was most likely the thugs who’d captured her would travel. Perhaps they’d smuggled her straight up the banks from the waterfall, where there would little chance of a
nyone spotting them. Even passing ships would be too far out for their crew to take notice of an unconscious woman being carried through the wooded shore.
There were docks sprinkled here and there along the shoreline, though only two of them were still in use, centuries after their creation. The use of cargo planes had somewhat lessened the need for ships, though the Bertrands had maintained relations with the companies through which they’d done business and had adapted to the new methods of transporting goods. They had not suffered—if anything, they’d grown wealthier. Everything Todor Bertrand’s ancestors had touched turned to gold.
I ran through the tunnel, heightened eyesight making it easier to see in the pitch blackness. It stank of rot and death, and brought to mind everything I was leaving behind. Rot. Death. Darkness. Secrets. I would have no more secrets in my life after this.
The tunnel ended in a rusted ladder, the door above my head locked. No surprise—just as it was no surprise that I was able to punch through the rotting wood in order to enter the tiny cottage which sat atop the door.
I cared little for my shabby, abandoned surroundings and much for the presence of darkness outside the uncurtained window. Excellent. All the better to search for a vampire in darkness, both to conceal me and to protect her once she was free.
For she would be. She had to be. I would accept nothing less.
2
Genevieve
Wake up, little bloodsucker…
I heard the voice, or thought I heard it, but the sound came from so far away. Miles and miles, or so it seemed, and I could not find the source. For I was alone, and wrapped in a fog. No matter where I turned, no matter how I flailed about, there was no breaking through. No way of seeing where to go or how to get there, no way of moving without falling into unseen danger. Who would dare venture ahead without the benefit of seeing the ground beneath their feet?
