by Joy Demorra
Vlad hated that he found it so attractive. But he still couldn’t bring himself to look away.
A flash of lightning nearby broke the spell, and Vlad glanced up reflexively at the roiling sky, uncertain if he should be grateful or irritated at the interruption. From inside, the sound of a lively quadrille floated to them. Vlad cursed inwardly; his sister would be looking for him by now. He’d promised Riya at least one dance. He should see to that.
“You haven’t asked me to dance yet,” Elizabeth said, her tone curious rather than annoyed. “Aren’t you going to?”
“Do you want me to?”
Her eyes glittering with amusement, Elizabeth snorted. “Not really.” Her smile broadened, taking on a wicked glint as her fangs caught the light of another lightning strike. “But you should want me to want you to.”
Vlad sighed and tried again. “I’m really not in the mood to dance, but if you want me to, I will. Just for you.”
“Oh, Uladzimir,” Elizabeth crooned, using his hated given name and tipping her head back to laugh when he scowled. “Of course, you will. You love me.”
The words grated, just like Elizabeth probably intended. “Look,” Vlad snapped, “do you bloody want to dance or not?”
Her eyes glittered. “No.”
He ran a pale hand through his hair, mussing his carefully slicked back locks. Normally he would care more, but now he couldn’t be bothered. “Of course not. I suppose you’d rather be on the arm of some poor boy too stupid to realize you’re just after his throat.”
“Oh, there’s nothing poor about Percy.” Elizabeth shrugged coyly as she clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “What’s the matter? Jealous?”
Unable to meet her gaze, Vlad turned his attention to the cigarette between his fingers, noting where her lips had left a mark on the gold foil. They truly were spectacularly awful for one another. It was a mystery why they were still together, yet here they were. “You know I am.”
“Good,” Elizabeth said; the word twisted her face up into a beautiful snarl. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice about abandoning me to talk to some tradesman.”
“Civil engineer,” Vlad protested again. “With a rank and title. And I did not abandon you; you were walking with Lady Margarete!”
“Whatever.” She pivoted on her perch to face the abyss of the night and the fathomless drop to the sea below.
“What are you doing?” Vlad demanded, reaching instinctively for her arm.
Elizabeth swatted him away. “I’m leaving. I’ve had enough of small people for one night.”
She slipped free from the side, plunging over the edge for several heart-stopping moments before floating back up into his line of sight. Her hair and dress billowed in the sea night air, and Vlad watched spellbound as she hauled him to her by the lapels of his dinner jacket to press a searing kiss to his lips. Smiling against his mouth, she murmured, “Don’t wait up.”
And then she was gone, the sound of her laughter echoing through the night.
Lips tingling, Vlad stared at the spot where she’d been and resisted the urge to go after her. That would be the romantic thing to do, wouldn’t it? Plunge headlong into the storm and pull her back? She was likely expecting it.
“To hell with her,” he muttered, wiping his mouth angrily with the back of his hand as he stalked back inside. He needed a drink—several, in fact. Vlad might have promised Riya he’d show up to the party sober, but he’d made no such concessions about how he’d end it.
CHAPTER FOUR
Early Spring, 1888
Nathan watched from the castle walls as the Septs filed through the gate—men and women, young and old all wearing a riotous mix of tartans ranging from bright plaids and somber woolen grays and browns. It was rare for his father to call a gathering—so rare that the last gathering had taken place before Nathan had left school to join the military—and the majority of the clan lairds had made the journey themselves. It was quite the turnout, but even Nathan knew this was a pale ghost of what their numbers had once been.
“There he is!” Howlzein greeted him; the rangy, gray-haired man climbed the worn flagstones and strode toward Nathan with enviable spryness. “The king of the castle!”
Nathan grunted with amusement, then winced when Howlzein gave him a solid thud on the back. He hadn’t expected to see his former commanding officer so soon, but given that he was Nathan’s father’s best and oldest friend as well as Counsel to the Howlzein pack, he likely should have. “I see you didn’t manage to avoid the summons.”
“When the Wolf Lord calls, you hightail it North,” Howlzein replied levelly. “My sister would have come herself, but her eldest is about to give birth, and well, you know how these things are.”
As the second oldest of twelve, Nathan surely did.
Howlzein ran a critical eye over Nathan. “Anyway, you’re looking…” He paused, havering for the right words. “Well, you don’t look any worse than the last time I saw you.”
Which wasn’t saying much.
The last time Howlzein had seen him, Nathan had been out of his mind, wracked with fever and unspeakable pain as the silver poisoning coursed through his veins. He only half-remembered it, but what he did remember was worth forgetting. “Thank you. I think.”
“Come on, let’s get inside and catch up by the fire.” Howlzein gave Nathan a friendly nudge. “I’ve been dying for a proper cuppa ever since I got north of the border.”
“How were the roads?” Nathan asked over his shoulder, leading the way to the kitchens.
Pausing by one of the large cauldrons suspended over the giant hearth, Howlzein helped himself to a mug of stewed black tea before responding, “Waterlogged in places, but passable for most parts. Bloody awful time of year for traveling, to be honest, but it got me out of Ingleton for a bit.”
“Parliament still keeping you busy, then?” Nathan asked, angling to keep Howlzein’s face visible as he spoke. It wasn’t ideal, but he’d learned words were easier to discern if he could see the other person’s lips moving.
“There’s the understatement of the century,” Howlzein muttered, taking a sip from his scalding hot tea and pulling a face. “They’re looking to recruit more soldiers from the North. I keep trying to tell them there aren’t any, but will they listen? No.”
“Is that why the Septs are meeting?”
Howlzein hesitated; his yellow gaze swiveled to regard Nathan from the corner of his eye. “No, lad. This meeting is purely wereclan business. I dare say your father will tell you soon enough.”
Disheartened, Nathan glanced away, unable to hide his expression.
Things had been far from easy since his return home to Lorehaven. While Nathan’s mother seemed to believe she could nurture him back to health by sheer force of maternal will, a palpable rift had opened up between father and son that only seemed to widen with each passing day. “Oh, I dunno about that.” His smile tightened until he was sure his face would crack under the strain of it. “But I’m sure I’ll hear about it from someone. Eventually.”
Howlzein gave him a thoughtful look, then sighed. “Listen, lad, it takes time to come home from war. It gets into your head, and sometimes you think you’ll never settle again. It’s all the worse when you’ve got an injury to deal with. But give it time. You’ll find your way.”
“Well, lucky for me, all I have left is time,” Nathan tried to crack a joke but failed miserably when his voice cracked instead.
“You don’t know that,” Howlzein said reasonably. “Stranger things have happened. I mean, look at you. No werewolf has ever survived a silver bullet before.”
“Lucky me,” Nathan muttered.
Howlzein shook his head. “What I mean to say is, this is uncharted territory. We don’t know what might happen to you next. Who’s to say you won’t make a full recovery with time?”
I do, Nathan thought, feeling the weight of certainty pushing down on his chest until it was hard to breathe. Or perhaps that was
just the nature of his injury. It was hard to tell, sometimes, where one pain ended and another began.
After a moment, Howlzein said firmly, “What you need is a job.”
Nathan gave him a skeptical look. “A job?”
“I know you, Nathan, you never took well to idleness. Even as a child, you were driving your father to distraction, wanting things to do. And if I know your mother, she won’t have let you lift a finger the entire time you’ve been here. You need something to do. Take your mind off things.”
Nathan arched an eyebrow at him. “And what exactly would I do? In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s not a lot of call for a disabled, deaf werewolf.”
“Well, I don’t know.” Howlzein gestured vaguely in the air. “Something active, useful, but not strenuous enough to set you back.” He trailed off for a moment, then blinked. “Hell, there’s a post on Eyrie you’d be perfect for. It’s Captain of the local guard. I could write you a letter…”
“Captain of the Guard,” Nathan repeated. “You’re suggesting I apply to be Captain of the Guard on an island full of vampires?”
“I mean it’s civilian work, sure,” Howlzein carried on, glossing over that last remark. “But the place is so small it practically runs itself. It’d mostly be paperwork.”
“And vampires,” Nathan said, his voice drier than the sands of Bhalein. “Lots and lots of vampires.”
“All right, paperwork, and vampires. But you’d hardly have to deal with them.”
“The paperwork or the vampires?”
“Whichever one you chose to delegate,” Howlzein replied, affecting the patient tone Nathan remembered well from his childhood. It was the tone adults used to use when they thought Nathan was being a smartass. He’d heard it often. “I know it wouldn’t be much, but it’d be something. And if you want my opinion? You’d be in like a shot. You’re a war hero; your father’s a clan laird and the Wolf Lord to boot. Vampires put a lot of stock in that kind of thing.”
Nathan rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck. He could see the merit in such an idea; a chance to do something productive and useful, get his feet back under him, away from his family. And Eyrie was far enough away he wouldn’t need to worry about anyone knowing him from before. It would practically be like going on holiday in that regard. Even if the island was inhabited by one of the largest vampire colonies in the entire Nevrondian Empire.
“I dunno.” He shook his head.
Howlzein gave him another reassuring squeeze on the arm. “Just think about it, lad. There’s no harm in that. And there’s no shame in accepting help either. You’ve already proven yourself enough.”
Nathan hesitated, then nodded. “Thank you. I’ll think about it.”
“Good lad. And talk to your father about it too. The sooner, the better. I’m sure he’ll have some thoughts on the matter.”
“Yes,” Nathan agreed tactfully, helping himself to a fortifying mug of tea and drinking deeply. “I’m sure he’ll have plenty.”
*
“I spoke to Archie while he was here.” Nathan’s mother reached across the breakfast table and foisted another venison sausage onto Nathan’s plate.
“Oh?” Nathan asked, feeling queasy just at the sight of more food. He’d already eaten all he could stomach, which wasn’t much these days. “How is the old wolf?”
“Good. He mentioned that his youngest, Bridgit, got engaged.”
“Oh, really?” Nathan perked up as he waited for his mother to look the other way. When she did, he slipped the sausage under the table where it was snarfed out of his hand by an eager pair of jaws. “Good for her.”
“Yes.” Nathan’s mother cast him a sidelong glance.
Nathan sighed, realizing where the turn in the conversation was going. “Ma, Bridgit and I haven’t seen each other in years.”
“Yes, I know, but you were together for a very long time.”
“Together’s a rather strong word for what we were,” Nathan mumbled as diplomatically as he could.
“Well, never mind,” his mother carried on, willfully ignorant of his meaning as she gave his hand a consoling squeeze. “There’s plenty more fish in the sea. Speaking of which—”
“Moira,” Nathan’s father intoned from across the table with his nose firmly buried in a book. “Leave the boy alone.”
“I’m only trying to help.”
“Please don’t,” Nathan begged, unable to think of anything worse than his mother interfering in his nonexistent love life. It was bad enough she’d taken to coming into his room and tidying up after him like he was a child. He really didn’t need his mother arranging any matches for him.
“All right, fine.” She held her hands up. “I’m just saying, you’re a handsome boy, Nathaniel. It’s not good for you always being cooped up in here on your own.”
“Thank you, Ma,” Nathan said, unable to keep from smiling helplessly at her. “But I’m sixty-three. I’m old enough to decide these things for myself.”
“I know, I know. I just worry.” Which was a profound understatement as far as Nathan was concerned. He winced with dismay when she placed another sausage on his plate. “I just want what’s best for you. And don’t feed that one to the boys.”
A plaintive whine came from under the table, and Nathan looked down at the pair of muzzles resting on his knees. “Sorry, lads.” He gave his youngest siblings an affectionate ruffle behind the ears. “Looks like we’ve been rumbled.”
Barely into their eleventh year, Bran and Lachlan were going through the first few stages of the Change. There were still several days left before the next full moon, but young werelings were so much more susceptible to the pull of the lunar rays. They’d been little more than babes in swaddling when Nathan had left to begin his last tour, and it had taken them a while to get to know each other. But after some quality time together—and some genuinely appalling amounts of kitchen theft and bribery on Nathan’s part—they’d soon become his own little shadows.
“Honestly, you’d think we never feed them.” Nathan’s mother’s tone was equal parts exasperation and fondness as she watched them.
“They’re growing,” Nathan said, giving Bran a playful shove when his sibling tried to get his jaws around Nathan’s arm. Lachlan sat placidly, his muzzle resting on Nathan’s thigh. “I remember Miles and me used to sneak into the kitchens every night when we were going through it.”
“Oh, so is that what happened to all my pies, then?”
“Blame Miles,” Nathan said. “He was the brains of the operation.”
At the far end of the table, their father snorted loudly. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
“Tam,” Nathan’s mother scolded.
“What? He’s not here.”
Nathan rolled his eyes, tuning out his parents’ bickering. That was one good thing about losing the hearing on his left side, he supposed. He only heard half the amount of arguing.
“I was speaking to Howlzein the other day,” he interjected before the quarrel could develop any further.
“Oh, how is Seamus doing?” His mother pointedly spooned a helping of vegetables onto Nathan’s plate, which Nathan just as pointedly ignored. “I hardly got to say two words to him while he was here.”
“Good, I think. Parliament keeps him busy. Lots of wars to advise on.” Nathan’s father grunted noncommittally at that, but Nathan carried on. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like, going from the front lines to politics.”
“Well, you know what they say,” his mother said. “Sometimes, a change is as good as a rest.”
“Speaking of change…” Nathan seized the opportunity while he had it. “I thought I might try something new myself.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, I thought I might apply for a posting.”
Hard of hearing as he was, Nathan knew a resounding silence when he heard one. He watched his mother shoot his father an anxious look, the old wolf finally looking up from his book his bushy eyebrows turned down in a
frown. “A job? What the blazes for?”
Nathan shrugged, trying not to wince when the movement pulled painfully at his shoulder. The wound there still refused to heal, and it ached constantly like a hot iron. “Just thought it might be a good idea. Give me something to do.”
“You’ve got plenty to do,” his father rumbled, arching his brows at Nathan. “You’re recovering.”
“Who wants tea?” his mother asked, a touch on the side of manic. “I’ve got scones in the oven too…”
“No, thank you, Ma, I’m full,” Nathan said, his lips thinning into a mulish line as his father continued to stare him down across the table. They’d had this conversation every which way before, but it always ended in the same fight. There were many things Nathan found hard to adapt to in his new life, but his father’s antagonism on the subject of his health was chief among them. It was almost as though the old wolf thought he wasn’t trying hard enough.
“But you’ve hardly touched—”
“I said I’m full,” Nathan snapped back.
Nathan’s father stood, banging his fist on the table. “All right, you, up. You and I need to take a walk.”
“A walk?” Nathan shot his mother an apologetic glance as he hurried after his father. “Where are we going?”
“To the library,” his father replied without looking back.
As castle libraries went, the one at Lorehaven was modest. Truthfully, it was little more than a glorified study; the overstuffed bookshelves bowed under the weight of too many books piled at haphazard angles. It would take a dedicated person to organize it, but so far, the right candidate had yet to be found.
“Sit.” His father pointed at the chair in front of the table that served as his work desk. When Nathan remained standing, his father sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Please, sit. We have a lot to talk about.”
An awkward silence ensued, and Nathan found his gaze drawn inexorably to his father’s desk. Chaos would be a good way to describe it. Absolute chaos would be even better. Seeing his son’s gaze, his father gestured proudly to a large geode cluster holding down a wad of paperwork. “What do you think of that, then? Pure quartz, that is. The lads over in Bridgewater struck a load of it last week. I chipped that piece out myself.”
