The Veiled Series Collection

by Stacey Rourke

  “I was chased through the streets by a torch and pitch fork wielding crowd!” Pleading his case, the young vampire—with stringy black hair and hooked-beak nose—gestured wildly. “What choice had I, except to defend myself?”

  Hand dropping to the arm rest, my fingers dangled over its rounded edge. “You slaughtered an entire village,” I stated, tone devoid of emotion.

  “To protect myself!” Strands of hair stuck to the young vamp’s neck, held there by the crusted blood of his kills.

  “You killed the daughter of a duke, they were seeking rightful retribution.” With a snap of my fingers, I gestured Renfield over, ready to make my ruling.

  “They are sheep!” The accused hissed, daring to drop fang in my presence. “We are wolves! I will not cower to creatures that are beneath me! This world could be ours if we were led by one brazen enough to seize it.”

  A sharp ripple of air, and I was on him.

  Knocked flat on his back, I crushed his throat beneath my boot. It wouldn’t kill him, but it did provide a painful reminder that my power far exceeded his own. Rocking onto the ball of my foot I waited for the first crunch to tell me I had his complete attention. “Do you think this is an argument I haven’t heard before? There is always some cocksure copil vampire ready to show their strength by painting the world with blood. I will tell you the same thing I told all struck by that exact delusion.” Squatting down, I applied a bit more of my weight to his wind-pipe. “Humans outnumber us ten-thousand to one. If we don’t abide by rules to coexist with them, they will turn on us. And, who could blame them? We’re parasitic leeches suckling at the vein of civility.”

  “My Lord?” Clearing his throat, Renfield assumed a wide-legged stance with his hands clasped behind his back.

  Pushing off my knees to stand, I retracted my foot. “Take him to the roof of the tallest tower. At dawn, he meets the sun.”

  Renfield beckoned to the two guards stationed on either side of the door with a snap of his fingers. Jumping to attention, they darted over to carry out my orders. Hooking the condemned under his arms, they dragged him out kicking and screaming.

  Renfield patiently waited for his cries to fade before updating me on our roster. “That was the last, sire. Only four put to death. Perhaps word of what will be tolerated is finally beginning to spread.”

  “Or, they’re getting better at covering it up.” Flopping back down in my walnut throne, I let my head fall back against its intricate, hand-carved designs. “You look thin, old friend. Are you not feeding?”

  Despite his sunken cheeks, Renfield’s chest puffed with purpose. “I allow myself but one drop of blood per night, m’lord. To live as example to others that our kind are capable of restraint.”

  “A noble venture indeed.” My head dipped in a bow of respect.

  “Thank you, sire. I did want to discuss with you an idea I had to safeguard that you are surrounded by trustworthy advisors.”

  With two fingers I waved the conversation on. “Speak.”

  “The line of human supporters here in Transylvania that want to be turned is growing long. I propose we initiate them on a trial basis, making them prove themselves before they are turned. Only when they are found worthy would they earn a place within your inner circle, and join our family of Nosferatu here at Castle Dracul.”

  Drumming my fingers against the arm rest, I mulled over the suggestion. “It would require a human we can trust to oversee the potentials. One that seeks not to be turned themselves.”

  “Father Van Helsing!” Sprinting into the throne room, Marius—one of our newer charges—skidded to a stop before me.

  “Really, lad,” I winced at his complete lack of subtlety. “If you’re going to listen in on conversations, you should at least attempt to be less obvious about it. Not to mention, Van Helsing has … far more important obligations to see to.”

  “No, m’lord, and a thousand apologies for the interruption,” Remembering his place, Marius offered an abbreviated bow and salute. “Father Van Helsing is here, and he’s gravely injured.”

  I moved in a blur, following the wafting scent of blood to a crumpled body lying in a heap by the castle gates. With one hand on his shoulder, and the other bracing the middle of his spine, I rolled the priest onto his back. Assaulted by the stench of burned flesh, I gasped. His eyes had been burned from their sockets, the letters DG branded onto his forehead.

  “Dorian Gray.” Blindly reaching out, Van Helsing caught the front of my shirt and clung to me. “He … came … for … your son.”

  Tendrils of black rage clouded the edges of my vision. “How did this happen?” I hissed around my lengthening fangs.

  “Rau … was desperate to be … like you.” Rolling to his side, the priest’s body shivered, shock from his trauma setting in. “Dorian … told him he had a vampire that would do … whatever he asked. Said he had … a method that would overpower … any allegiance they held … to you.”

  “Marius!” At the mention of his name, he darted to my side. “Gently as you can, take Father Van Helsing up to a room. Treat his wounds with your blood, but do not make him drink. The only sacrament he has ever desired is that of Jesus. We will honor his wishes.”

  “Yes, m’lord.” A dip of his chin, and Marius bent to collect the frail priest.

  Moving quiet as a shadow, Renfield positioned himself at my elbow to silently await orders.

  “Gather our best men,” I growled, hands curling into fists of rage at my sides. “Follow Rau’s scent wherever it leads. I want my son brought home, now. Then, we will do what I should have long ago, and end Dorian Gray.”

  Lost in my own trance of violent intent, I almost missed it at first. So much time had passed since I last heard its rumblings, I stopped listening for them. In fact, since giving myself over to The Dragon and salting the earth with its essence, it silenced itself to me—its humble slave. All that changed in that pivotal moment, when from the darkest recesses of my mind came the unmistakable reverberation of its satanic chuckle.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Vinx

  Wedding Day

  “Have you heard from Carter?” Staring at my reflection in the full-length mirror, I smoothed my hands over the midsection of my wedding dress, patiently waiting while Micah fastened the long row of pearl buttons up the back. Soft silvery-white fabric pleated into cap sleeves at my shoulders. Cascades of silk traveled the length of me, hinting at the curves beneath with modest grace. A lace ribbon embellished with diamonds and pearls cinched the gown at my waist.

  Hands hovering between my shoulder blades, Mics paused to shoot me a dubious glance in the mirror. “Are you being ironic, or hoping for a miracle? Because from what I can tell endless training and hours of meditation have our boy no closer to perfecting his Jedi mind trick. For right now, we need to encourage him to keep his mouth shut. One slip up will literally cost him his life.”

  “I know,” I murmured, adjusting one of the pearled bobby pins that arranged my hair into a mass of loose curls falling to one side.

  Micah tugged at the bodice of my gown with a touch more force than necessary, demanding I meet her stare. “I’m serious, Vincenza. Whatever you think you need to hear from him, you need to let it—and him—go.”

  Wetting my lips, I shifted my gaze to my open-toe shoes. “I know. We need to keep our eye on the prize. Speaking of, did we ever get the RSVP back from Jeremy?”

  As the only women within my bubble, Mics and Elodie landed the coveted roles as my bridesmaids. Micah had already wiggled into the classic black strapless dress chosen for her. It was belted at the middle with an onyx pearl sash.

  “No, no word,” Brow furrowing, Mics resumed her buttoning duties. “That doesn’t mean he won’t show. Either way, this wedding helps us spin the narrative and show the world that we aren’t the monsters they think we are. We need that now more than ever.
”

  Fueled by her words, I straightened my spine and tried to find myself in the reflection of the soon-to-be queen peering back at me. “Don’t worry about me, coach. You’ve drilled the playbook into my head. I’m primed and ready to go.”

  Taking a step back, Micah eyed her completed task. “Good, because it’s time.” Seizing me by the shoulders, she spun me to face her. “Remember; meek and mild. You are the blushing bride completely enraptured by this man—this god—who is whisking you away to your happily ever after. Basically, you need to go full Markle.”

  I placed my hand over hers, and offered a comforting squeeze. “I’ve got this, Mics. Really. You don’t have to worry. I will be a delicate flower that radiates innocence and virtue. Then, tonight, we’ll lace a gallon of stag blood with rum and see how much we have to drink to achieve a buzz for even a fraction of a second. You know, like, true fuckin’ ladies.”

  Tip of her tongue nervously fiddling with the gold hoop in her lip, Micah yanked me into a crushing hug. “I love you, Vinx,” she muttered against my hair. “Whatever happens from here, I need you to know that.”

  “Hey,” I pulled back, forcing a brave face I wasn’t feeling, “none of that, now. You hear? If Jer shows up, the Court and magi are in place to keep Markus and Rutherford distracted long enough for us to get him to safety. They won’t want any kind of trouble. None of us do. Not when we all know the entire world is watching. We got this, Mics. Believe that.”

  In a perfect world, that might even have been true.

  Chapter Thirty

  Vlad

  Sixteen torturous days.

  That’s how long it took my men to track down Rau.

  All those agonizingly long hours dragged by without answers. I couldn’t bring myself to eat. The mere thought of blood made my gut churn in angry knots. Sleep, that elusive mistress, escaped me. Chased away by thoughts I couldn’t quiet. Every time my eyes drifted shut, images flashed behind my lids of Rau’s body rotting in a shallow grave, or my precious boy forced into servitude under Dorian’s domain. Extreme exhaustion brought on the bleeds. Keeping a handkerchief clutched in my fist, I dabbed at the inky black gore oozing from my ears. Even that physical anguish could not match the emotional turmoil of not knowing.

  I thought nothing could be worse.

  I was … so very wrong.

  Knowledge crashed through my castle doors, bouncing them on their hinges.

  Renfield and Marius dragged a nightmarish version of my son into the foyer, their words spiraling down my pit of despair.

  “Found him in England, m’lord. Whoever sired him abandoned him there before he turned. I would wager that to be out of fear of your wrath.”

  “When he awoke, ravenous, he had no one to teach him of the delicacy required to feed without harm. He gave into his hunger, and lost himself to bloodlust.”

  So focused was I on searching for traces of my son in the beast before me, that I barely heard either of them. Fangs bared, he gnashed his teeth with frothy spit foaming on his lips. Head whipping from side to side, he searched for something—anything—to sink his teeth into. Dried blood caked his clothing. His pupils dilated with crazed desire.

  “We will dry him out, and train him to the proper ways. It will be agonizing for him, but it will pass if—”

  I held up one hand to halt Renfield’s preparations. “Where did you find him?”

  The two exchanged matching looks of compassionate hesitation.

  “It should matter not, Lord,” Marius’s tone betrayed him by wavering. “The lad has been returned to you!”

  In a blink, my eyes transformed into gleaming rubies of death and mayhem. “The blood on him smells young, and unsoiled by this world. You can tell me the truth, or I can drain you both and see for myself. The choice is yours.”

  Brow pinched with fright, Marius glanced to Renfield in search of guidance.

  Squaring his shoulders, Renfield met my stare with the stony chill of hard fact. “The alley his sire deserted him in was right next to …” to my extreme surprise, even my most steadfast soldier stumbled over the words. “Whoever it was, abandoned him in an alley beside … an orphanage.”

  Ears ringing, my mind and body went numb. “How many?”

  Renfield cast his stare to the floor, seemingly choking on the number. “All of them. Babies, children, and the nuns tending to them. He spared … no one.”

  Slowly, I dragged my gaze to the frothing, writhing version of my boy. The innocent babe I watched grow from boy to man had vanished, replaced by yet another blood-crazed fiend.

  This was what I did to him.

  This was what I unleashed on the world.

  Stumbling back, I turned and caught myself with a hand on the wall.

  “Sire?” Marius called after me. “What shall we do with your son?”

  “He’s not my son,” Pushing off the blockade of stone, I dragged leaden feet forward in a trudge toward the rear of the castle. “My son … is dead.”

  Hope was lost.

  No good remained in this world.

  Not anymore.

  Everything I fought for, everything I held dear … was gone.

  All that remained was the rash of death and violence I unleashed.

  As I created it, perhaps with my death it could be contained.

  In the farthest wing of the castle lay the Dracul mausoleum. When each new heir was born, a place was reserved for them amongst the marble tombs. My own, a floor level crypt along the outer perimeter, taunted me since the day I was able to read my own name carved into the stone plate mounted on it. Curling my fingers into the edge of the stone slab lid, I pried it open. The inside was a void of nothingness, a fitting prison to match my hollowed soul.

  Stepping one foot inside, a voice intervened from the threshold. “M’lord? What can I do? How may I serve thee?” The quake in Renfield’s tone matched that of a dejected child.

  “Seal me away,” I peered his way with great regret, hating myself more still for dragging a man of God into my condemning curse. “Bury this tomb deep, with a mountainous pile of stone on top. Let me die a slow death, haunted every day by all I have wrought. I pray that the vampire infliction will die with me, and your soul will be free from damnation.”

  “Lord Vlad, no! Our kind are still capable of good! Believe in us! Let us prove it to you! Father, please!”

  Climbing inside, I slid the lid shut on Renfield’s desperate pleas. I ignited a blaze of demonic flame scorching its way across the land with ravenous intent. If I accomplished nothing else, let my absence snuff it out.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Vinx

  Wedding Day

  “When your exquisite maid of honor reaches the halfway point, the music will switch to Canon in D. That will be your cue to begin your promenade into wedded bliss. Oh! You need your flowers!” With a theatrical twirl, the wedding planner, Dot, retrieved my bouquet. Her hair was a coiffed lavender cloud that defied gravity. Sparkling pink gems bejeweled the cat-framed glasses slipping down her nose. Dot gasped in melodramatic awe, holding up the flowers as if wielding Excalibur. “Three flawless white roses set against olive branches as a symbol of the peace the Nosferatu people long for. It’s simplistic perfection.”

  Cradling the blooms in both hands, she delicately passed them to me.

  “Thank you,” Unable to match her level of awe over … flowers, I forced a tight smile that quickly morphed into a wince when my hand closed around the bouquet’s handle. “Ow! Shit.”

  Face folding into a mask of horror, Dot snapped a handkerchief from her pocket quick enough to impress a matador, ready to protect my gown in an instant. “Oh, goodness! Was there a thorn? I’ve worked with this florist before, she usually takes such care!”

  Shifting the flowers to my left hand, I inspected the bothersome wound. On the tip of my i
ndex finger, I watched the tiny pin prick heal closed. Turning the bouquet handle, I found the culprit. Hidden within the white silk ribbon decorating the flower stalks, protruded a tiny silver needle. At a casual glance it may have seemed one of the pearl-topped corsage pins holding the ribbon in place simply broke. I knew in an instant that wasn’t the case. A burn began at the sight of the wound, scorching up my arm.

  I didn’t have to guess what it was.

  My nostrils twitched at the alluring scent of Dot’s musty, old lady blood.

  Mouth filling with saliva, my fangs ached to stretch free.

  Artificial sulfur.

  Someone drugged me.

  Chin to my chest, I fought to maintain a clear head with Dot’s pulse beckoning to me. “Who … else handled the … flowers?”

  Dot’s fake lashes appeared three times larger behind her thick lenses. “I couldn’t begin to say, darling. Are you displeased? Is there anything I could add, or take away to make them better suit your—”

  “No!” I snapped, recoiling as she reached for them. “They’re lovely. Just wondering … who all I should thank for … each aspect of the wedding?”

  “Everyone from the caterers to Lord Draculesti himself have been through here. Are you okay, doll? You’re suddenly pale and … shiny.” Pulling a makeup puff from ... somewhere behind her, Dot came at me ready to blot.

  Wanting nothing more than latch onto her throat and drain her dry in a vicious flurry, I held up one finger to halt her. “Nope. We’re going for a glowy look today. What’s that? Huh, the music changed. Guess that’s my cue.”

  Before Dot could argue further, I held my head high and began my long walk down the aisle. Truth be told, I couldn’t say if the shift in music was my prompt or not. No one bothered to check if the bride actually knew Canon in D from Gangnam Style.

  Which she did not.

  All I wanted was space to remind myself that I wasn’t fully vampire. That the differences in my genetic makeup made me strong enough to fight passed the pull of the artificial sulfur with my composure somewhat intact. Granted, a ballroom packed to capacity wasn’t the best place to test that theory. But, escapism seeks the next distraction, not logical alternatives.