by Sophia North
Their attractive server soon returned with the bottle of scotch. Effectively reading the situation between the two 'men', she placed it, along with the two glasses, down on the table and left without saying another word.
Free from further interruption, Gabriel asked: "I'm still awaiting your answer, Grand Elder? Why have you summoned me?"
Alessio smiled ruefully. "I need both sides of the coin. As my soon-to-be appointed Consul Militaris, I need you to take control of all vamp forces and command them in our war against Haan's followers. And as my Oath-fulfiller, to locate my sons and return them to me."
Gabriel took a sharp breath. "Sons? So the rumours are true. You are Darius Winters' father. Or should I call him Haan, as it is he who resides inside your son? I take it you did not know of Darius's existence."
"I had no idea," Alessio replied with a sigh. "And even now, cannot fathom how it happened. But you recall my wild ways when the Empire first shifted to London. It must have been during that time that I...sired him."
"You seem sure that you are his father. And yet, if you have no clear idea how it happened, why are you so convinced it's true?"
"Wilhalf confirmed it to me."
"He has returned to the good graces of Lowerton?" Gabe asked, surprised his sources were unaware of this fact. The Vamp world had been on fire with speculation that the ancient one was vampyre non grata with the Lowerton establishment.
"In a manner of speaking. He and I catch-up from time to time, under the radar. At the moment he is searching for his sister, Mariam. She has taken Darius, but no one knows where."
"And my involvement on the matter would be helpful, how?" Gabe queried. "Surely Wilhalf is capable of finding this sister of his and your son, Darius."
Alessio sighed. How could he express his reservations about Wilhalf's involvement without sounding like a paranoid Hamlet? The matter required delicate wording.
"I have no doubt in Wilhalf's ability to find them, but would prefer to control the situation myself. Wilhalf's secrecy over Mariam's existence has me wondering what else he hasn't revealed. Also...the matter...is personal, Gabriel."
Gabe considered Alessio's words carefully. "You set me a nigh on impossible task, Grand Elder. Let's have the gods decide my answer," he decided. Flipping his Marker into the air, he slammed it down on the table and slid it towards Alessio, his hand still covering it from view.
Slowly, he peeled back his hand to reveal the double-headed god, Janus, on the Marker's tarnished gold surface. The symbol of his family's bloodline.
"The gods have spoken, I shall fulfil both duties," Gabe declared gravely, cursing his luck that Janus had turned up. Fortuna had had it in for him since the 1880s when he rose again and refused to do his duty. But he'd hoped she may have forgiven him by now and let him off the hook. "However, to do so will require the assistance of my Prefects. Do you grant me permission to utilise them in the search for your sons?"
Alessio nodded. "Of course, I expected the request. I need you by my side in Lowerton and cannot have you off globetrotting. First on the agenda will be to remove the current Council of Elders, what is left of them that is, and install a new Privy Council answerable only to me. It is time to clean house and take control properly."
Gabe did not like the thought of being pulled into the spotlight. Knowledge of the Praetorian Guard had drifted from the collective vampyre memory. Now they were merely seen as an old legend, if even that. But duty could not be shirked and required him to step up to the wicket and take whatever was bowled at him, as they would say in that strange sport humans called cricket.
"Alessio?" a male voice questioned, interrupting the vamps conversation.
"Horatio!" he replied warmly. "What a surprise. I would not have expected to find you here...oh, hello there...and who might you be?" Alessio asked, noticing Horatio's companion. At his old friend's side stood a beautiful young woman, impeccably dressed in a business suit, her long black hair pulled back into a smooth, chic ponytail. If not for her conservative attire, one might have been forgiven for casting an unsavoury conclusion over the Spring/Winter pair being in a hotel bar together.
"Forgive me, allow me to introduce Hannah Woodville. Hannah, this is an old friend of mine, Alessio Polidori and...oh, my. It would appear we are both entertaining this evening, friend. And you are..."
"Gabriel Rosetti," Gabe answered smoothly. But he only had eyes for Hannah. Now here was a conquest worthy of his attention. The woman intoxicated his senses with her prim and proper appearance, but it was her beauty, without even a hint of artifice, that attracted him most.
Hannah's heart pounded as the incredibly handsome raven-haired Gabriel ran his predatory gaze up and down the length of her. She should have been offended by his blatant appraisal but wasn't. Instead it stirred something deep within she could not quite name...or perhaps she didn't want to, for it came from her more sensual nature. A nature she kept tightly locked away.
"Pleased to make your acquaintances," Hannah replied in a low tone, hoping her reaction to the handsome stranger could not be detected.
Reading the young beauty's thoughts about him, Gabriel grinned roguishly, making him even more devastatingly handsome.
Shocked by how much his presence was affecting her, Hannah flushed and looked away.
"The hour grows late, gentlemen. And I am not the young man I once was, so I shall bid you both a pleasant evening," Horatio announced. "Come Hannah, I will see you to a hackney."
Grateful for the out, she quickly followed his lead. "Thank you, Horatio. Gentleman, enjoy your evening."
Gabriel admired the graceful way the young beauty's hips swayed as she departed the bar. Hannah Woodville, he thought, we will meet again. Soon.
Chapter Three
SHE WAS TRAPPED. EACH door she tried would not open.
"Hannah," the man called. "There is no escape."
The scrape of metal along stone.
He was coming for her.
Panicked, Hannah raced down a stone hallway, her feet bare. She was clothed in nothing but a flimsy silk nightgown.
"You are mine, Hannah. You are mine."
THE LIBRARY DOOR banged open, jolting Hannah from her dream. Disoriented by such a rude awakening, she blinked a few times to bring the room into focus. She was lying with her head on an open book, her glasses slightly skewed at the tip of her nose, which gave the room a half-in, half-out sort of clarity.
"Hannah, I'm home!" her youngest sister, Rebeka announced gaily. "God's truth," she continued, completely oblivious to the fright she'd just visited upon her eldest sister. "It's like a tomb in here. Let the sunshine in, I say."
The swish of curtains moving swiftly upon their tracks was followed by a glorious, voluminous stream of light. Hannah squinted at the glare.
Gingerly rising from her slumped position, Hannah straightened her glasses and stretched. Good lord, what time was it? The last thing she remembered was reading about a recent Viking dig on the island of St. Hilda's that contained a treasure trove of Bronze Age artefacts. She'd been reading into the early hours, of that she was quite certain, and she'd only meant to put her head down for a minute before heading up to bed. So, it was anyone's guess as to the hour.
"It's nigh on three in the afternoon, sister of mine. I swear, leave you alone for more than a week and you turn full-on night owl," Rebeka declared, rustling about the room with her usual exuberant chit-chat. "When was the last time you let Mrs. Craddock in here to tidy up? Don't tell me, I can count the coffee cups. Honestly, you have Maltby wrapped around your little finger. He'd never allow me to get away with half the things you do."
"Lady Rebeka, if your worst bending of the rules extended only to the act of rigorous study resulting in a period of intense seclusion, we'd all turn a blind eye," intoned the long-serving and greatly cherished Woodville butler, Samuel Maltby.
Impeccably dressed in a dark grey suit, the silver-haired sixty year old stood in the library doorway with a silver serving tray in his hands. His brig
ht golden eyes twinkled with undisguised humour. "Good afternoon, Lady Hannah. Please be aware, your sister, Lady Rebeka has returned from the Peruvian jungle with a curious notion."
"Maltby! You mustn't spoil the surprise."
"You needn't fret, my dear. I was merely preparing her. I would not dream of 'stealing your thunder' or whatever the youth these days call it."
Maltby set the silver tray down with a fresh pot of coffee on the large mahogany desk where Hannah's research was spread out. For a generation obsessed with a paperless society, Hannah's love of books and papers certainly bucked the trend.
Pouring the steaming brew into a cup, Maltby handed it, along with the traditional saucer, to Hannah before pouring himself a cup and taking a seat in a comfortable leather chair. "I'll refrain from pouring you one, Lady Rebeka. I fear the added caffeine may heighten your already overloaded senses."
Hannah watched the unfolding comedy with interest. The last time one of Rebeka's 'notions' had resulted in Maltby having to sit down involved turning their family seat's grounds into a mini-Glastonbury festival. She was thirteen and convinced her generation were unable to properly express themselves without the requisite display of loud music.
The horror Maltby displayed at the idea had necessitated her parents arranging a family tour of Assyrian ruins for a month. Their stalwart steward needed the time to recover from the mere whiff of the thought. Thankfully, Rebeka promptly moved onto her next cause, which did not require an invasion of festival-goers to the three hundred year old Woodville family sanctuary.
With almost ten years separating the two sisters, anyone meeting the pair would marvel at their being siblings. Hannah preferred a quieter, more studious life. Whereas Rebeka rushed headlong wherever her feelings lead her. Their middle sister, Abigail, was the only one who seemed able to strike the right balance compared to the pendulum ended sisters. But she was currently working at Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston and sadly absent from the household.
The smell of rich coffee helped clear the cobwebs from Hannah's slowly sparking to life brain function. "Rebeka, you have returned rather soon. I was under the impression you were in the throes of an existential crisis after Marvin Pettiford's scandalous article."
"Bollocks to him," Rebeka snapped, splashing herself a cup of coffee in defiance to Maltby's cautionary comment. She'd been awake for a good thirty-six hours after travelling back from Peru and was firmly in the 'so tired but too excited to sleep' spectrum. "Lissa Grangeville, Diana Montague and I have formulated a plan to wipe the smirk from Mr. Pettiness's column."
Hannah grimaced behind her cup. Any plan involving those two was never a sound one. But there was no avoiding it, the question had to be asked. "And what would that be, Poppet?" she asked, earning a glare from her little sister for the use of her childish family pet name.
"We are going to bring back the proper London Season for those less fortunate and prove our lives are not all that different!"
Sweet lord save me, Hannah silently prayed. Her sister couldn't be serious. Had she no concept of the mood of the nation? The point of the Telegraph article was to expose her sister's naivety over her privileged position and warped ideological stance on social issues. Thank you social media.
Maltby remained stone silent. His only reaction to Rebeka's outrageous proposal was to remove a silver flask from his coat pocket and pour a liberal amount into his cup of coffee. Tipping it in Hannah's direction, she had to hold back a burst of laughter whilst shaking her head 'no'.
"There is no proper London Season to resurrect, Rebeka," Hannah tried to reason but her sister was having none of it.
"Untrue. The traditional summer events still take place every year and Lissa did some research and says there is a group who hold a Queen Charlotte Ball to emulate being 'presented' at Court. They curtsey to a cake, who represents the Queen, and everything."
Had Hannah been this insane at twenty-two? Granted she'd insisted on having an old school Grand Tour after completing her first Cambridge degree, but that was a far cry from Rebeka's desire to reinstate the London Season after graduation. Her sister really needed to find her next challenge in life. And her current one wasn't it.
"I'm surprised by your reaction, Hannah," Rebeka berated. "Tradition and convention is usually your bread and butter, not mine. I thought you'd be pleased I was embracing my ancestry."
Hannah sighed. Were her parents playing a game with her? Rile their youngest child in order to drive her from their dig and send her back home for Hannah to deal with? Most unsporting of them, should that prove to be the case. But when one doesn't leave the family nest, such were the consequences. Time to ring the Estate Agent again, otherwise Hannah would continue to be left wide-open to such parental chess moves.
"Rebeka, you need to sleep. I'm sure once you get some rest we can discuss your plans rationally."
"You sound like father. I am not a child, you know. If I want to do something I do not require anyone's permission. I'm my own woman."
What with a generous quarterly allowance and a household full of servants to see to her every need, 'own woman' indeed. Yet, the hypocrisy of her musings were not lost on Hannah, considering her own still at home living arrangement.
"Very well, my apologies for implying otherwise," Hannah returned, bored of the confrontation. She was not her sister's keeper. "This woman needs to shower and head to work. The museum is open late tonight and I have a dinner engagement afterwards."
Rebeka dialled back her militant stance. "Are you dining with Pierce? I rather like him, 'tis refreshing to have an American point of view in the family. I know Mummy would be offended to be stripped of her status as the only American in the family, but let's face it, she's more British than the Queen now," she jested, attempting to ease the tension with her older sister.
Pierce Nelson-Aldrich III was Hannah's boyfriend. They'd been dating one another for the last three years. But it was a long-distance relationship. Pierce worked on Wall Street, with long spells in London at his fund's City offices. From old Bostonian money, the two had met at a museum function, and following a three month courtship by a persistent Pierce, they finally started seeing each other.
He was a perfect match for Hannah in many ways. Yet, in the past three months since his return to England, she sensed he wanted to take their relationship to the next level. And she wasn't sure if she wanted it to go there. Another complication to add to her increasingly complicated life.
Marriage and family were not permitted by full Ophanim Order members. At the moment, she had still not committed herself completely to taking its vows, unsure if it was truly what she wanted for her future. She was heir to her family's legacy and whilst she had no doubt of her parents' support to do as she pleased, duty weighed heavily upon her shoulders.
"Not tonight,' Hannah answered. "I am meeting an old friend from Godolphin's."
Chapter Four
"THAT WENT SURPRISINGLY well," Gabriel drawled, joining Alessio at the long oak table in the centre of the Starr Chamber. They had just been in the coliseum to declare Lowerton officially under Alessio's absolute rule. The Council of Elders had been dissolved immediately, which was no great hardship. Only three of the six positions on council were still sitting. But with the immediate arrests of Elders Mathers and Walpole, that had left one Elder standing.
Yet, by far the greatest reaction from the vamps present had been the confirmation of the legendary Praetorian Guard's existence. When Alessio had announced Gabriel's identity and rank as Consul Militaris, the chamber had gone deadly silent. Not a whisper, nor a movement, could be heard.
For the truth was, no one knew what to make of it. Half had never even heard of the Guard, whilst the other half who did, struggled to recall exactly what Praetors were capable of - but knew whatever their powers, they were not to be trifled with.
"I don't expect the stunned silence to last long," Alessio replied, sliding into the chair at the head of the table. "My one year anniversary
of rule is but a few weeks away and I think it is fair to say it's been littered with one misjudgement after another on my part."
Gabriel wasn't going to disagree. Alessio had most definitely fucked up. But at the same time, ruling Lowerton during such a time of upheaval would be a test for even the most skilled ruler. From what little he'd been able to put together thus far, Gabe was surprised Alessio had waited so long to summon him. He should have declared his position as Rex Absoluta from day one. And he never should have chosen such a weak council. It had not been a time for unity through diverse representation, but rather an iron fist with only one voice calling the state of play.
"On the bright side," Gabriel offered. "It didn't take a full-on coup attempt for you to come to your senses."
Alessio laughed. "Cheers for the vote of confidence."
A gentle rap at the chamber door interrupted their moment of humour.
"Enter!" Alessio boomed.
The door opened to reveal a very attractive brunette in black leather. "My apologies for disturbing you, Rex Alessio. But there are a couple of arrogant bastards out here insisting they've been invited to a meeting with you."
"Yes, we've been expecting them. Thank you, Roxy...er, Page Malloy. That will be all," Alessio replied officiously.
Gabe watched the vamp's reaction to the attractive "Page" with interest. Although barely perceptible, he had seen Alessio's eyes light up slightly at seeing her. Not that he blamed him for being drawn, Roxy was quite beautiful. Although far too worldly for Gabriel's tastes. There was nothing innocent about her.
Into the chamber strode Gabe's two most trusted Praetors, Lash and Malachai, his Prefects.
"Does this mean I have to call you Consul Cunt now?" Lash asked, a wide grin across his handsome face, his Romany blood unable to resist bucking authority. "Because, if so, I am all for it. Much better alliteration options than Legatus ."
Pulling back a chair, he sprawled out and crossed his arms over his stomach. "Or, are my words considered even more insubordinate now that you've been promoted?"
