by J. D. Brown
Instead, I spread my essence thin over the room. Brinnon’s location was easily discovered. He stood before a full-length mirror, admiring himself the way my cock jumped to admire his firm arse. When I could detect no one else in the room with him, I lowered to my feet, directly behind his broad shoulders and strong backside. I solidified my hands and slid my palms over his eyes.
“Guess who,” I whispered while leading him gently away from the mirror. A sharp gasp expanded his lungs as my physical form completed its shape. His back pressed firmly against my chest. The heat between us penetrated his silk shirt and my cotton knit sweater. It singed straight through to my heart, and I pressed against him in turn, letting him feel the tent in my trousers.
“Val.” Brinnon turned within the circle of my arms. His golden eyes found mine, and he smiled. He smelled of soap and wore black. Black socks, black shoes, black trousers, black dress shirt with the buttons not yet fastened. His ivory chest was amazing. Rock solid and so defined, I could count each individual muscle. I ran my fingers through the coarse black hair over his pectorals, then cupped his boyish jaw and kissed his supple lips. He tasted warm and sweet. The urge to shag him mounted with each breathless moment.
Brinnon deepened the kiss, burning me all the way to my soul. He pulled away for a breath, sooner than I would have liked. I pressed my forehead to his and touched the tip of his nose with mine. “We have time for a quick shag. Don’t say no.”
He chuckled. “I have a eulogy to deliver. You know that.”
“But I want you.” I slid a hand under his open shirt and skimmed his nipple, pressing my lips to his neck. “I need you.”
“Selfish,” he murmured. His head tilted to the side, giving me purchase as I left a trail of kisses along his collar bone. “I’m supposed to be downstairs.”
“No one’ll start the party without you, love.” I covered his lips with mine and kissed him. Tasted him. Stole from him. Brinnon was right, I was selfish. Tomorrow he would be crowned king and then he’d forget about me. He had to. Kings were obligated to procreate. There would be no room for me between running a clan and running a family.
I’d learned that lesson long ago.
But for now... for now...
I hooked my fingers in his belt loops and pulled his hips against mine. His arousal pressed against my thigh, heat pooling with my own erection. The need to tear his clothes from his body and feel skin on skin was a pain so good, I thought I would burst. I pushed his shirt from his shoulders. He shimmied out of it, letting it fall away, and then clawed at my trouser button. We stripped each other nude in a rush of jittery hands and urgent lips. He pushed me onto the bed, his gaze feral. I couldn’t help grinning in triumph as he stalked backward toward the door. His lithe body was the picture definition of male perfection; every muscle carved from smooth stone, every calculated step a testimony to his strength. His eyes, like liquid gold, entombed mine. He was definitely the most beautiful of my lovers.
With a mischievous smile, Brinnon reached behind him and turned the lock.
CHAPTER 2
I pulled a black cardigan over my cotton tank top. A dark peasant skirt brushed my heels, keeping the philosopher’s stone hidden. Mom massaged her knuckles and yawned. She stood near the mantle, where she lit a cluster of white pillar candles, and glanced at my reflection in the vanity mirror.
“Oh honey, you really ought to wear the pink dress. Black makes you look so pale.”
I lifted a hand to shade my eyes before turning to glare at her. Mom had gathered every candle in the castle and piled them all into my room—where she insisted on staying despite the perfectly empty guest rooms across the hall. Wax of every color and size lined the mantle, the sitting table, the bookshelves, and the bathroom sink. And every single wick was ablaze. The castle didn’t have windows. The rooms had electrical outlets, but no lamps. I knew Mom couldn’t see well in the dark, but I could hardly see anything through so much light.
To make matters worse, everyone had been right; the Romani essence stank. Mom smelled like wet dog or roadkill. She showered regularly and wore perfume, but that only seemed to make it worse. I didn’t know how to tell her, so I just dealt with it.
“It’s a funeral, Mama. I can’t wear pink.” I faced the mirror and pulled my fingers through my hair.
She pursed her lips and brushed a few strands of gray-black hair behind her ear. “You need to get more sunshine. You look ill.”
I glared at her reflection, but bit back the urge to tell her exactly why I wouldn’t be tanning any time soon. I hadn’t figured out yet if Mom knew vampyres existed, or that I had become one. Sometimes it seemed like she did. She had acted wary around Bridget when we found her with Dad and Anthony in Apollyon’s lair in Panama. She refused to speak to anyone in the castle and—aside from taking all the candles—refused to leave my room. But none of that was unusual for Mom. She’d always been something of a stuck-up recluse. The first time I met Jesu, Maria, and Jalmari, I had no idea they were anything other than human. That I was anything other than human. The mind believed what it wanted.
Also, the R.E.D. had strict rules against spoiling the secret. I broke those rules once already. I couldn’t afford to break them again.
“I’m just saying. Sickly isn’t attractive.” She muttered the last part under her breath, but with supernatural hearing and all... I turned too quickly to respond, and blinding orange candlelight blazed across my vision. I sucked in a sharp breath and threw an arm over my eyes.
“Honestly, Mama, must you use every candle? My retinas are melting.” I marched into the dressing nook to get away from the harsh light, and pressed my spine against the wall that separated the nook from my bedroom. With a sigh, I let my head roll back against the cream-colored wallpaper and glanced at the stucco ceiling.
Mom never asked what happened—how I disappeared from Chicago and ended up halfway across the globe in Berlin, or how she ended up in a cage in Panama with my father and ex-boyfriend. She didn’t ask who Jesu, Maria, or any of the others were, or when we’d go home. But she criticized the castle. The lack of electricity and heat. She criticized my clothes, my hair, my skin. It was like the last six months apart never happened. Worst of all, I was glad she didn’t ask questions. I didn’t know how to talk about it.
I pushed away from the wall and took a deep breath. My toes curled against the marble floor. The gentle scrape of the silver bracelet around my ankle served as a constant reminder of why I was attending a funeral today—of what I had done, how I had failed.
I need shoes.
The dressing nook looked like a sitting area in an upscale fashion boutique, complete with a pink and white loveseat, a full-length mirror, and a doublewide armoire. I opened the armoire and selected a pair of black ballet flats. I slipped them on as a knock sounded at the bedroom door.
“Come in,” I called out, already knowing who stood on the other side. Jesu’s spring rain scent reached me before his knuckles even touched the wood. Since Mom moved in, he stopped using our shared bathroom as an entrance.
I exited the nook to find him standing in the open door frame. A suit and tie wrapped his tall, lean frame in black cashmere. His long raven hair formed a sleek ponytail at the nape of his neck. The tailored jacket added a touch of extra width to his shoulders and the crisp clean-cut lines tapered handsomely into his narrow hips. I released a slow breath.
Be still, my heart.
His left cheek dimpled as he offered a polite smile to my mother. “Mrs. Marx.”
She arched one eyebrow then turned away while kneading her hands together. I rolled my eyes. Even though Jesu and I weren’t an item, I still hoped she would like him. We were still friends, after all. But Mom didn’t like anyone with a pulse.
Jesu didn’t seem bothered by her behavior. He looked at me and his dimple deepened. “Ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
He offered his arm, and I hooked my hand through the crook of his elbow. I could prac
tically hear steam blowing from Mom’s ears as Jesu led me into the hall and I closed the bedroom door behind us. She hated being alone, but I really didn’t care. If I had to listen to one more word of criticism, I would lose my mind.
Three Alpan soldiers guarded the corridor; one for each human that occupied the guest wing. Tancred, King Nikolas’ Second in Command—now Prince Brinnon’s Second in Command—ordered them to keep my family in their rooms for the duration of the funeral and the following coronation. It was for their own safety since Alpan guests had been arriving all day. The der Wölfe’s family and friends were assigned lodging in other parts of the castle, but Tancred wasn’t the type to take risks. I appreciated it. His tact meant less for me to worry about.
The service took place outside, behind the castle grounds, near the edge of the woods. A thicket of lush, summer greenery stretched all the way to the horizon. Starlight sparkled across a clear sapphire sky. Yet, the valley and everyone in it stood in stark shadow cast by the monstrous stone walls of the palace as it rose from the hilltop behind us.
I thought my doctor appointment would make us late to the service, but it hadn’t started yet. Jesu weaved through the waiting congregation to a spot near the front. Maria stood nearby. She grinned at us then continued her conversation with a man I didn’t recognize. Tancred and Queen Cecelia stood near a pyre, where the late King Nikolas rested. White linen enveloped the corpse, but it did nothing to obscure his silhouette. The strong arch of his nose and the hard lines of his jaw caused a knot to form in the pit of my stomach. Rudo, the Queen’s personal servant, stood behind his sovereign, his gaze downcast. Princess Sara stood with them too. She wore her hair down and it hid most of her features as she bowed her head; a curtain of black silk that brushed her sharp collar bones and angular shoulders. My heart ached for them.
Nikolas had a very large family. There were easily two-hundred vampyres in attendance, and all four-hundred eyes seemed to be staring at me. Conversation buzzed like a chorus of cicadas. Though I didn’t understand German, I was positive my livelihood was the hot topic. Their king—their beloved father, uncle, and brother—was dead because of me. I lowered my gaze and drew a deep breath.
It’ll all be over soon.
But what then? What would happen to the contract?
A hand brushed along my back and gripped my shoulder. I lifted my gaze to find Jesu’s glimmering green eyes fixated on mine. A wrinkle etched his brow. “Are you all right?”
I looked at the others and sighed. “Shouldn’t you be asking everyone else?”
“They will be okay,” he murmured. “They have each other.”
“Speaking of which, is everyone here related to Nikolas?”
“No.” Jesu let his hand fall away as he scanned the crowed. “Some of the guests are Council members. Some are just colleagues.”
“But most of them are family, aren’t they?”
He nodded. “Aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandchildren.”
The grandkids were hard to miss. They looked like teenagers, but their postures were perfect, their clothes conservative. They shook hands and engaged in polite conversation. No cellphones. No video games. No eye rolling. I bet there wasn’t a single child present under the age of fifty. The aging process slowed to a snail crawl once a vampyre reached puberty. I never gave it much thought before, but it suddenly seemed very strange. Did they get married and start families with their bodies still so young and underdeveloped? I filed the question away for later.
I was about to tell Jesu that we ought to give Cecelia our condolences when I caught sight of someone in my periphery. Her athletic frame stood poised in a short, black tube dress and thigh-high boots, loose hair cascaded down her back. She noticed me staring, and her rust-orange gaze narrowed. I touched Jesu’s arm.
“What’s Bridget doing here?”
Jesu turned to follow my line of sight, but Bridget had already disappeared through the crowed. She was supposed to be a prisoner locked up in the holding center until Brinnon could question her as king.
“She got a pardon to attend the funeral.”
I scoffed. “Who would be that generous?”
Jesu cleared his throat. “I would.”
“You?” My brows rose in surprise. “But why?”
He looked toward the crowed and shrugged. “Bridget was always loyal to Nikolas. I do not believe she meant for this to happen. I convinced the Queen to let her atone for her mistakes.”
Do you forgive her?
I bit my lip and glanced away while locking the question deep inside. It wasn’t fair of me to ask. Bridget had put all of us in jeopardy when she practically handed Apollyon’s ring to him in Panama. Nikolas might not be dead right now if she hadn’t intervened. No—Nikolas’ death is my fault. I should have acted sooner.
I didn’t hate Bridget for interfering. At least not nearly as much as I hated her history with Jesu. But I had no right. Not after I had set him free.
The faint scent of sugar with a bitter note, like cocoa, triggered a sharp reaction in my gut, but a hush fell over the congregation before I could give it another thought.
The guests parted down the middle, clearing a path as Prince Brinnon rushed to his mother’s side. Cecelia narrowed her gaze at her son, and a pale pink flush bloomed over his cheeks. He ran his hands down the front of his crumpled shirt and mouthed a silent, “What?”
Tancred stepped onto a low platform and cleared his throat, signaling the beginning of the sermon. He stood straight, shoulders squared, hands behind his back. His eloquent German baritone flowed over the guests. Every solemn word, every downward glance, every feather of tension along his jaw when he paused denoted the deep love for his former king. I wished I could understand the speech, but I did not miss the power of his grief. Loss, after all, was a feeling that transcended nations.
Tancred uttered something that altered the grim ambience, and suddenly all eyes were on me. My cheeks burned as I took an automatic step back. Jesu leaned in to whisper.
“He is telling everyone how bravely you fought in Panama. How you defeated Apollyon and saved the kingdom.”
“You speak German?” I suspected he did, but never confirmed it before now.
“A little,” he admitted.
I wanted to ask when he’d learned, but memories of that horrible night—of the battle in the tin building in the jungle—slammed to the front of my mind. The fighting itself was a blur of swords and fangs; snakes and venom; the screams of the dying. The only part I remembered with perfect clarity was the end, when I tricked Valafar into using his powers to put everyone into a deep sleep, and then siphoned Apollyon’s essence with my philosophers’ stone. I wouldn’t call defeating someone while they were asleep brave. Worse, I hadn’t acted until after Apollyon struck Nikolas dead. I was too scared. I’d hesitated.
If I was really brave, Nikolas would still be alive.
Jesu touched the top of my hand, and my thoughts returned to the present. Tancred stepped down from the dais, and Brinnon took his place. The crowd faced forward, my crimes forgotten for a moment, as they gave their undivided attention to their future king.
The Prince scanned the audience and his cheeks bloomed crimson. Poor Brinnon. I couldn’t imagine what he must be going through. Everyone would mourn Nikolas, but only the Crown Prince would suffer the weight of his father’s legacy. Brinnon’s wide frame, liquid gold eyes, and strong chin looked so much like his father’s, it hurt. He tugged on his jacket, smoothing out the lines, and then took a deep breath. His speech was rushed. Clumped together like one long, breathy word. When he finished, he dabbed his brow with a handkerchief and stepped off the platform.
That scent, like cocoa, found its way to my nose again. I inhaled. The oddest sense of urgency tingled just beneath my skin, but I couldn’t place it. Someone needs better cologne.
Dismissing the scent, I watched as a woman mounted the platform and sang. Her voice was beautiful, but her appearance struck me as odd. She had the tell
tale yellow-gold irises of the der Wölfe family, but her shoulder-length waves were the color of corn instead of the usual vampyre brunette. Her skin glowed bronze instead of ivory, and her teeth were square—like a human.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“Princess Auda,” Jesu answered. “Brinnon’s eldest sister.”
“But, she looks so...”
“Hair bleach and a spray-on tan. She had her teeth filed down as well. Last I heard she was an Argentinian pop star.”
My brow shot upward. “Isn’t that against the rules?”
Jesu nodded. “Very. Her agent works for the R.E.D.”
“Well, I can respect a woman that fights for a career.”
“Careful,” Jesu warned. “Her fangs might be flat, but her bite is quite nasty.”
The song ended, and Brinnon returned to the dais with a torch. He hesitated a moment, his gaze wide with the glow of the blazing flame, and then touched the fire to the wood of the pyre. I turned away, unable to watch the body burn. After a few minutes, the crowd began to thin. Maria came to my side and stood with us. Jesu took a step closer to me and leaned in.
“When are you going to tell Brinnon?”
I knew he was referring to the status of my womb. “After the coronation,” I promised. “When things settle down.”
“You mean after the entire royal family signs the contract.”
I gave him a wary glance. Despite his past insistence that he understood my reasons, the contract was still a sore topic for Jesu. “It’s going to happen, Jesu. I’m not taking it back.” Or at least I hoped it would still happen. Nikolas was supposed to bring his family around to the idea, but now...
“Have you told your parents?”
“Are you kidding me? Have you met my parents?” My voice raised an octave, and a few lurkers who were still saying their goodbyes turned to stare at me. I mouthed a silent, “Sorry.”
Maria nodded in agreement. “You should talk to them, darling.”
