“It’s the ‘Blood Day Masquerade,’ essentially,” Lucian adds. “One court captures or procures however they can the blood of a magical creature, something far more potent than human can ever be. It might be Aeos or Lycan or even shifter.”
“Shifter?” Reina asks.
“A skinwalker in some parlance, but a true melding of wolf and human soul. Different than the Lycans but no less powerful,” Lucian adds. “If she’s going all out with a Fête du Sanguine, then it’s not just a few representatives of the courts who’ll come. They’ll have everyone who can make it in attendance.”
“Really?” I ask.
Carver nods even as he eyes Rowland who also chimes in. “Yes,” Row says. “They won’t get this chance to dine on whatever supernatural creature is offered for centuries or even a millennium. It’s a rare chance and anyone the court can spare will leave.”
“Great, and that helps us how?” I snap, but it’s not all my fault. Reina and Row busting in to tell me about the newest, specialized blood orgy Morana can arrange has left me with the girl version of serious blue balls. My temper’s shot. “I don’t get it.”
Carver takes my hand in his, and I think I see Lucian lean closer to me. Hopefully at least.
“Ma belle, it means that the ranks of the Draugur will be severely thinned and that we have the chance we need to go in undetected.”
Row nods again. “Agreed, if we’re going to make a move to save Old Abe, this is our shot.”
“Perfect,” I say, my own frustration lost in the chance to save the king before all hope is lost. “When do we roll out?”
Lucian quirks his head at me. “Soon, I might have a plan.”
Chapter 14
The Fête du Sanguine had descended upon Paris.
As the name implied, the streets would soon run with blood as every vampire in France and many from abroad gathered for the centennial celebration of Kresova's rise to power. And instead of doing something to stop that or even just enjoying the festivities, I was hiding behind a decorative pillar trying to fix my stupid, suffocating mask.
"I hate this," I say, trying to find a way to make the mask sit on my face where it wasn't simultaneously blinding me and blocking my ability to breathe. "Every time I breathe out the inside of the mask fogs up and my face gets all sweaty!"
"You won't have to wear it for much longer, ma belle,” Carver replies patiently, helping me tie it in place once it's in the least annoying position possible. I could almost see the amused twinkle in his blue eyes, despite his own mask. "And you look very pretty in your dress."
I appreciate the compliment, even though I'm sure I must look as out of place in the gown as I feel. I'm not really a dress kind of girl, not even for a dress as nice as this one.
The first event of the Fête du Sanguine is the Royal Masque, a lavish masquerade, and it's traditional for guests to dress as famous kings and queens. Carver and I had chosen Hades and Persephone, King and Queen of the Underworld, a pair I was surprised wasn't more popular among this crowd. The dress Carver chose for me is white, draping dramatically from one shoulder to the opposite hip, falling in a column of elaborate pleats to the floor, thankfully covering the sneakers I insisted on wearing under it instead of heels. The draping points are accented with bursts of colorful flowers and pomegranates to hint at my role as the Goddess of Spring.
"You look very pretty in your dress too." Lucian laughs, eyeing Carver’s toga.
Lucian, leaning against the pillar and watching us, had barely bothered with a costume, a crown settled on his dark hair the only thing to distinguish his fine suit from any other formal gathering. Which didn't stop him from teasing Carver, who wore an elaborately draped toga to match my dress.
"Ah, envy," Carver says without even looking at Lucian, taking my hand to pretend to kiss it, the lips of his mask cold against my skin. "He is simply jealous that he does not get to dance with you tonight."
I am, for the first time, glad for the stupid mask hiding my blush. Lucian looks away, his mouth in a thin line. There's been something growing between us, even Carver has noticed it. But Lucian is engaged and I'm not going to be a homewrecker. Which leaves us awkwardly tiptoeing around each other like this while Carver drops unsubtle hints that he thinks we should get together, apparently not worried about his own relationship with me. God bless the French.
"I'll owe you a dance," I tell Lucian as I take Carver's arm. "Once all this is over. With no dumb masks in the way."
Lucian smiles just slightly, the expression rare on his normally stoic face, and gives a small nod.
"I'm looking forward to it."
"But for tonight you are mine," Carver interrupts, sliding an arm around my waist. "And we should go and be seen. Lucian, go ensure the car is ready."
"Arsen will give you the signal," Lucian says and strides off with no further goodbyes. I look after him for moment, worried, but then Carver pulls me out from the shadows into the ballroom and I can't focus on anything else.
No one throws a party like vampire nobility. Nobody. They've got centuries of experience and all and infinite wealth to throw around. The hall is dripping in enough gold and over wrought baroque accents to make Versailles look shabby. There is nothing present that is not an ancient art piece, the height of beauty and luxury, including the people and their elaborate costumes. I could have spent all night just staring at the people dancing. Louis the Fourteenth spins past us on the arm of Titania. Arthur and Guinevere exchange partners with Henry the Eighth and Marie Laveau. Talk about stepping back in time.
Carver and I sweep onto the floor like swans landing on a lake, the other dancers with their unnatural grace parting to let us in. We'd practiced dancing ahead of this and my new vampire skills made it surprisingly easy. Or maybe it's just that Carver's an amazing dancer. I’m sure if I think about it too much, I’ll trip and check myself right back into clumsy-ville.
To the tune of the string quartet in the corner playing something old fashioned and stuffy, we waltz our way through the hall towards the front of the room. On a dais there’s a long table set up in front of three thrones. The leaders of the Istria, Draugur, and Baetal sit there, still as the statues decorating the room. A fourth throne sits behind and above then, and it's there that Morana lounges, looking down on the hall, Queen of all she surveys. It takes me a minute to place her costume with its circular golden crown like a Russian kokoshnik over a white veil and a sky blue robe, before I realize she's Mary, Queen of Heaven. The slinky nude sheathe dress shimmers with crystals. It’s a bit elaborate and racy for the virgin mother, but the vanity requires Morana to choose the craziest of costumes. Because why not? It’s good to be a feared Queen right? I try not to roll my eyes for the fear that she’ll be able to tell. Vindictive bitch.
As we reach the front of the dais we present ourselves to the Queen of the Kresova as custom demands, bowing and revealing our faces. Carver and I have matching full face masks made to look like the faces of classical Greek sculptures. His is horned and slightly sinister, mine is framed by flowers and pomegranates. We'd chosen the masks and then built our costumes around them.
Morana gives us a nod, acknowledging our presence, and we replace our masks and return to the dance, letting another couple take our place before Morana.
"Alright, that's our alibi taken care of," I mutter to Carver, muffled by the mask. "Now for the hard part."
We circle the room, making polite conversation, keeping an eye out for the signal. It comes almost too soon for my comfort.
I spot it first and point it out to Carver. Arsen Eskander of the Draugur, broad chested and dark haired and dressed as Alexander the Great, has brought a live horse, and the biggest horse I've ever seen, into the ballroom.
"Alexander can't be without Bucephalus!" Arsen insists loudly to the staff attempting to convince him to leave the horse outside. "He's part of my costume!"
All eyes turn to the argument and the massive black stallion, calmly grazing from the buffet t
able while Arsen, holding its reigns, continues to kick up a big, distracting fuss. I struggle not to laugh. Arsen told us he would provide a distraction, but this is something else.
As the attention of the room shifts to him, Arsen catches Carver's eye and gives him a quick, conspiratorial wink. Carver nods, squeezes my arm, and leads me away from the ball room, as I try to contain my giggles.
We duck into a small parlor nearby and I can't help a rush of relief as I see a couple waiting for us in almost perfectly matching costumes. Only the masks are different. Hades and Persephone meet Zeus and Hera. Lucian and Row are waiting there as well.
"I've got the car idling out front," Lucian says as Zeus removes his mask. "Is there anything else you need?"
Carver removes his own mask, trading it for the Zeus one. I swap with Hera, also trading the peacock feathers pinned to her dress for the pomegranate blossoms on mine.
"I think we're all set," I say, though I'm vibrating with nerves. "Let's do this, before Arsen calls in the cavalry."
"Any suggestions?" Row asks Carver, looking a little nervous himself. Someone else is guarding Reina and I can imagine he must be tense without her. I don’t think they’ve been too far apart from each other since they met.
"Just be careful," Carver tells him and our doubles. "Enjoy the party, dance, be seen, but try not to talk too much. If Morana decides to mingle, make an early exit. Do not let her corner you."
"You don't have to tell me twice," Zeus, now Hades, laughs and takes his partner's arm, leading her back out into the party where I can still hear Arsen loudly demanding his horse be allowed to stay. From the sound of things, Bucephalus has made a mess on the dance floor.
"Stay close to them," Carver tells Row. "Those two are loyal. They didn't even ask why I needed them to do this. I don't want them ending up in Morana's hands because of me."
"I'll watch out for them, I promise," Row says, smiling, then hurrying after our doubles. I give them as long as my anxiety will let me.
"Let's get out of here," I say, and make for the door, Carver and Lucian following close behind.
We stick to the edges of the ballroom as we head for the exit. The kerfuffle with Arsen's horse seems to have been resolved, Bucephalus banished to the garden, but we still don't garner much attention as we slip through the entrance and rush down the front steps to the waiting car.
"Thank God," I say, ripping the mask off as soon as the car door shuts behind me. "I thought I was going to drown in that damn thing. Look, it's actually dripping!" I hold it up and frown in disgust as a drop of moisture falls into my lap from the mask. “Bleh.”
"Next time we need to disguise ourselves from a murderous vampire queen we'll pick something more breathable," Carver says, half reassuring, half teasing. I notice he's already abandoned his mask as well however, and is shrugging out of his toga. His bare chest chiseled in the lights and shadows from the party.
"I'd prefer we avoid having to do this again, if possible," Lucian adds from the front, already pulling out into the long, winding driveway towards the road.
"No promises," I say with a laugh. "But, fingers crossed, after tonight there won't be any more evil queens to hide from."
I pull the bag with our normal clothes out from under the seat and Carver politely averts his eyes as I strip out of my gown, though I laugh at him for it. Lucian, I'm fairly certain, is watching through the rearview mirror, though I don't dare risk looking up to make sure, I can feel his heavy gaze on my bare skin. I shiver in response and Lucian clears his throat.
The awful dress finally banished, I pull on a black t-shirt and jeans. Carver strips out of his costume as well and by the time Lucian pulls on to the private air strip where our rented plane is waiting we're dressed and ready to leave.
The plane takes off for Romania and as we settle in the booth style seats I can feel the butterflies take flight inside me at the same time. I take a deep breath to try and calm them, the visions and messages of Abhertauch flickering before my eyes. His eyes haunting me. His presence possibly our only savior.
Carver, sitting in the seat beside me, takes my hand, squeezing it tightly.
"He'll be there, ma belle," he says, confident and reassuring as the graze of his thumb over the back of my hand. "We are going to change everything tonight."
Lucian, sitting across from me, looks as though he'd like to take my hand as well, but propriety won't let him. Instead he fixes me with an intense stare, his warm brown eyes sincere.
"Everything will be alright," he says. "Whatever happens, we'll be here for you." I smile softly at him, holding his gaze.
"He's right," Carver says, and, rolling his eyes at Lucian's stiffness, reaches across to grab the other man's hand. He holds it for a moment, still clinging to mine with his other hand, then brings them together, holding our joined hands between both of his own. "We will face whatever the future holds together, all three of us."
I smile at Lucian, slightly embarrassed, and squeeze his hand. He clears his throat and looks away, but doesn't let go. Carver just laughs. Propriety be damned is basically Carver’s motto.
Hours later the plane lands in Romania, as close as we could get it to the old castle. I couldn’t see much from the windows in the plane. Darkeness and shadows were basically the jist of it. From the tarmac we take a car as close as we can to the old abandoned compound. When the road gets so treacherous and bumpy that our teeth start to rattle in our heads, we stop, and head out on foot.
It's a black, drizzly night and I shiver under Carver's coat as he takes three vials from a padded suitcase in the trunk.
"This castle was once the seat of Dakvahar's power," he explains, handing us each a vial. "When Morana took it, the rest of the Dakvahar fell within a year. She gave it to the Istria, to rub salt in the wound. The half of the Istrian court not at the fête will be here, and heavily armed."
"What's this?" I ask, holding up the vial to the light of the moon. It's dark brown like mud, with a slight red tinge, like old congealed blood. I wrinkle my nose.
"Drink it," Carver says, like he knows exactly how much I do not want to do that. "It will disguise our scent for a half an hour or so. If the Istria smell Kresova vampires here, there will be questions we don't want to answer.”
Lucian took the plunge first, throwing it back like a shot. He gagged and grimaced after and my heart sunk. If it was bad enough to make stone-faced Lucian react like that I didn't want to know what it would do to me. Probably make me barf.
"Where did you find this?" Lucian asked, eyes watering.
"You don't want to know," Carver replies, and drinks his own vial.
I’m doubtful, looking for any excuse not to drink the stuff, but sure enough, after a few seconds Lucian's familiar scent fades into nothing. I stand close enough to press my face to his shoulder and can't smell anything.
"Your turn," Carver says, patting my shoulder sympathetically.
"This is going to suck," I mutter. I pinch my nose closed, and swallow it as quickly as I can.
A few minutes later, when I was done dry heaving into the grass, we make our way towards the castle through the silent forest that surrounds it. I knew my sense of smell had been enhanced by becoming a vampire, but I hadn't realized how perpetually aware I was of the scent of those around me until Lucian and Carver's scents were suddenly gone. It’s unsettling.
The castle looms on the horizon, huge and old and crumbling in places. We slip past the outer guards without much difficulty and find the Istria haven’t treated the home of their old enemy well. It reminded me of a frat house the Monday after a party that had been raging since Friday afternoon, except the weekend had been a couple hundred years long. We pass through ancient, once grand rooms covered in red solo cups and beer cans and the dusty detritus of older vices not widely indulged since before my great-great-grandmother was a girl. I’m pretty sure opium pipes are laid out across one table. The entire place throbs with the bass of club music or the chug of grungy electric g
uitar as the Istria vamps left behind celebrate the centennial on their own.
"It's this way," I murmur, recognizing a hallway from one of my visions. We’ve so far avoided the most heavily populated areas, but the path now leads directly through a den where several Istria are lounging around a hookah, smoking and dozing while heavy metal plays at a painful volume.
“No other way around?” Carver raises a hopeful eyebrow and I shake my head. “Straight through it is. Walk quickly, act like you know where you’re going.”
I take the lead, Lucian and Carver flanking me as we attempt to pass through the room as quickly as possible, tiptoeing around fallen cushions and the bodies of unconscious vampires. I was already through the doorway on the other side when a vampire who looked like he’d been turned while touring with The Cure grabs Carver’s arm. Slouching on a sofa right beside the door, he looks higher than I’ve ever seen any vampire look. That hookah must be strong stuff. Or maybe the human girl passed out from either drunkenness or blood loss across his lap has more to do with it.
“Don’t I know you?” he says, squinting up at Carver and struggling to form words.
“No.” Carver answers flatly, and tries to pull his arm away, but the stoner hangs on.
“Seriously,” the guy insists. “Were you here last centennial? Man, I can’t believe they snubbed us two hundred years in a row!”
“Terrible,” Carver agrees, and I can tell he’s weighing the risks of violence. We don’t have much longer before our scent suppressant wears off and we still need to get back out of this place. We don’t have time to get caught up in conversation.
“We’re just looking for the kitchen,” I cut in, taking Carver by the shoulder and trying to steer him away. “I’m wicked hungry. It’s this way right?”
The man squints, struggling to remember.
“Yeah, uh, maybe,” he says. “But I got a fresh one right here if you don’t mind something with a little kick.”
He reaches for another unconscious human near him who I’m fairly certain has needle tracks in her arms.
Tempt (The Kresova Vampire Harems: Aurora Book 2) Page 11
