She nodded trying to ignore the unpleasant flutter in her stomach.
He led the way out of the room. He halted on the landing. “Whatever you do, keep clear of the fighting. Give me directions. Let me do the rest.”
“I promise I will keep out of your way.”
They crept up to the next floor to where the sounds of battle were loudest, working their way from room to room where vampires fought with bared fangs and flashing swords. Sybil shook her head, confirming they contained none of the robed ones. Until they reached the final chamber where the King and Paris and Zavier were pinned into a corner by three visible vampires and flanked by two others in magic robes. The robed ones, using their visible comrades as shields, darted in to cut at the King and his men with their short daggers. Both Paris and Zavier were bleeding profusely. Death by a thousand cuts. The thought slithered through Sybil’s mind as a wave of nausea rolled through her stomach.
“Two of them, one right one left,” she murmured.
Anton swung his sword in a wide arc, partially severing the robed one’s head. A fountain of blood erupting.
“Gods!” Vlad exclaimed stumbling back. Paris and Zavier let their weapons drop for a second.
“On guard,” Anton growled.
They snapped back to attention placing themselves in front of their King, shielding him.
“Still right?” Anton asked Sybil.
“Yes.”
He swung again, catching the robed one on the shoulder.
“Higher,” she said gulping at the gruesome sight of sliced flesh.
Anton struck again. His target fell, pierced to the heart.
They despatched the three remaining enemy quickly.
Breathing hard, they stared at what remained of their enemy. Three normal men, or vampires, she’d seen the flash of their fangs as they fought and then the bits and pieces of the other two visible where they were not fully covered by their robes.
The room was filled with the sound of harsh male breathing.
Vlad took a cautious step towards the one whose robe exposed him half-way up his legs. He pushed his foot where the rest of the creature should be and his foot disappeared. He sprang back cursing. He looked at Anton. “If you had not come, they would have killed us. My thanks.”
Anton bowed. “The thanks are owed to Miss Lofstrom.”
“You can see them, despite this abomination they wear?”
“I can.”
“My thanks to you then, my lady.” He looked at Anton. “Are there more?”
“I think not. They were concentrating on you.”
The King stretched out his foot and again it disappeared. “Magic.” His face twisted in disgust. “Burn them.” He took a deep breath. “If Vilhelm is working with a Mage, we can expect more of this.” His shoulders sagged. “It will be hard to fight against it.”
“We need our own Mage,” Paris said.
The King turned on him, eyes flaming. “Never. We will never resort to such filth. We will find another way to defeat him.”
Paris stepped back. “No, my liege.”
“Clean up this mess, Anton, with Miss Lofstrom’s help.” the King said. “The rest of you with me.”
Anton bowed. He moved slowly from room, plunging a dagger into the heart of each of the bodies, dead or alive. Sybil tried not to watch instead gathering up the robes and placing them in a basket as they went. In the first room, where Anton had killed the one who had attacked him from behind, she glanced down at the pile in the corner. They weighed nothing, the weave as fine as gossamer. She folded one and tucked it in her apron pocket. Something about the way the King had looked at Anton and the surge of despair she had felt at that moment was like a warning of worse things to come. She picked up another of the robes and tucked it in the other pocket. While they were indeed finer than silk, when folded they created a substantial bulge. Like any good housemaid, she lifted the bottom corners of her apron and tucked them into the tape at her waist, hiding the pockets in folds of stiff linen.
When she glanced up, Paris was at the door. “The King asked me to escort you out.”
“I don’t need an escort,” Anton said, frowning.
Paris ignored him, pushing at one of the bodies with his foot. “I never thought I’d be fighting invisible fiends.” He grinned. “A story to tell our grandchildren, I would say.”
Anton gave him a pained look. “From what I hear, you are likely to have a great many of those.”
Paris laughed. “I give the ladies what they want.” He smirked. “And they give me what I want.” He started, suddenly aware of Sybil standing in the corner. “I beg your pardon, Miss Lofstrom.”
Anton growled softly.
“It is a good day, Anton,” Paris said. “We did it. The King’s throne is safe. The enemy is defeated. You’ll never guess who Godron found trying to crawl out of the coal hole in the cellars.”
“Who?”
“Prince David.”
Anton looked sour. “That will not improve Vlad’s temper.”
“No. Come on. The carriage is waiting at the door. Those few who surrendered are being taken back to the Citadel for questioning.”
At that moment another Shadow Guard appeared. Anton handed him a basket that to his eyes would have been empty. “Bring these.”
With one Guard before them and another behind, they walked out into the night and climbed aboard the carriage. Sybil had the feeling she was a prisoner.
Anton watched Sybil sipping the tea Mifflin had brought.
English women and their tea. A cliché he would love to be able to enjoy.
But she wasn’t an Englishwoman, she was something else. Something more. And this was the last time they would be together. Vlad had done this for him, given him these last few minutes, before she was taken to be turned by Godron.
Rage twisted through his veins. The beast inside him wanted to bite, to kill. Hadn’t he done enough killing for one day? He’d seen the way she looked when she saw what he was. What he did. The King’s Blade. What she had seen today was only a very small portion of the darkness within him. The death and destruction done willingly. While Vlad was a fair man, the old King he had served first had been cruel. Given his vow, Anton had not questioned his orders. Instead, had cut himself off from emotion. He had done his duty. To his endless shame. He certainly was not worthy of a bright gentle spirit like the one sipping tea in his quarters.
“Stop pacing,” she said over the rim of her cup.
While gentle, she could be imperious when the mood took her, and as courageous as a lion.
He drew in a breath, buried his emotions deep and sat beside her on the sofa. Vlad had given him a gift. He would not waste it in regrets.
He stroked a stray strand of hair back from her cheek, soaking up the light she brought him, smiling as its warmth penetrated a fraction of the cold dark within him. “You are so very beautiful, mon ange.”
She placed her cup on the tray before her. “Something troubles you?”
To tell her the truth would be cruel. Heartless. He leaned forward and touched his lips to hers. Instantly, she moved into his arms, returning his kiss with a passion that said she was his for the taking.
His fangs lengthened, his eyes burned as desire gripped him tight.
He wanted to taste her blood. Drink deep of her essence, of sunshine and heather. More beast than man, he ravaged her mouth with his tongue, and surrendered to the delicious way she tasted him back, exploring the points of his fangs until his cock was so hard it threatened to burst his buttons. Breathing hard, he cupped her breast and she sighed, arching into his hand like a cat being petted.
He pressed her back to lie along the sofa and came over her.
She gazed up at him, smiling. Reached up to press a hand to his cheek, unshaven for two days now. The welcome in her expression made him want to weep. She was his destiny, his soul mate and he had to give her up.
He turned his head to press a kiss to her palm.
> “I love you,” she whispered softly.
And in that moment he knew he could not do this. It would be a betrayal of his honour to allow his darkness to stain her pure bright soul.
Something inside him shattered. Broke apart.
The pain of it nearly sent him to the floor.
He fought his way back into the dark coldness. “Love?” He heard the scorn in his voice. “Lust, my dear. It is all we vampires know. And before you say anymore, I should tell you that vampires are a magnet to human females. I am sorry, mignonne, but it is not your fault you find me irresistible.” He forced a smile, aware that his fangs remained fully extended.
Hurt fill her eyes where before there had been affection and sweetness.
It was what he did best. Cause others pain.
He rose up and walked away from her, speaking over his shoulder so he would not have to look into her eyes. “I must have words with the King before our audience. In the meantime, you should tidy yourself.” His voice was like a wind across the Alps. Sharp enough to cut, cold enough to freeze. Her clothing rustled as she rose to her feet. “Honour me by wearing the gown Mifflin brought earlier.”
“Anton,” she said softly.
He turned and bowed. “I will return when it is time.” He closed the door behind him nodding briskly to the two guards in the corridor. “No one in or out.”
They saluted.
The soft sounds of a controlled sob followed him down the hallway. It was better she hate him for not loving her than for her to really know what he was. It would be easier for her to accept what was to come.
He didn’t love her. Of course he didn’t. He was a vampire. She was something else, not even human. An outsider. Always an outsider. Why had she exposed her feelings? She had known he would not return them.
She stared at herself in the mirror, at the sumptuous gown of shimmering gold tissue. Why on earth had Anton thought she should wear such a magnificent gown when she’d be leaving shortly? He didn’t want her to shame him before the Court, she supposed. She tidied her hair, twisting it into a knot high on her head, pulling down a few loose curls.
The woman staring back at her was Lady Sybil, daughter of an earl, not Miss Lofstrom, lady companion. A shocking unmasking after so many years. Yet Lady Sybil no longer existed. Could not exist in a world that thought her mother, Lady Sofia, a lunatic. The sooner she returned to her life as Miss Lofstrom, the better for all concerned. What had happened here was best forgotten.
Her heart clenched painfully.
Tears prickled behind her eyes.
She blinked hard. She was not going to make more of a fool of herself by weeping over him. She swallowed. Sniffed. Found a handkerchief and blew her nose. Better. Much better.
She returned to the drawing room and did not have to wait long for her summons.
Grim-faced, Anton strode in. He halted at the sight of her, his eyes widening. “Cherie, you look... magnifique.”
“Thank you,” she said rising to her feet, ignoring the pleasurable little thump of her heart. She did not care what he thought. “How much of what has occurred do I tell the King?”
His face hardened. “The King will ask only one question. He will ask if you wish to become Vampire. You must say yes.”
Astonished, she felt her jaw drop. “I don’t understand. I thought you wanted to be rid of me.”
If anything, his expression grew harder. “I realize I haven’t done much to deserve it, but I am asking you to trust me in this.”
She sensed worry beneath the cold demeanour. What was he not telling her? “And if I prefer to leave?”
“Then you should have gone when I instructed you to do so.” His voice was so remote it chilled her to the bone. He held out his arm. “Come. There is no more time.”
She didn’t understand. Less than an hour ago, he had rejected her outright. Now he was telling her she was to become like him. Yet judging from his expression, from the emotions she sensed roiling within him, he hated the idea.
He asked her to trust him, but he did not trust her enough to tell her what was wrong. As they walked along several underground streets, each one with houses more imposing than the last, she decided to wait until she had discovered exactly what was involved and make up her own mind. They halted when they reached the magnificent double doors they’d been turned away from the day before. The doors were open, revealing a room crowded on each side of an aisle with splendidly clothed and bejewelled women and men. Tapestries adorned the walls between gilded columns supporting an arching ceiling painted with scenes of what looked like medieval battles. Ahead was a raised dais.
The soldiers on each side of the doors ignored them as they entered.
Facing them, seated on the dais on a golden throne beneath a canopy of blue, sat the King, dressed in robes of scarlet and edged in ermine. He looked regal, stern, and very different from the young man they’d found locked in his chamber.
“Count Grazki and Miss Sybil Lofstrom,” Anton said to the major domo wielding a mace, who apparently intended to announce them.
“Lady Sybil Lofstrom,” she corrected and received a measure of satisfaction from Anton’s surprise. It felt strange to use her title, but somehow fitting in these august surroundings.
The major domo announced them in stentorian accents.
The buzz of conversation stopped.
Around her she heard a few hisses of indrawn breaths, and the muttered word human.
“Lady Sybil,” King Vlad said, with a slight lift of one eyebrow. “Welcome to our Court.”
Anton walked her down the aisle between the gathered courtiers to stand before the King. Anton bowed and Sybil curtseyed at just the right depth for a deposed King of a small nation.
“We owe Lady Sybil a great debt,” Vlad said. “She saved our life and the lives of many more who might have died if we had not defeated our enemy. We would repay this debt by making her one of us.”
Mutters erupted behind them and hisses. Fangs flashed here and there. She glanced up at Anton. His face remained impassive.
The King’s brow drew down. He shot hard glances around his court. “Do I hear an objection to my ruling in this case?”
What case?
No one said a word. The hall became eerily quiet.
“Very well,” Vlad said. “Is there one among you who will give his blood for this human woman?”
Anton stepped to one side.
She stared at him, waiting for him to speak.
“I will give my blood to this woman,” a voice said. A huge figure in a black and silver uniform pushed out of the crowd to her side. He bowed. “I will be honoured, Lady Sybil.”
Godron. Her gaze locked on Anton’s face. He wasn’t looking at her, he was staring at Godron. Anton’s eyes glowed red. A growl rumbled up from his chest. Two more of the Shadow Guard closed in on him, placed chains at his wrist and throat and attached them to rings set in the marble floor.
“Anton?” she said. “I don’t understand.” She turned to the King. “What is happening?”
Vlad’s face held pity. “Lord Godron, Knight of the Shadows has agreed to become your mentor. He will guide you through your turning and through the next hundred years of your life when you will be considered an adult.”
“Why Godron and not Count Grazki?”
“The Count is bound to me by law.”
“Bound?”
“Blood bound by his oath.”
Heart racing, she looked at Anton for confirmation. The sinews in his neck stood out, his fangs had lengthened, his eyes blazed fury. “Lord Godron does this at my behest,” he said harshly as if he was forcing the words out.
Godron turned to face her, his lips drawn back, long fangs exposed. “It will not hurt, Lady Sybil,” he rumbled in gentle tones. He reached out a hand. Caught her upper arm and angled his head, his gaze fixed on her throat.
Sybil screamed.
Godron, everyone, including the King, clapped their hands to their ears.
Moans of pain and anger rippled around her, turning into hisses of anger when her voiced ceased echoing off the walls.
Godron closed his eyes, then looked over at Anton. “I cannot take her if she is not willing.”
“Trust me,” Anton said, his voice harsh as if he too had screamed. “It is the only way.”
The King stepped down from the dais and stared into her eyes. “Do not be so foolish. Accept this honour Godron offers you.”
She swallowed. “And if I do not?”
“You know our secrets. You must be Vampire.”
“Kill her,” someone in the crowd shouted.
The King glared around him. “But for her you might now be bending your knee to Vilhelm.”
The mutters ceased. “Well?” King Vlad said. “Will you accept Godron as your mentor?”
She glanced at Anton. His face might have been carved in granite for all the emotion it showed, but she could feel his anguish.
“I choose—”
“No!” A voice thundered through the room.
A tall old man with stooped shoulders and a long flowing beard shuffled into the room. Followed by Ester struggling with the weight of an enormous book bound in green leather with gold lettering.
“Magister,” the King said in awful accents. “What means this interruption.”
The old man bowed low. “I beg pardon, your Majesty. I found this...” he glared at Ester, “stealing one of the ancient texts. It took some time, but finally she admitted the truth.”
Sybil took in Ester’s tearful terrified face as did the King, who looked worried.
“What truth?” the King asked.
The old man pointed a gnarled and shaking finger at Sybil. “This female is not human. She is Fae.”
The people who had crowded closer, stumbled back. The word Fae was repeated over and over. It sounded like a curse and the men and women closest to her made a sign with two hooked fingers as if to ward off some sort of evil.
“Tell the King what you discovered, Healer,” the old man said.
A Most Peculiar Season Series Boxed Set: Five Full-length Connected Novels by Award-winning and Bestselling Authors Page 99
