Brenna hesitated for a moment, exchanging glances with Raina as she moved to stand beside her. Brenna’s striking emerald green eyes met Duvessa’s gaze squarely.
“Would you?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.
Duvessa shrugged, unable and unwilling to restrain the smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. “It is not my judgment to make. Only you may decide what you are willing to accept as restitution for his crimes. If it is enough for you to see him like this, bloodied and humbled, then it is your right to accept his apology.”
She considered it for a moment, staring at Dante as he managed to stand on his own. Duvessa watched with amusement as Raina worriedly tried to take hold of Brenna’s hand, but she gently pulled it away in refusal. Raina could sense her dear friend’s anger and hatred just as readily as Duvessa, as Brenna looked to her once more.
“And what if I don’t?” Brenna asked with a shrug.
Without any more of a hint than a glance from the Grand Duchess, both William and Robert released Dante and took a step away from him, almost as though they were afraid he might explode.
“Then, my dear, you must decide what you are willing to accept.”
“What I want from him is more than I’m sure he’s willing to give.”
“You are a Lady of the House of Fallamhain. He is but a Commoner without title,” Duvessa explained. “The degree to which he is indebted to you depends upon what you feel the severity of his offenses are against you.”
Brenna stared at her for a moment. The emotions of pure rage radiating from her seemed to momentarily give way to a strange feeling of excitement. “So basically, you’re saying his life is in my hands. Right?”
“More or less,” she confirmed with a light shrug.
“I see.”
Raina touched her shoulder gently, clearly concerned. “Brenna, please…”
She brushed Raina’s hand away as she stepped toward Dante, simultaneously kicking off her stiletto-heeled shoes. She seemed to deliberately position herself in such a way that she was able to give both Duvessa and those watching behind her a clear view of what was taking place between them as she grasped the lapels of his suit jacket.
“How long has it been?” she asked him in a low voice. “How many years has it been since that night? Huh? What, five, six, seven years?”
“My lady, please,” he begged, wisely covering his mouth this time. “I was wrong, I know. I did not mean to hurt you.”
“You didn’t mean to hurt me?” she echoed with disbelief, her swelling fury creeping into her sultry, womanly voice. “You beat me until I was unconscious. You raped me. You tried to tear my throat open. You threw me in a fucking Dumpster and left me for dead. How the fuck can you say you didn’t mean to hurt me?”
“I … I was not thinking! It was … it was bloodlust, and I…”
“Bullshit! When you drove me from the club and out behind that store, you knew exactly what you were doing!” she hissed as she tightened her grip upon his jacket, lifting him upright. Even without her high heels, she was eye-to-eye with him in height. “You had every intention that night of fucking me and killing me. You were gonna use me and lose me like a piece of meat.”
“I’m sorry! Please! Really, I’m sorry!” he cried, falling into sobs once more.
“Brenna, don’t…” Raina began to plead softly, taking a step toward her. Duvessa caught her arm and held her back, shaking her head silently as Raina looked to her with a horrified expression.
Brenna sneered at Dante, aggressively flashing her fangs as she spoke. “You’re not sorry … not really. I know I’m not the only one you’ve done like that. I know there were other girls. I remember. Every once in awhile, someone just wouldn’t show up for work. You said they’d quit, or that you’d moved them to another club. Or if it was one of your girlfriends, you’d just say she dumped you and ran off. Nobody questioned it. It’s just how the business works, right? So, it was a perfect cover. You got a steady supply of blood and pussy, and you were making money at the same time. You’re a fucking serial killer, Dante, and a sick fucking pig. You’re not sorry. You’re scared. You’ve done a lot of bad things over the years, but the single biggest mistake you made was not making sure that I was dead.”
“Please … please, don’t…”
She jerked his lapels tight again, and there was a sound of tearing cloth this time. “Don’t do what? Don’t kill you? Why not? Huh? Why shouldn’t I?”
“You know, Dante,” Duvessa said, “you are fortunate to be in her hands right now. I had only been told half of your story. I was wrong to think that I knew you. Had I known this much about you a few moments ago, you would have been facing a much worse fate.”
“You don’t think I wanna kill him?” Brenna asked, glancing over her shoulder to her.
“Oh, I would kill him, yes,” Duvessa admitted, “but I can assure you … he would much prefer to die by your hands than by mine.” She smiled to him. “Dante, love … you know how creative I can be.”
“Oh … oh God,” he moaned as Brenna released him abruptly and took half a step back. He began to babble in his native tongue, but his Italian was so garbled and hastened by his damaged mouth and his pathetic emotions that it was almost unintelligible even to Duvessa.
Brenna’s first blow of choice was a simple but solid punch straight into his prominent nose. The cartilage crunched audibly under the force of her knuckles and blood immediately blossomed out, as though she had thrown a tomato at his face. Blinded and distracted by that, he was completely unprepared for the knee that Brenna then thrust into his groin. The long slit up the sides of her dress allowed flexibility and freedom of movement that perhaps Duvessa had not considered, and so the strike was delivered with such perfect ease and brute force that it literally lifted Dante off his feet. From there, a crossing blow with her right elbow to his jaw sent him around and down to the concrete near the edge of the pool.
His long, straight black hair had been tied back neatly but was now coming loose in somewhat oily strands. Blood gushed from his nose and lips in thick, drooling strands that dribbled and oozed upon the patio surface audibly enough to even be heard over the artificial waterfall at the far end of the pool. He was a pathetic, sobbing, broken mess of a man. Raina touched her fingers to her lips and cringed in horror, and others within the house could be heard gasping and crying out in alarm and concern as Brenna continued to punish him.
“How does it feel? How does it feel, fucker?” Brenna demanded before standing beside him and kicking him in the side. The impact surely crushed half of his ribs. Even though he curled an arm up reflexively, partly in agony and partly to protect himself, the next time she kicked him must have done just as much damage to his arm and shoulder. The blow that those powerful, long, fishnet-clad legs could deliver from that angle was tremendously devastating.
“Please! Please, don’t … don’t kill me!” he bawled.
Brenna swung her leg up and over, crashing a heel down upon his back and possibly rupturing one of his kidneys. He remained upon his hands and knees, crushed, utterly destroyed as Brenna towered over him with her fists balled up at her sides. Raina called out to her one last time, and Brenna turned to look at her. She was utterly gorgeous in that moment, the way her hair flew aside with that abrupt turn of her head, the flash of those chilling green eyes as she gazed to her mistress. Duvessa realized that she had been very wrong to despise this one so easily. Truly, Duvessa wanted her, and soon. She was perfect. Lady Brenna was exactly what the House of Fallamhain needed … and exactly the kind of thrill that Duvessa needed to counterbalance the timid passion offered by her far sweeter, more innocent half, Duchess Raina.
“Please, Brenna … don’t do it,” Raina begged her softly, shaking her head. “Killing him won’t make things right.”
Brenna looked at her long and hard for a moment. Her expression of rage softened slightly, just a little, and then her eyes drifted to Duvessa. The Grand Duchess smiled and offered only
a shrug. She considered it for just a second, and then turned her attention back to Dante. She grabbed the tail of his hair and used it like the handle of a teapot to hoist him to his feet, having to hold him aloft by his throat. For a moment, Duvessa dared to hope that she would be treated to the sight of something wickedly delightful. Perhaps she would tear his throat out with her bare hand or her teeth? That would certainly make for a deliciously pleasant highlight to counterbalance the otherwise unfortunate tone of that evening’s gathering.
“She’s right,” Brenna told him. “Killing you right now would be stupid. I think it’s pretty obvious to everyone here now what a worthless piece of shit you are. So, I’ve got a better idea. I’ll just let you live with the shame.”
Brenna released his throat and pushed him backward by thrusting her palm into his face. Dante fell backward into the pool, already red with the glow of lights from below, and splashed into the water with his arms flailing uselessly. She turned her back upon him and stepped away with a sigh of relief, the barest hint of a smirk upon her delicious full lips. Brenna looked at the hand she had used to push him away, saw it covered wetly in blood, and then glanced up to the Grand Duchess. In a gesture so alluring, so irresistibly luscious that it made Duvessa clench deeply with excitement, Brenna dipped her index finger between her lips and licked the blood clean, pausing in the withdrawal of her digit as her lips reached the tip of her fingernail.
“My, my,” Duvessa murmured, “what a saucy vixen you have proven to be.”
* * * *
Chapter Twenty-Six
Raina was amazed by how indifferent the Grand Duchess appeared to be with regard to her own injury. She felt that she could sense the slight emotional distress that Duvessa was experiencing, but she could not tell whether it was due to her wounded foot or the need to publicly apologize for what the attendees of the party had just witnessed. She walked along with the barest hint of a limp in her strides, gliding almost as effortlessly and gracefully as ever in spite of the fact that she left half of a bloody footprint with every other step.
People seemed to look at Brenna as though she had sprouted horns and a tail and was carrying a pitchfork, especially since she had to be told by Duvessa to stop licking the blood from her hand because it was clearly disturbing some people. Mary and Jen both somehow seemed overwhelmingly excited for Brenna, giving her warm and supportive hugs to essentially congratulate her on the successful pulverizing of her former Maker. Apparently, Brenna had shared her story with them beforehand, so they could appreciate the significance of what she had just done. Brenna seemed relieved, having obviously sated a long-standing desire for vengeance, and she seemed to have almost completely forgotten anything she had just been told about the Grand Duchess. Whereas before she had been rather distrusting and wary of her, she now saw Duvessa as a dedicated ally, if not a mother figure of sorts.
And, even more strangely, the Grand Duchess now suddenly seemed to be positively smitten with Brenna. She had literally gone from being resentful of her very presence to being irresistibly drawn to stand near her and exhibiting such supportiveness of her in just a matter of a few minutes. It was strange and sudden, but it made sense, considering what Raina now knew about the both of them.
Raina was honestly relieved to have the lion’s share of the attention away from herself for awhile. The downside of this was that it afforded her more time to quietly digest everything that Countess Wilhelmina had explained to them in the limousine. Brenna apparently had either turned a deaf ear to it all or, at the very least, had been so distracted by Mr. Giovanni that she simply couldn’t think about it. This bit of public violence had only cemented the Countess’s words in Raina’s mind as absolute truth.
It was undeniable that Duvessa was the kind of person whom the Countess had described her as being. She was indeed self-righteous, vain, narcissistic, manipulative, abusive, and perhaps even maliciously deceitful, although Raina had not yet caught her in an outright lie – only a series of half-truths. The Countess had warned her that Duvessa was trying to secure Raina’s loyalty and devotion through a variety of methods. She was trying to pass herself off as Raina’s generous savior, lover, and teacher. She needed to earn Raina’s absolute trust – something Duvessa, herself, had stressed on the night of their first meeting – so that she would not question any of her less savory traits or methods, nor would she think to delve into her laundry list of dirty secrets. By casting Countess Wilhelmina as the Big Bad Wolf, so to speak, with a campaign of slander and political spin, she could not only gain Raina’s trust and loyalty but reinforce that of those around her, as well, by presenting herself as their protector. Even Duvessa’s all-white outfit seemed to be an obvious attempt to play upon her self-made image of purity and goodness.
Raina had been made a fool once more. She could admit that to herself now, much like when she had realized how Duke Sebastian had similarly misled her. But it hurt her worse this time to know that this individual was responsible not only for deceiving her now, but for having essentially ordered Duke Sebastian to do so, as well. Raina had dared to trust her, dared to open herself up to Duvessa like a dear friend … and like a lover. She had shared with her something that she had not even found herself able to share with Brenna, someone whom she truly loved and now regretted having second-guessed. Somehow, Raina felt worse knowing that she had been seduced under false pretenses rather than to have been rendered unconscious and sexually assaulted. Being tricked into believing that she had somehow wanted to be used by someone was actually worse than someone taking advantage of her overtly. It seemed that rape could be a consensual act, after all.
Raina’s regrets and seeds of anger were already far buried now, however, as she worried for Brenna. She knew better than this. She had heard what Countess Wilhelmina had told them, the detailed account of how Duvessa had misled her and manipulated her before ostracizing her once she had become fully aware of the Grand Duchess’s history and her true motivations. Wilhelmina had been sidelined, labeled a madwoman unable to cope with the circumstances of life as a High Court vampire. Duvessa had decided that it had been best to trade off a troublesome bloodspawn and to wash her hands of Sebastian’s disgrace by giving her away to another bloodline in exchange for Cedric, a new bedroom plaything and loyal servant. Wilhelmina had been shown only slightly more care and affection with her new master, Count Isaac Richardson; he had not been the kindest of men, but he had been far less cruel and sadistic than Duvessa. During that time with him, she was warned to never show her face before the other Elders of the International Vampiric Council. Wilhelmina had been convinced that the Elders would challenge her and cut her down in short order, for they wholeheartedly believed all of the rumors and misrepresented facts about her that had been presented to them by the Grand Duchess.
Even after hearing that tragic tale, Brenna was still somehow able to cast all of that information aside and voluntarily stand with Duvessa. Brenna actually seemed … well, grateful. The opportunity to confront and punish the man that had attacked and nearly killed her, the one that had forced the Change upon her, was perhaps the greatest gift for which she could have ever hoped. As she apparently figured, the bearer of such a great gift could not possibly be as bad as Countess Wilhelmina had described her. Surely, all of those things she’d been told were either lies, half-truths, or (at best) a complete misunderstanding. No, it was clear to Raina, as she watched Brenna smile and almost cuddle herself against the Grand Duchess, that none of that mattered to her friend. Earlier, Brenna had accused Raina of being blinded by celebrity star power; now Brenna, herself, was just as blinded by the euphoria of an opportunity for long-awaited justice.
Perhaps Duvessa sensed some vibe of what coursed through Raina’s mind as she watched them talk with guests on their way out. More than once, she glanced at Raina with a curious look and once asked if she was okay. Raina tried to smile and dismiss it, insisting she was simply a little bit rattled by what she’d seen. While it wasn’t exactly a tota
l lie, it was enough that Duvessa likely sensed the presence of things left unsaid within Raina as she continued to regard her almost suspiciously. If she had any idea at all that she was aware of her meeting with the Countess, she was not willing to address it at the time.
They eventually made their way out of the house to leave. Upon bidding a few more people farewell and stepping outside, they were immediately accosted by a swarm of cameras and pesky reporters with microphones and a flurry of questions. Their vehicles were ready and waiting for them, but actually getting to them, even that short distance from the front door of the house into the back seat of the limo, was a challenge of sorts.
Hoping to appease the press, the Grand Duchess shushed them and issued a very brief statement, explaining that she was disappointed by the rudeness of their host, that the wound to her foot looked far worse than it truly was, and that she was sorry that so many people had witnessed such an ugly, unpleasant, and unfortunate event. She did not explain in detail the reasons for Dante Giovanni’s severe beating, only stating that he had owed the House of Fallamhain a Debt of Blood and that his debt had now been satisfied. Thereafter, William held off the throng of persistent paparazzi so that Duvessa, Raina, Brenna, Noriko, and Svetlana could pile into the back of the limo before he hopped into the front beside Loki. Robert followed behind in the SUV with Mary, Jen, and Ian.
It was only when she was out of sight of the cameras that the Grand Duchess finally let on just how badly her foot was hurt, kicking off her bloody shoe with a heavy sigh and slumping in her seat as she propped her foot upon Svetlana’s lap. Her Russian servant dutifully did her best to tend to the wound, using a few napkins that she had taken from a snack table, much like Raina had done earlier.
“That was bloody foolish of me,” she grumbled, wincing as Svetlana moistened the napkin with her tongue and dabbed at the drying blood around the wound. “I should have known better than to use the top of my foot.”
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