Chapter 36
Ameena was lost. She had run from the room in such a fury of emotions that she hadn't taken notice of where she was going, and was now tangled in the maze of rooms and corridors that made up the vast, sprawling castle. She had tried to retrace her steps, but to no avail. Her one thought had been to get away from Bram, from the derision and anger in his eyes, the sickening feeling of being less, unworthy, coming back to punch her in the guts again. Her own fault for being such a fool. Trying to seduce him had been beyond stupid, such boldness was sure to have disgusted him. She’d known it at the time but couldn’t help herself, she’d had to try. He was out of her league, far out of reach, but still she had wanted. She had wanted to trust him and let down her guard … but he never gave her the chance. When he had said those disdainful words to her, she had hated him so much, but she hated the fact that she still wanted him so badly even more.
She had quite a record of choosing wronguns, as her mother would have succinctly put it, but even by her standards, this was a new low. After all, it was so much easier to pick a man you knew would treat you badly. Hoping and dreaming of something real, something solid, put your heart at risk, and this was the result. It hurt so much more than being dumped by a creep when you knew it was coming and didn’t much care. Bram was a good man, the kind who would never let you down when he had given his word. One day, he’d marry a real lady and have a hoard of beautiful, perfect children and live a perfect life in this strange and frightening world. She’d been mad to believe he would even consider her.
As her temper subsided, misery took its place, and she heard the truth in the words he’d thrown at her. She didn't belong here. She would never fit in here. Ameena had seen all the elegant ladies arriving. They were beautiful and graceful, quiet and demure. The idea that any of those words could be applied to her was ludicrous. She was bad-tempered and gauche, brittle and foul-mouthed, and disgraced or not, Bram was a lord, nobility, and she had no business casting her eyes at him when he so clearly thought her beneath him. Well, damn it, so she wasn’t a sweet, little, empty-headed fool with no opinions, no desires or ambitions of her own. So what? A real man wouldn’t be afraid of that. Anger burned again, bright and fierce and overwhelming.
How dare he judge her?
Ameena was struck with the desire to shock him to his bones, to show him just how bad she could be. What did it matter, after all? He didn’t give a damn. He would never want her for anything more than a sordid tumble, which he’d no doubt regret the moment it was over, she had to accept that now. Whatever it was she’d believed she’d felt between them, it was nothing worth keeping. The chemistry between them was born of lust and curiosity, nothing more. Maybe she was so foreign to him that the idea of taking her to bed was exciting, even though everything about her disgusted him. It was clearly nothing more than that. She wished that he had just taken his opportunity when she had given it to him and then disappeared. That, she could deal with. She'd done the walk of shame before and recovered. That he had refused her with such moral outrage at her behaviour, though ... She had never felt so worthless.
Ameena walked, aimless, alone and utterly adrift, feeling ever more out of place as she looked around the lavish rooms of the castle. She didn’t belong here, that was for sure. She didn’t belong in France, either. She should never have left her suffocating, damp little shithole of a room and her miserable grey life. Why had she even hoped that there was something more for her? She was doomed to an endless cycle of men who would use her and throw her away, and a job that barely paid enough to get by.
Swallowing down the emotion that snagged in her throat, she pushed a door open at random, she would not cry. Not over him. Ameena paused on the threshold, momentarily shaken from the depths of self-pity by the grandeur and scale of the room.
It was lined with bookcases and was, she suspected, some kind of men's retiring room. She had a horrible suspicion the women here were given rooms decorated in pastel pink and were expected to sit with their hands in their laps and giggle about whatever new frock they'd bought. The idea made her nauseous. This room, though, was something else. There was a grand marble fireplace with a deep brown leather settee opposite and on each side, forming a cosy seating area. The walls were decorated in blue silk and the ceiling had an intricate honeycomb design in the plasterwork, painted in white and blue and gold. The curtains were in the same heavy silk as on the walls, and lay in heavy drapes. As Ameena crossed the room, gazing around in awe, her feet sank into the thick rug that covered a gleaming, polished wood floor. She caught a glimpse of herself in the huge gilt mirror that hung over the fireplace. The dress was beautiful, elegant and sophisticated, and she felt like a fraud wearing it. She had a sudden longing for her hoodie and leggings and her boots. She wanted to circle her eyes with black liner and glare back at the world as she always had, daring it to hurt her. At least she felt safe like that. Dressed like this, she felt raw and exposed, open to censure and ridicule.
With relief, her gaze fell upon a silver tray loaded with various crystal decanters and glasses. At least if she couldn’t find her room, she could make it so that she no longer cared. She selected one at random and poured herself a large measure, staring into the glass with a frown. It looked and smelled powerful, at least, that was good enough. Ameena continued her inspection of the room, awed despite her misery, and curious as she looked upon heavy gilt frames of various haughty-looking aristocrats. They looked like any painting you might see in a museum or stately home in her world. Men in armour or in fine embroidered clothes with Elizabethan collars, and women, powdered and patched, with dresses that must have been angled sideways to navigate through doors.
She wondered how their worlds had come to have followed fashion in the same way. Her curiosity about how their worlds were different and yet the same had only grown the longer she’d been here. Ameena tried to keep her mind on the question, as the alternative was thinking about Bram and she wasn't about to do that. She took a defiant mouthful of the drink, feeling sure he would disapprove, and then gasped, choking as the liquid stole her breath away.
She swung around as the sound of male laughter, rich and decadent, reached her ears, and found a figure lounging in the doorway, watching her with amusement. She wondered how long he’d been there. He crossed the room, slowly and with infinite grace, and took the glass from her hands. Ameena was so surprised that she didn't even protest.
"You should be careful what you drink here, child,” the man said, his voice gentle as he raised the glass to his own lips. “This is not for human consumption. One glassful and you would quite likely be unconscious for hours." He downed the drink in one smooth movement, licking his lips in a manner that made her eyes fall to his mouth. Ameena shivered. She had never met a man like this before. He was beautiful in the same way that Corin was beautiful, almost unreal, so obviously not of the human world. Such perfection of form and feature did not exist there. Yet whereas Corin was all golden warmth and heat, this man … this man was cold, sharp danger. He glittered like the edge of a well-honed blade, and yet temptation lay upon his skin, inviting her to touch, drawing her in despite the fact every instinct screamed that he was more trouble than she could possibly imagine.
“Don’t be frightened,” he said, with a voice that melted her bones, making her tensions fall away for no reason she could think of. She ought to be scared out of her tiny mind, but she wasn’t. Ameena stared into his strange silver eyes, seeing amusement and satisfaction glinting there as he, in turn, regarded her. He lifted one elegant hand to the blue in her fringe, touching it with a smile. “Pretty,” he said, the word soft and sincere. Whilst an increasingly faint voice screamed in her ear, demanding she walk away, Ameena lifted a hand to his hair in return. It was like silk and so white it glinted silver in the light.
“Yours, too,” she whispered, earning herself a smile that made her stomach flip. The desire to make him smile again, to make sure that he always smiled at her, was so overwhelmi
ng she could taste it.
The spell was momentarily broken as a voice came from the far side of the room.
“Devil.”
They both looked around and Ameena’s eyes widened at the two figures standing in the doorway. One was a woman, though like no other that Ameena had seen in the Fae Lands. She was stunning. Standing over six-feet tall and dressed head to toe in skin-tight leather, she would have given Bram an apoplexy. Her black skin was smooth and glinted with flecks of gold, as was her hair, which was pulled back in a severe plait that hung down her back, almost to her knees. Cool, dark eyes, painted over with a thin black band that crossed her face, turned towards Ameena and looked away again with little interest. Ameena gaped in awe. The woman exuded power and moved into the room with a lethal grace that made Ameena realise that the dagger she wore at her hip was not for show. In one hand, she held a delicate silver chain, which was attached to a collar, which was in turn fastened around the neck of a beautiful young man. He hurried behind her, staying close to her, his body language taut and nervous, though his eyes never left those of the man at Ameena’s side. Ameena looked back at him herself, shivering as she realised they’d addressed him as Devil. It seemed only too appropriate.
“What is it, Ayana?” Devil addressed the woman holding the chain.
“Luke was becoming fretful. You said you’d be back in ten minutes an hour ago. How many times do I have to tell you about going off on your own? You have enemies here.”
The man called Devil chuckled, and Ameena caught her breath as the sound wrapped around her, touching her skin like fur, like a caress. “I have enemies everywhere,” he replied, moving towards the boy on the chain and touching his face. The young man sighed, leaning into him as the tension left his shoulders.
“Come now, Luke, I told you I would be back,” he said, stroking one finger along his jawline as Luke sighed, he looked as though he would purr if he could. Devil turned back to Ayana. “Take him back to my suite, you know too many people distress him after a while. I will follow shortly.”
Ayana made a clicking noise with her tongue that indicated displeasure at this instruction. “It is your absence that distresses him, and how am I supposed to protect you, if we are not in the same place?” she demanded, her voice low and smooth. She oozed confidence, and Ameena did not doubt her ability as body guard to this strange and rather frightening silver-eyed man at her side, though he looked like he was in little need of it. Ayana was beautiful and deadly all at once, though, and Ameena wished she had even a fraction of her assurance.
Devil narrowed those strange silver eyes and Ayana glared at him, shaking her head. Giving a light tug on the lead, she pulled a very reluctant Luke in her wake. “If you are not back in twenty minutes, I shall come and get you,” she warned, her voice suggesting she wasn’t joking and that he’d better be back.
Ameena watched as they left, and felt those silver eyes focus on her once again. She shivered under their intense gaze as she dared to look at him again. It took more courage than she could credit just to look at him, but once she had, it was as though she could never look for long enough.
“Devil?” she queried, hearing the tremor in her voice with dismay.
“A nickname,” he replied, smiling at her and making her want to sigh for being the cause of it. She understood why Luke had looked like he might purr beneath his touch. “One that only my … closest friends are given leave to use,” he added, the smile widening to show gleaming white teeth and putting her in mind of a panther, all sleek, soft fur and a mouth full of daggers. "I'm afraid it is very apt, however." His voice was soft and low now, melodious as he stepped closer as though to confide in her. "You see, they …” He waved a hand that seemed to indicate the rest of the Fae world as a whole. “They disapprove of me, as I do not conform to their notions of what a gentleman should be." He touched her jaw, then, tracing the line of it as he had with Luke, and Ameena caught her breath as warmth and pleasure and pure invitation shivered over her skin. "They are so stuffy, don't you find?” He shook his head, and she could see understanding in his eyes now. With no question, she accepted that this was a man who knew what it was to not fit in, to be an outcast. “Their notions of morality and what is and isn't acceptable. Why should they decide what is right and wrong, anyway? Who gave them the right?" He gave a snort of disgust, shaking his head, and she noted the diamond earring that dangled from one ear, almost lost in the thick fall of his hair. It was a strangely feminine touch to a man who was so decidedly masculine. But then she looked at his face and changed her mind on that, too, as she had never seen anything so beautiful, like a fallen angel. He seemed to be a mass of contradictions.
"Yes," she agreed, once her voice had decided to cooperate again. "Yes, stuffy is definitely a word that would apply,” she said with feeling, remembering Bram’s words, the judgement in his eyes.
He laughed, delighted, and Ameena felt fear and excitement coil low in her belly as the sound really did seem to touch her skin.
“I like you, Ameena,” he said, sounding her name out, slow and drawn out and seeming far more alluring than she had ever heard it. “I think we should get to know each other better.”
“How do you know my name?” she asked, her heart picking up speed as the implication of his words filtered through the haze. If she had any sense, she would leave now, but she didn’t want to think about Bram, and she had nowhere else to go. There was no one else who cared where she was or what she was doing.
“It is my business to know things,” he said, the intensity of his gaze making her feel as though she were the only woman in the world, the only one he wanted to know. He held out one to hand to her and she took it, feeling his touch against her skin like a jolt of electricity. “Allow me to introduce myself properly,” he said, that smile dawning over the decadent curve of his mouth like a sunrise as she basked in its glow. “I am Lord Bastian Calder, the Duke of Ravendell, but, as I feel we are going to be such special friends … you may call me Devil.”
***
Corin watched Claudette descend the grand staircase with a swell of pride. She looked every inch a future queen, and his chest grew tight as he heard the murmured voices behind him. He knew there were some who would hate her for being his chosen bride, others for the power she would gain as queen, and some simply because she was human, but none could deny her beauty. He turned, sending furious looks upon a couple of young rakes whose comments were rather too explicit. They blanched and bowed low, scurrying away from him as he turned back to his fiancée.
The dress was a vibrant green, off the shoulder with a deep V that showed much of her back. He was looking forward to dancing with her and taking advantage of that exposed skin. It was still a delight to tease her and make her blush. Emeralds at her ears and throat caught the light and sparkled as she moved, and now the soft glow of his child made her skin glimmer like a pearl under sunlight. She beamed at him as she drew closer, and he found he couldn't speak. He would not have believed it would be possible to be so very happy and so dreadfully afraid.
"What is it, mon loup?" she asked him, laying her hand on his with concern in her eyes as she looked up at him.
Corin shook his head, bending his head to brush his lips over hers. "You take my breath away," he whispered, meaning it, though it wasn’t the only reason that he was lost for words. "I want to take you back upstairs right now and take that beautiful dress off again." He smiled at the look in her eyes and the lovely pink tinge that highlighted her cheeks at his words. He reached to touch one cheek with a fingertip. "I'm so happy I can still make you do that,” he murmured as she huffed at him.
"Behave," she said, pretending to be cross and failing as she looked at him with adoration.
He took her arm and tucked it securely under his, returning a wounded expression. "As if I wouldn't.”
They walked towards a small gathering of the most exclusive guests to find Laen fussing over Océane, much to her irritation, if the look on her face was
anything to go on.
"Laen, please, I'm pregnant, not ill. I've only walked down the stairs, I do not need to sit down!" she said as he snatched a glass of champagne from her hand. "I was only going to have a sip!" she wailed as he returned it to the silver platter it had come from before she’d had a chance to taste it. "Corin, please," she begged as she saw them approach. "Please, tell him I am in perfect health!"
Corin gave her a sympathetic look, but he had already seen the determined look in Laen's eyes. "I'm sorry, my dear,” he said, shaking his head. “You are indeed in perfect health, but I would not dare to interfere in this instance."
Laen grinned and winked at him, knowing full well he was going to be just as intolerable with Claudette. Corin cleared his throat and turned to greet Dannon and Anaïs, who had just arrived. Anaïs was looking as delectable as one of her own mouthwatering creations in pale lemon silk. Her ample bosom was splendidly set off by the dramatic cut of the dress, giving the impression of an upmarket milkmaid. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes sparkling with excitement, and Dannon was holding onto her hand for all he was worth. Corin, quite unable to resist, took her free hand and kissed it.
"My, my, Anaïs, a living, breathing lemon meringue, quite delicious," he said with a mischievous smile at his lips. Claudette snorted and rolled her eyes.
"That's what Dannon said," Anaïs said, looking delighted at the compliment. "It's his favourite."
"I'm quite sure it is," Corin murmured as Dannon glowered at him. He chuckled, releasing Anaïs' hand and drawing Claudette closer. "Well then, my friends, time we entered the fray."
They walked forward to the grand double doors of the great hall with Corin at their head. As the doors were opened for them to pass through, the music swelled around them and they were faced with a jewel-like swirl of colours and fabrics as couples swept around the dance floor. The music stopped abruptly and all eyes turned to the doors.
The Darkest Night Page 44
