by Lana Sky
Only to reform a heartbeat later, more beautiful than ever.
“What on Earth shall we dress little Eleanor in?” she wondered, turning her attention to me. Wincing in disgust, she scanned my rumpled dress, splattered with blood. “She looks well enough, considering the fuss you made. Still so plain, though I’m sure I can do something with her.” She rubbed her hands, and I recalled an unsettling piece of advice Dublin had given me once.
“Saskia is a succubus. She cannot actually read minds—merely the subconscious fears and desires of those around her.”
“Come here, my dear—”
“No. I’ll dress her.” Yulia stepped forward and took my hand. She tried to pull me out of Saskia’s reach—but an iron grip on my opposite arm kept me rooted in place. “Dublin,” she said softly. “I’ll watch out for her.” She brushed her fingers along my arm in brief reassurance. “I promise.”
He let me go. Before I could look back, Yulia was dragging me through the doorway, past a scowling Mikhail.
“Darling Yulia to the rescue,” Saskia remarked, sighing like a child denied a treat. “But will her magic work this time? After all, you brought her here, Dublin.” The way she stressed the word implied a nefarious connotation. Something that made her haughty tone shake with more than just anger. Fear? “You called Raphael from his rest, all the way here. And for what? Though it is no matter. You may be the all-powerful Cael, but within these walls, even you are just like the rest of us. Under his rule.”
“Come.” Yulia steered me forward.
I looked over my shoulder, catching a mere glimpse of the room. Dublin was framed by the doorway, as rigid as a statue. His eyes flickered to mine and my entire body went cold at what I found in them.
Nothing. Not even anger.
Not hate.
Not even concern.
He was beyond feeling anything at all.
Amusement
“Damn, damn, damn!” Yulia raced around a wide room, snatching items from various racks of clothing.
The space we were in resembled a dressing room, so similar to the one in the original club where we’d met. Red walls and floors a dark shade of wood served to enhance the allure befitting the club’s mysterious name. At least the moniker I remembered it as—Anemia.
In the prime position to display my reaction, a large, golden mirror hung across from us, above a marble vanity.
“I hope you’re all right?” Yulia inquired mid-lunge. Her chosen prey was a garment from an overflowing closet. Frowning, she held it up for inspection and then tossed it aside. Then she rummaged for something different, her eyebrow furrowed in concentration.
“I’m fine,” I lied. The mirror provided enough evidence to contradict me—my bloodshot eyes stared blankly, my hair matted and damp. Scarlet streaks painted my cheeks and my neck, staining the bodice of my dress.
“Thank God,” she muttered. “Finally!” On what had to be her fourth trip around the room, she found a garment that made her nod in approval. Pivoting on her feet, she returned to me and lifted my chin. “Oh, Ellie.”
Her irises contracted with pity as she unfurled her selection and held it before me—a long dress made of black silk. While conservative in some aspects, it had a dangerously low neckline that reinforced its purpose in a club like this—a place where souls were bartered and sold on a whim.
Even Dublin’s.
“It will have to do.” Without waiting for my opinion, Yulia started to tug off my soiled clothing—a task made easier once she found a strip of lace along the neckline and pulled.
There was no other way to describe how the fabric came apart other than like magic. Or expert tailoring.
“Here.” She helped tug the new dress over my head, and before the silky material had even settled at my waist, she already had a wet rag in her hand and was dabbing at my shoulders. “Dublin will be angry,” she warned in a level tone. “I’m glad you’re okay, but you need to realize what is at stake now. The fact that he even came here is—” She bit off the rest of her words, her mouth wrinkled. “Where were you? We thought…” For the first time, she seemed to realize just what substance she was dutifully cleaning off me. Her mouth dropped open in horror and the rag slipped from her fingers. “Are you all right?” She felt along my forehead, inspecting the flesh. “Were you hurt? Dublin didn’t seem alarmed, so I thought—”
“I fell,” I croaked. “He…he gave me his blood. I’m better now.”
“Oh.” She drew her hand away and stooped for the rag.
Cautiously, she continued her ruthless cleansing, but her expression wavered, more strained than before. Her lips twitched as if fighting to contain any more questions. Then she left the room in silence and returned with a basin of warm water and a fresh set of rags.
The water, she used to wash the blood from my hair, before forming the semblance of a bun that my short locks would allow. After securing it to the nape of my neck with pins, she stood back and sighed. “I guess you’re ready.”
But I stiffened, unwilling to move.
“What’s happening?” I asked. Something terrible, judging from her grimace. Something involving a man I would have given the Gray fortune never to see again—and the figure Saskia implied would be arriving soon.
Raphael.
“You were gone for hours.” Yulia’s anguished expression only strengthened the guilt lancing through my chest. “I’ve never seen Dublin like that. Ever. He thought those radical fools had taken you, perhaps.”
Radical fools? The Grayne?
“I don’t think he was being rational,” she continued in a rush. “Maybe he assumed coming to him was his only choice?” She turned away, cradling her chin in her hand. “At least he found you first, before it was too late. I tried to stop him. He promised me he wouldn’t ever sell more of his time—”
“Let’s go.”
I turned and found Dublin in the doorway, his face expressionless. His gaze flicked over me once, conveying no disgust. He didn’t even bother to utter a mocking quip. He merely beckoned with a nod before advancing down the hall.
“Go,” Yulia whispered while tucking a curl behind my ear. She squeezed my arm reassuringly and urged me forward. “It will be okay.”
My stomach churned as I staggered a few reluctant steps, leaving her behind. Up ahead, Dublin continued without waiting for me, already halfway down the narrow hall.
His taste lingered on my tongue as my body thrummed with his blood. Every drop prickled beneath my skin, so potent that it burned. In a sense, drinking from him had always been painful. Overwhelming. In fact…
I usually fainted.
I swayed on my feet as I tried to reconcile why I hadn’t. A swallow racked my throat as I looked down, surprised to find my hand against my abdomen, the fingers trembling. I wrenched it away, forming a fist, and when I looked up, Dublin was watching me. The moment our gazes connected, he turned and continued forward.
I crept after him, and far too soon, we entered a spacious room decorated in shades of black. Like a lecture hall, leather seats framed a makeshift stage—a circle of light illuminating the very center of the marble floor. It was a chillingly familiar setup. Much like a showroom, perfect for various wares to be displayed for purchase.
Human wares.
“Stay close.”
I jumped as Dublin grabbed my hand, dragging me to his side.
“Say nothing,” he told me.
Across from our position, a contingent of people was already flooding in from a different entrance.
Leading the mass of beautiful, elegantly dressed specters was a man almost too perfect to be real. Stunningly pale, his face was that of an angel’s, frozen in time. An angel who had been barred from Heaven for too damn long.
Instead of wings, an ebony cloak shrouded most of his slight body, blending in with the long, black hair falling down his shoulders. With a flick of his lips, he greeted me with a nod.
“Eleanor Gray.”
I shuddered beneath his scrutiny. Ce
nturies of life had stripped his dark eyes of any expression. Only a chilling aura set him apart from those in his retinue, Saskia and Mikhail among them.
The closer he came, the tighter Dublin clenched my hand until I had to grit my teeth to keep from crying out.
“Raphael,” he said coldly.
“Dublin,” the other man replied. His voice was so soft, yet it resonated clearly over the hushed murmurs of those around him. “How lovely of you to join us. And with dear Eleanor.” He extended his hand to me. “I wasn’t sure when we would meet again.”
I eyed his slim fingers as the memory of our first meeting flashed across my skull. He’d felt so cold. Like death.
A pointed nudge to my side jarred me back to the present. Glancing at Dublin, I saw him jerk his chin in a silent command. Do it. Left with no choice, I placed my hand over the ancient vampire’s and winced. He grasped my fingers without warning, bringing them to his lips.
“I’m curious as to the nature of this visit,” he murmured, lifting his head. But he didn’t release my hand. Instead, he drifted toward another corner of the room, forcing me to follow.
I sensed Dublin right on my heels, silent, my other hand still in his.
“Not to be blunt, but I was under the impression that Dublin had ceded all interest in you,” Raphael added. “He claimed to have cut off all communication. Leveraged his contacts so that poor Saskia had no choice but to move from our previous location. The last I’d heard, our dear friend had left this marvelous country entirely. I must confess I understood his aversion. Your bloodline has always been mired in needless superstition.” He sighed. “So, imagine my surprise that the first time he deigned to contact me in weeks happened to concern you.”
I glanced at the man in question, but he wasn’t even looking in my direction. His eyes were fixated on the center of the room, his jaw slack with disinterest—even as he kept time with my every step.
“In fact…” Raphael paused before a leather chaise and lowered himself onto it, gesturing for me to follow. When I did, he took my hand again, stroking the palm of it with his thumb. “For Dublin to call me here, this hour of the night, I would have thought you were in danger.” His empty eyes cut to my face, scanning it with reptilian curiosity. Without revealing whether he discovered anything of interest, he shifted his attention to Dublin. “Did I assume wrong?”
“No,” Dublin replied. He remained standing paces away, angled slightly toward the center of the room. “It was…a misunderstanding. Nothing more.”
“Ah.” Raphael nodded and patted the back of my hand. The seemingly playful gesture contrasted with his chilling, frozen smile. “Nothing. How wonderful. Then, Eleanor, my dear, you must have entered here of your own free will, under no claim to speak of.”
Claim. Dublin stiffened at the word. By the time I’d blinked, he had returned to my side. Startled, I took the hand he was offering, allowing him to pull me to my feet. Raphael released me, but each pad of his fingers glided over my flesh like a serpent in retreat.
“She was just leaving,” Dublin said, maneuvering me to stand behind him.
“Leaving?” Raphael uttered a sound too cutting to be a laugh. “Oh, no. The entertainment has just arrived. Do stay. Both of you.”
Dublin stiffened. “I—”
“I insist,” Raphael added, flicking his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Why, look! The show is just beginning.”
As if his acknowledgment were the cue, a woman entered, pale and slender. Dressed in a sheer, white slip that barely reached her knees, she was a stark contrast from how I remembered the women on auction dressing. Not overtly sexual, to put it bluntly. Though her purpose was painfully reinforced by the sheer fabric of her dress—pale skin and flushes of pink peeked, fully visible beneath. Her large, green eyes stared out blankly, framed by curly, dark hair. The style chafed my nerves, uncomfortably familiar. Too familiar.
“A lovely creature,” Raphael remarked, his lips quirked in another mirthless smile. “Don’t you agree, Dublin?”
Without warning, Dublin released my hand. Suddenly, the space between us widened as he stepped aside, and my heart surged. A few feet yawned like an ocean to separate us. I tried to meet his gaze—anything but reach out directly.
He ignored me.
“Ah, yes,” Raphael continued as though he’d received a response. “The last auction you participated in was such a success that I’ve had Saskia replicate your ethereal aesthetic. I hope you don’t mind.” Only when his eyes flickered in my direction did I realize he was speaking to me.
My stomach churned as I faced the girl again. One word could summarize her “aesthetic.” Me. Everything from her chin-length curls to her slender frame resembled mine. Specifically, how Yulia had dressed me the night Dublin had bartered for my contract.
“I am curious what you think, Dublin,” Raphael wondered. “I must say, this style has been a boon for the club. So many seem so curious as to the appeal. What with your discerning tastes, anything you desire must be remarkable.”
Murmurs of agreement rose up from those seated nearby.
“You see?” Raphael gestured with a wave of his hand. “I believe the consensus is unanimous. Shall we begin? Saskia, my dear.”
“Yes, my lord.” Grinning, Saskia stepped forward, advancing on the girl. Once close enough, she brushed her hand along the girl’s cheek, tilting it to reveal the side of her throat.
I was reminded of an auctioneer displaying a piece of jewelry for a buyer’s discretion.
Circling around to stand behind the woman, Saskia ran her fingers along the flimsy neckline of her shift next. As if waiting until just the right moment, she tugged, allowing the sleeves to fall down the girl’s shoulders.
My cheeks heated as I looked away. But Dublin didn’t. He stared along with the rest of the room, his eyes conveying nothing. A dangerous thought crept into my brain, impossible to silence—was he inspecting her as well?
“Exquisite,” Raphael murmured in a way that made my throat tighten. “But I sense that Dublin doesn’t approve? Too short?” he wondered. “Or too thin? No matter. I do believe Saskia has cultivated an entire selection to match these specific tastes.” He clapped his hands together and four more women drifted into the room, each one more waiflike than the last.
Only slight variations in their height and their size set them apart. Overall, they all were thin with large eyes, short dark curls, and delicate white dresses. It was like looking at a distorted mirror, reflecting variations of me from a million different angles.
All of them slightly prettier.
Slightly thinner.
Slightly more appealing.
“Pick one,” Raphael suggested, still speaking to Dublin. “Any one you’d like. Her contract is yours. My gift to you. My only request is that, in return, whatever time you spend with your new acquaintance is time that I would get to spend with dear Eleanor. Alone.”
Crackling tension electrified the air. Even Saskia stiffened, her throat contracting around a swallow. Though, no matter what, her sly grin remained firmly in place.
“Well? What say you, Dublin?”
“To your offer?” Dublin faced him, his eyes a burnished, cool silver. Given his lack of emotion at all, one might have thought Raphael had presented him with a blank piece of paper. Not a woman. “No. I’m afraid we have a previous engagement to attend to.” He reached for my hand, yanking me forward to close the distance between us. “We’ll take our leave.”
“An engagement,” Raphael echoed. “Perhaps one having something to do with why you demanded my presence here, only to bring Mero’s rats to my doorstep?”
It was as though a switch had been flicked. In an instant, the atmosphere thickened further and the entire room seemed to shrink back, scurrying within the shadows.
Only the two men withstood the unbearable tension. Dublin stared unfazed, while Raphael casually sat back against the leather chaise, folding his hands on his lap.
“We’ve been
together long enough for you to know that there are few things I cannot tolerate, Dublin. Having my time wasted is one, though I know that the respect between us is far too great for such an insult.” His endless eyes flickered in my direction, flashing with rare interest. “But the second is secrets. Especially when they concern a mutual old friend of ours. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten him already. Mero.”
Silence fell. In a room of strange, undead creatures, something warned that I wasn’t the only one holding my breath.
“Even as he waged his little war against both of us, utilizing his human pawns, I have remained a loyal and neutral party,” Raphael insisted. “I have even toed your boundaries, haven’t I? After all this time? The Grays were but mere mosquitoes buzzing on the periphery, until one of them decided to bite my flesh. I had every right to retaliate, then. Didn’t I?”
A second passed without a reply.
And his eyes narrowed. “Answer me.”
“Yes,” Dublin hissed.
“Good. So, is it too much trouble that I wish to enjoy a few mere moments with an old friend? Even if he apparently has no further use for my services?”
This time, when his gaze slithered in my direction, he lingered, tracing a path up and down my body. There was no lust in the dark pupils. Just calculating, detached observation.
“I even came when you requested, prepared to assist you in any way that I could. All for the sake of dear Eleanor.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “I let you have her when you asked despite the risk. You knew the second you bid for her that you would be breaking his precious rules. The Gray family was to remain untouched, always. Do you remember?”
He waited until Dublin made a growled sound of acknowledgment in the base of his throat.
“Yes. As long as you did, he would remain in the shadows. I know you wrote off his threat as mere superstition, but I never did. I even warned you, didn’t I? I even offered you others. You refused. So please”—he smiled again, all traces of hostility erased—“allow me to learn your tastes so that I may replicate them more accurately. Choose.”