by Rebecca Main
“To become a formal household at the Dark Court. The title alone would provide us with protection from the courtiers, as well as a safeguard against the Royal Households.”
“How?”
The two vampyré stared in a silent standoff with each other. Jakob averted his gaze first, his curiosity and excitement too much to keep bound.
“The Royal Households don't allow other families to hold positions as households in their court, only as courtiers. You said so yourself.”
“My friend,” Max answered congenially, “remind me of my family’s credo.”
“Patience conquers.”
“Exactly,” the elder answered with a dash of exuberance. “Patience conquers, my dear friend. For decades I have planned and plotted with my family. For decades I have earned the Royal Households’ ear, and in some, their mild favor. The Roux Household is a standoffish bunch, but rightly so. Vicious women, and deathly beautiful. The Delacroix Household is vain. They adore to be adored, but this does not make them any less ruthless. The Thorburns are prideful. Their belief in the vampyré race and its superiority has propelled them far. With Adrian at its helm now, they will no doubt continue to go far,” Max explained.
“You've made an impressive study of them, Max,” Jakob said, unbuttoning his tailored vest and loosening the cravat at his throat. “But I must beg your pardon, for still, I do not understand how this knowledge will gain you your family’s new title and rank.”
Max smiled. The hair at the back of Jakob's neck stood at attention.
“All vampyré are vain creatures, Jakob. There is no denying it. The courtiers all vie for the royals’ favor. But not I. I have taken to the role of devil’s advocate—amiably so, of course. Over the years, I have tailored my voice to their ears. Submissive for the sake of the Rouxs. Flattering for the Delacroixs. And sensible and true for the Thorburns. They've come to see me as a man whom they can rely on for an honest opinion.” A dark gleam entered Max’s flint eyes. “No other courtier holds such weight with the royals as I or walks such a precarious line. But last year, something changed. An opportunity arose—a seed planted—of how I could elevate my family at last.”
“What opportunity?” Jakob asked, alert despite his relaxed position.
“You.”
The younger stiffened. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“You recall our many talks on the Great Hysteria? How the royals championed and led the siege on feral fledglings and maddened rouges?” Jakob nodded. “Little over a year ago, I heard of a rogue vampyré taking advantage of the revolution in Brussels by some passing courtier who was there for himself for a time. And my interest was piqued. I went to investigate, and low and behold, I found the vampyré he spoke of dining on some poor fellow in an alley. I followed you. I watched you from a distance, patiently,” Max teased. “And although you were in hunger’s grasp, you were still of your right mind, Jakob. And I knew… I knew what I could do with you.”
Jakob’s lips pursed. “And what was that, exactly?”
“I knew I would be your champion, Jakob!” Max crowed, as if this was the only reasonable answer. “Finally, after all the years of playing devil's advocate—of turning their ears in my favor—I could finally lay the groundwork for you.”
“I don’t see how,” Jakob retorted with a touch of bitterness. He did not appreciate being... used.
“My friend, they despise your kind,” Max explained, his own exasperation showing. A small touch of harsh reality cutting his words sharp. “Your very presence is a provocation. To them, you are nothing more than a wild beast. One who must be put down. Yet I have advocated on your behalf, planting the seeds of my opinion and reasoning to your kind’s usefulness—preaching that you aren't mindless beasts whose paths are bound for destruction. That your kind, in fact, can be set on the path of greatness! I have arranged my pieces carefully among the three households, and I am prepared to propose a challenge they cannot refuse. But I cannot do it without your support.”
Jakob lurched upward, a curl of fury spiraling inside of him. “All along you've planned to use me to further your family? Is that all I am to you, a pawn in your game?”
Max rose as well and replied coolly. “If we succeed, Jakob... you too would be part of the Vrana family. We rise together or not at all.”
Jakob's fury deflated as Max’s words sank in. He would be a member of the Vrana family? A family... The elder vampyré planted a hand firmly on the younger’s shoulder and politely ignored the growing sheen in the younger's eyes.
“What is your challenge?” Jakob asked.
“That my rogue, fledgling vampyré can defeat their best warrior.”
“And if I win… we are to be given a formal seat at court? As an official household?” Max nodded. “And if we lose?”
“The entire set of Vrana family rings, along with the lives of our family, are forfeit.”
Jakob grew wide-eyed. “Our lives….”
“Anything less and the challenge would lose its appeal. For this challenge to be accepted, we require a majority of the royal household to agree. I believe I can sway the Roux and Delacroix Households, my friend. I know I can. My only question is, will you fight for this? Will you fight to be in this family of ours?”
Time appeared to slip away from Jakob. The world losing its fine-edged focus in favor of something quieter. “Yes.”
Chapter 8
Present
Two nights later, I feign a headache of epic proportions to linger in our apartment suite while the others begin their searches. The Minor Households have all been ruled out—to no one's surprise—which means the search continues on to the Greater Households.
Nova is tasked with infiltrating the Pulzin Household. The Russian family of fighters is as bloodthirsty as they come and have successfully won two rings from fighting in the Pits. Needless to say, the Montague and Ascania Households have no love for the Pulzins.
Jax will charm the Habsburgs, who revel in all things related to the occult. He'll also continue socializing with the other supernaturals of the court, the sorcerers, and shape-shifters. This way, we have eyes and ears in all areas of the court.
Sebastian will take on the Krovopuskov Household whose family motto is "Victory or Death." His scholarly side will help him navigate their dangerous waters. No doubt he’ll debate himself into their dead hearts.
As for the youthful Ruby, she'll rub elbows with the Gunwyns. They are a household with a long history with the Vranas.
And I’ll play tagalong while Vrana does who knows what in pursuit of his personal vendetta.
A frown digs itself into my forehead. With a short huff, I sweep back the long pieces of my dark hair over my shoulder. It is far past time I learn the real reasons we search for these rings and why Vrana's departure from the court was so abrupt. Not to mention, why my pack and our allies are victims of his vendetta.
I shut the door to Vrana’s study without a sound. Releasing the handle with great care so as not to disturb the quiet I’ve cultivated. He left it unlocked, no doubt confident in Jax ability to secure our apartment suite with his sorcery. Why bother to lock his precious study, if no stranger could pierce Jax's magical wards? I turn and inspect the room. Somewhere in here lies Vrana’s secrets, like his well-guarded past.
His past is the key to everything. I’m sure of it.
And maybe in the process, I’ll learn something more about this soulmark of mine. Is there more to the tyrannical vampyré I know today?
These are traitorous thoughts, but my heart pulls it forward regardless—no, the soulmark does. My eyes shutter closed. Without Jax's charmed necklace, tendrils of want keep slipping through. No matter how much I despise my circumstances at present, a lonesome part of me hopes for a silver lining, and it belongs to the soulmark. Or maybe it's just me.
I shake myself from such treason and open my eyes. There will never be happily ever after for me with a vampyré.
Nova and Ruby. Jax and Sebastian, a voice whispers inside my mind.
The notion is grim, and no less traitorous than its predecessor, but I can’t rid myself of the thought now that it has been said.
Will they have my back if I truly need it? Do they care? Of course not, they are all following orders of Vrana to keep me safe—no matter how many times I am told that I am part their “family.” How can I be if I’m a prisoner? Even Nova has found her footing among them, I think with rising bitterness.
"Enough," I scold myself.
I stretch my fingers, fighting the urge to let them curl into angry fists. This time the anger coursing through me is directed at me.
"Enough," I say again, this time in a whisper. A calming breath washes away my anger and doubt, and I take to my secret task. The walls to my right and left are stacked with books, and a lone desk stands at the end of the room with a wingback leather chair. I set my sights there, and quickly walk over to examine the papers strewn across it.
“Is this… Latin?” I mutter in disbelief.
A frustrated noise builds at the back of my throat, and a quick rifling shows only bank statements and more Latin scribed documents. Nothing. The desk has few drawers, and their contents are as lackluster as those in view. Minus one. I pull a thick file from the last of the drawers and thumb through its contents. It is a breakdown of all households in the Dark Court, along with the courtiers.
In another country my ass.
I set the file aside and move to scour the line of old spines upon the bookshelves. A few selections seem somewhat worthy of further perusal, but it is the unusually tall and boxy book that is stuffed along the bottom shelf that keeps catching my attention. The room is tidy. Everything here has its place. Even Vrana's documents on his desk are sorted by category. But this book doesn't fit the mold.
I kneel down, my eyes skirting over my shoulder to the clock near the door. It’s nearing ten, will Sebastian be wondering where I am? Yesterday I had been sequestered to our apartment suite in the false act of recovery from my "bloodletting." Surely no one will become suspicious of my extended absence. The thought gives me pause, but I toss it aside.
The book’s spine is slim, yet its insides are stuffed with extra papers and time-stained envelopes. It gives a weak crackle as I open it, and fine dust emerges from its depths.
The first page is taken up by a large V, done in an ever-winding round hand and framed with vines and birds. My fingers trace the embossment, following its dips and curves. A strange shiver dances down my spine. Over the next few pages, I find myself squinting. The language is indecipherable to me. I’m tempted to put away the book, but there is something thick placed at the very end. It makes the pages bulge.
Heart hammering at an inexcusably fast pace, I steal to the last page and carefully peel it back. My hand stills as it goes to touch the odd piece of metal resting between the previous page and the back cover. There are only two words written on the back cover underneath the old photograph.
Wein, 1858
The photo is grainy and faded at its edges, but the five subjects remain mostly undisturbed. Front and center, sitting on a love seat, are a man and woman both impeccably dressed. The man wears a dark coat, pale trousers, and a cravat only a shade lighter than his coat. His hair is styled back in loose waves, a mixture of white and gray, with a mustache that curls eloquently at the ends. The corner of his right lip seems to quirk as if suppressing a smile.
The woman next to him is beautiful. Dark hair piles atop her head in elaborate braids, with curls left to hang in the front and frame her narrow face. Thick eyebrows bring attention to her birdlike eyes and a thin nose. Her pale lips give no hint of a smile, but I swear I can read triumph in her dark eyes.
Her gown clings to the edges of her shoulders before billowing out into full, long sleeves. I cannot help but trace her petite figure with my eyes, for it is wrapped tightly in a pale, frothy gown. How did such fashion trends come about? I wonder. The remaining three figures stand behind the love seat with a wall of books as their backdrop. The gentleman on the far left is only an inch or two taller than the woman in the middle. His hair, a few shades lighter than the seated woman’s, is combed to the side. He puffs his broad chest out, the dark jacket he wears straining somewhat around its silver buttons.
The woman in the middle has hair as fair as Vrana’s. She wears it down completely, its length falling well past her breasts. She tilts her chin high, as if in rebellion, with a haughty gaze directed straight into the camera. She is stunning.
And then there is Vrana. He too stands proud. Shoulders tossed back and chin thrust forward. His hair is combed back much like the fellow to his left, and he wears the same dark jacket as well. But Vrana’s clothes fit him fine. Very fine. My fingers brush over his still frame.
Same cut jaw, slanting ever upward. Same strong nose. Same eyes set back just so.
I peer closer at the picture to see if I can find any hint of vampyrism within their eyes, but the photo is far too old for me to see such detail. Instead, I notice the arrangement of the books lining the shelves behind them.
Oh.
My eyes slowly draw to the bookshelf in front of me, flicking back and forth several times between it and the photograph. It’s the same. It’s the same room. The love seat might be gone, but the books reside in the same order as they did more than a century ago... Could this be where Vrana and his family lived before when a part of the Dark Court?
Something draws the hairs on the back of my neck to attention. Instinct makes me still. The sound of my heart and the clock beat rhythmically in my ear, but that is not the only thing I hear. Outside, the soft pressure of feet gliding across the hallway runner reach my ear. They stop, as does my heart. Then comes the unmistakable turn of the doorknob’s tumbler.
My wolf hesitates, wary of who might enter. I suck in a breath, my eyes trained on the door... waiting.
There is no point in returning the book to its proper place, nor the time. The door is inching open. And so I straighten my back, falling back on my heels. The mysterious book lying open in front of me.
Vrana enters. Instantly his blue eyes find me. They widen but a fraction, as his nostrils flare at the sight of me kneeling there before his family’s album.
“What exactly are you doing here?” I ask. My tone is arrogant at best, with only a touch of domineering. Vrana closes the door behind him with a soft push. His eyes narrowing as he approaches me.
“Need I remind you this is my study? Oh no, dear heart. The better question is what are you doing here? Has your so-called ‘monstrous headache’ relented so soon?”
I close the album with care, taking my time as I place it back in its rightful spot. “As a matter of fact, my headache has seemed to clear up,” I answer as I rise. I smooth the emerald charmeuse dress down as I stand. The cool, silky fabric is a blessing on my fevered skin. “Did you come to check on me? You're too kind.”
Our eyes clash with my flippant remark. “There’s a ward upon this room. It alerts me to any intruders.”
“By Jax’s design, I presume.” Vrana gives a slight inclination of his head and goes to the desk. He eyes the contents with displeasure. His gaze lingers over the folder I’ve left out.
“Snooping, were you?”
I cross my arms. “Considering nobody tells me anything, I thought it pertinent to educate myself. Who should I be friendly toward? Who is the enemy? Who—”
“Your role in this plan is to be a distraction. Nothing more. Don’t strain yourself with the niceties or subtleties.” Vrana’s words are delivered with glacial refinement. They prickle at my spine.
“I assure you I’m capable of far more.” Far more than a distraction. I school my features into something less hostile, hiding the maelstrom ri
oting inside of me.
Vrana’s hurricane eyes pin me in place. “I’m aware.”
Yet he still chose to use me as a distraction. How... predictable. Of course, Vrana would keep me in the simplest role. He likely assumes me capable of sabotage, or perhaps not capable at all. I take a calculated step toward him, my sights narrowed.
I will not leave this room without answers.
“How did your family lose their rings? I hear whispers around the court. Everyone is still in shock to see the Vrana Household is back—to see you back. Yet I can’t garner why. Sebastian and Ruby won't speak a word on it. Jax speaks in riddles, and Nova simply follows along to their tunes. But I've been piecing together all those whispers, and do you know what I think? I think you lost your rings. Is that it? Your bruised pride has held you captive for over a century in search of what you've lost?" I scoff, dragging my gaze over him in disgust. "Clearly you are able to find more. So why these rings? Why put all of us in danger for your stupid pride?”
“Those rings belong to me,” he says, teeth bared. “To my family. For any other to possess them is an insult.” Vrana slams his hand upon the oversized maple and cherry wood desk. The trinkets upon it shake with the force.
Without the necklace, Vrana's anger drives through our meager bond... and fuels my own to greater depths.
I round my next step, circling away from him as I eye him. “And what family are you doing this for, exactly? Us? Or the one in the book?”
He does exactly as I predict, flashing toward me with his vampyric speed. Vrana doesn't expect me to employ my own supernatural speed to dash to the other side of the room.
We stand opposite one another. A heavy stillness settles between us as Vrana returns my cool look before squaring his shoulders. A hand falls to his abdomen, and he unbuttons the silver ravens that fasten his suit jacket. They are the only embellishment of his midnight ensemble.
“Both.”
There is something in the smooth undertone of his voice that sets me on edge, as if all his anger is leashed and residing just beneath the surface. I keep my feet shoulder width apart and my frame loose, ready for whatever may come.