by Rebecca Main
“Okay,” I whisper back and relax somewhat. The wolf calms as well, too exhausted to be roused in our combined state. Yet, the ease at which it does so makes me nervous. It wasn’t too long ago that any vampyré set off the wolf into a defensive and alert state. Now it has almost softened toward the Vrana clan.
“I’m going to stitch this up,” Nova says, interrupting my thoughts. “I don’t think they put anything on the blade. Your blood smells clean to me.”
“Wonderful,” I gripe. “Shall we, then?”
Nova ignores the slight shake in my voice and nods. I watch as she selects a small plastic packet labeled nylon thread and rummages through the medical kit for a needle, forceps, and holder. “I’ve done this before, in case you were wondering. On my sisters a couple of times. I’ll have to do an interrupted stitch,” she trails off, sweeping her eyes over the cut once more. “It’ll take longer, but it’s better for closing wounds like this. Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” I say, grimacing as the needle enters my body with the thread chasing after it. “You know,” I begin, feeling the gathering of sweat at my brow. “This all could have been avoided.”
“Uh-huh.”
I plow on, despite Nova’s apparent skepticism. “It’s true. If I wasn’t always kept in the dark, I could have been better prepared.”
“Just assume everyone wants to kill you here,” she says. “It’s probably an accurate assumption.”
“Yes, but who would kill me for fun versus those with actual intent? Those demons were sent—ouch.”
Nova pauses and gives me an apologetic smile. “Demons are different. They enjoy causing mayhem and chaos and inflicting harm. That’s how they survive in this world, by siphoning people’s misery and pain after inflicting it. You’re the only lycan in the Dark Court. Something like this was bound to happen sooner or later.”
“How comforting,” I say, rolling my eyes upward as she ties off a suture and begins another. “I still maintain that knowing more about the other households would help immensely. Preferably before another attack on my person.”
“Duly noted,” she says. “But I wouldn’t count on it.”
My eyes snap to her. “Why not? Surely after this—” Nova shakes her head, and my mouth closes, teeth clanking together. “And why not?” I finally ask after a tense minute.
“It’s better this way,” she mutters, tying off another suture.
“I beg to differ.”
Nova sighs. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just better to have you in the dark while we find the rings.”
“Do explain.” A growl rises in the back of my throat as I peek at her work. Almost done. Thank God. I can still feel a strange current of energy running through my blood, like some mild anger that keeps my blood running extra hot. Perhaps it is my lycan healing kicking in—good.
“It’s too suspicious for you to know too much,” she tells me with a short shrug. “Nobody is supposed to know we’re looking for the rings, right? Well, you not knowing gives credibility to our ‘nonagenda’ so to speak. I don’t know shit either, if that makes you feel any better.”
“You don’t?”
Nova cleans her finished work with steady hands. “Jakob told me to learn the court on my own.”
“That’s—”
“Ingenious?” she offers wryly.
I level her with a glare and scoot up into an awkward sitting position to examine her work. “Risky.”
“You weren’t exactly part of the plan originally,” she reminds me, grabbing a roll of gauze and medical tape to cover the stitches. “He adapted.”
“Thank you,” I say once she’s finished. “You did well.”
Nova catches my eye with her own. Her eyes are still a brilliant red, but I don't fear for my well-being. “Thanks. The blood rationing helps, sort of,” she begrudges. “Well, that and the fighting. Kicking ass is a good release, but it doesn't quite hit the same spot as a glass of O negative. Speaking of....” Nova looks over to the bar. “I think I’ve earned a glass.”
“I'm not going to stop you,” I say.
Nova finishes bandaging me and zips over to the decanters. She’s pouring herself a glass when Vrana enters. The look in his eyes when he spots me is powerful. My breath catches in my throat, and I am unable to look away as he strides forward.
“What happened? Who did this to you?”
“Demons,” Nova says before I can answer.
“How many?”
“Three,” Nova and I say at the same time. I shoot her a look of exasperation, one she completely ignores. “All dead, courtesy of your soulmark,” she adds.
Vrana’s eyes do not leave mine. He surveys each of my wounds with grave intensity. “Leave us,” he commands. Nova obeys, sending me a salute behind Vrana’s back before exiting. “Where did she find you?”
"Just before the White Drawing Room. I'm surprised she found me at all considering she was on her way to the Pits." But Vrana doesn't look surprised at all. He looks concerned. "Did you... send her after me?”
He gives a curt nod, and my eyes widen. I can’t quite gather my thoughts on how I feel about this discovery, not after what happened only an hour or so before. A ripple of pain traverses my body as I squirm into a more upright position, using the sofa's low armrest and back to support myself.
“How did you know to send her?”
“I felt it,” he admits, a frown tugging his lips downward.
My mouth runs dry. “Felt what?”
The frown deepens, a crease forming between his brows. “Your pain.”
“Oh,” I mumble. “I see.” I wear a frown to mirror his own, aiming it toward the chair he stands behind. At least there is one benefit of not wearing Jax’s magical necklace. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he responds. Vrana moves around the chair with a predator's grace and sits on its edge. Knees spread far apart, he leans forward with his forearms resting upon them. “Now, tell me everything.”
With a deep breath, I do. I keep to the facts and push aside my baser emotions of bitterness and ire.
“Apparently,” I say, imparting upon him a cynic's smile, “you were right. They think I’m willing to give my… 'allegiance' to anyone.”
Vrana winces and bows his head. “I must apologize for my earlier behavior,” he says. His voice gravelly, but not without earnestness. “I overstepped my bounds, and the words I said were unjust.”
I can only stare in disbelief. An apology? From Vrana? The world must be coming to an end.
“I accept your apology,” I say, my words slow and hesitant. A hint of heat surfaces in my cheeks as Vrana looks at me expectantly. “I suppose I shouldn’t have gone rummaging around in your study and poking my nose where it didn’t belong. But, in my defense, you haven’t been the most forthcoming about your plans and motives. I felt it necessary to find them out for myself.”
“And look what your actions wrought.”
I level Vrana with a flat stare. “I’ve already been informed by Nova that something like this was bound to happen to me sooner or later.”
“And here I hoped any punishment to befall you would be by my hand,” he drawls, the corner of his lip twitching upward.
“Yes, well, it turned out quite well for the demons,” I respond, and bat my lashes at him. A moment passes between us—one devoid of the tense electricity we usually create.
Vrana tips his head. “You are a formidable opponent.”
“My brothers made sure of it,” I say, clearing my own throat as it begins to constrict. I pause and watch as Vrana’s gaze seems to go out of focus.
“Mine as well,” he murmurs. Again, our eyes meet in understanding. I swallow and look away, adjusting myself out of awkwardness more than necessity. The movement makes me wince, my stitches pinching at my skin.
“Would you mind bringing me something to eat?” Spots of red bloom on my cheeks once more. “It will speed up my rec
overy.” And give me something to do besides talk to you.
Vrana only stares. It is a long and steady look that produces the strangest sensation around my soulmark. Finally, he nods and rises. When he crosses to the kitchen, I release the breath I’ve held precariously in my chest. And this, I think, is why the necklace is needed.
“When can I expect Jax to replenish my necklace? Soon?”
My ears mark the distinct lack of movement in the kitchenette before Vrana finds his voice to answer. “Yes.” He comes back with a plate of meats and cheeses, as well as a glass of water.
“Thanks,” I mumble around the glass before indulging in a deep drink. “Ah.”
“While it pleases me to know the demons have been dealt with, it would have been prudent of you to keep at least one alive for questioning.”
“I’ll remember that for next time,” I say around a mouthful of charcuterie, my hand safely over my mouth to cover the scene.
“Please do. Ruby, among others, would be most appreciative. I would have been along sooner had I not run into Omar myself.”
I go still, a shadow of hate simmering to the surface at the mention of the vile man. “And?”
“He couldn’t help but boast about the private show you put on for him.”
“He did what?”
“It would appear Omar arranged the skirmish.”
“It wasn’t a skirmish,” I snap. “They were trying to kill me!” Pain flares across my stomach as I twist in my seat. At Vrana's look of disapproval—specifically aimed at my abdomen—I lean back with a frustrated growl. The beginning of a headache takes residence at the back of my head.
“Be that as it may, it was wise of you not to overreact with Omar. He's a dangerous man and has made friends in high places.” No kidding. "Furthermore," Jakob continues, his eyes drawing to a smolder, "I don't appreciate when others touch what is mine."
Silence wells up between us, and my next breath gets lost in its way up my throat. “It’s the soulmark,” I tell him politely, holding his gaze as I keep my voice light, yet matter-of-fact. I steer my gaze to the ground, very much aware of the new look he spears me with—one that is consumed with that longing I spotted in his eyes those weeks ago... directed now at me. “Without Jax’s charmed necklace, we feel its effects quite en masse. No doubt because the soulmark's power has been blocked for these past few weeks. Once Jax restores the magical integrity of the necklace, we'll be right back to our old selves.”
Vrana spares me a modicum of a nod as I study his reaction, but the acknowledgment does little to stifle the truth between us. Our bond is strengthening, and without Jax's necklace, we'll have another battle to contend with... and this one we'll both lose.
Vienna | Spring 1834
One person can learn an impressive amount in the span of a year... but Jakob took to the art of combat like a man starved. Each night he trained, alternating his opponents and teachers between Max, Jasper, and Cordelia.
No subject was out of bounds. He learned the cane, the sword, and the staff. He learned to read his opponent's body language. He trained his body to react and counter without thinking.
The fight became everything, and soon he learned of all the weapons, he was the best.
The end was near.
Max’s challenge was masterfully given in the middle of May, all of his cards except for one laid out for the Royal Household elite to see. As the vampyré had promised, both the Roux and Delacroix households accepted. And though the Thorburns opposed, Adrian’s interest in their set of rings did not go unnoticed... nor did the others. The trap had been set. The pieces caught. All that was to be done was for Jakob to finish them off.
The end was near, but on the horizon, Jakob felt a beginning too.
++
Jakob was convinced they had traveled by magic... By the time his family reached the bowels of the Dark Court, he could not conceive how they had arrived in the first place. One minute he was in the courtyard and the next in some dark and dank room fit for a dungeon.
Max and Cecil moved forward through the gathered crowd, leaving Jakob in Jasper and Cordelia’s care. They shielded him from the whispers and comments made around them, but the young vampyré paid the courtiers no mind. Jakob could not focus on the goings-on around him.
He saw the pit before him made of rough stone where he would fight for his life... yet all Jakob thought of was what he had lost.
His brother and family. Himself. The countless lives lost to his hands.
Among the darkness of his past came a light to breach the abyss: a future. A future with a new family. A life with purpose.
As the crowd roared around them, Cecil and Max returned to the trio. Jakob straightened. If tonight was to be his last, then nothing could be more honorable than dying for one’s family. The Vrana’s circled their hope with final words of advice.
“Tonight you face Leo Delacroix,” Max said, his voice a note below the others to capture Jakob’s attention. “The Delacroixs are fighters. If he is anything like his comrades, then he will want to make you bleed. Let him. Play on their expectations of you.”
“Be smart,” Cecil added, her hand smoothing Jakob’s hair back out of his face.
“Be ruthless,” Cordelia whispered in his ear and sent a shiver straight down his spine.
Jasper’s hand clasped onto his shoulder, giving it a rough squeeze. “It’s just chess, my friend.”
“Look at him, Jakob,” Max commanded. “Look at all of them and remember what they think of you. Now take that anger and put it aside, until there is nothing left but purpose. Clear your head….”
And get inside his….
++
One of the most important lessons taught to Jakob during his yearlong training was how to prepare himself mentally for this fight.
As a human, this tactic was doubly important. The instinct to fight or flee dominated one's senses to an overwhelming degree and could dictate the outcome of a fight. As a vampyré—as a predator—to fight was the only option.
The trick was not to be consumed by it.
Leo Delacroix and Jakob Kysely fought with naught but their God-given bodies. Young against old. Jakob saw himself in Leo in many ways. Their fair hair. Their strong nose. Even their eyes held the same shade of blue. But where Jakob held mere traces of silver, Leo’s eyes had well-earned stripes of the vampyric mark.
Their strategies varied.
Delacroix was bloodthirsty. First to hit and first to counter, he pressured Jakob relentlessly. Delacroix pushed the pace, his right hand hitting cheek time and time again.
Jakob allowed himself to be beaten, and he ignored the jeering crowd. He knew only one way to win: with patience. He feigned and fainted, and took fist after fist, all the while studying his opponents every move and tick.
Delacroix had little weakness in his style of fighting... but he had his habits. And Jakob planned on taking advantage of them. Or as it happened, only one.
Delacroix liked to show his right hook without throwing a cross or an uppercut to mask it first, and he did so to make the crowd scream with anticipation. Vanity truly was a Delacroix weakness.
The fight ended quickly on the ire of the crowd.
Delacroix's right hook meant to deliver itself upon Jakob with killer intent. It did not. Jakob swung, a hellacious left delivered to Delacroix's exposed body, followed swiftly by a right. Winded by the renowned fledgling strength, he flailed.
The crowd drew to a hush, only a single voice keened out at the coming loss of their son.
Jakob moved without thought—only instinct. As Delacroix shot to check his balance, he snuck in a booming right uppercut. His opponent sailed to the ground, whereupon Jakob took Cordelia’s words to heart. With the ruthlessness associated with his kind, he fell upon the vampyré and ripped his head clear from his body.
There followed a moment of silence to accompany Leo Delacroix’s defeat—one so deafening it questioned the ve
ry death that had occurred. And then a clap rang throughout the room, followed slowly by another. And another. And another. Until the room arose to such cheer and mirth and gaiety the room vibrated with sound.
But Jakob had eyes only for the woman with shocking red hair cut roughly at chin's length. For she was the one who clapped first. And she was smiling just for him.
++
The Vranas celebrated until dawn drew the court to the safety of their beds. With a brass key in hand, Max led them to their new private apartment suite.
“A Greater Household.” Cordelia sighed with pleasure as she leaned against Jakob’s side. “How terribly wonderful, don’t you agree?”
The young vampyré, exhausted from his fight, had stopped drinking blut champagner hours ago when he began to feel as if he were drowning. His body, though mostly healed from what he had drunk, was still sore. But the weariness in his bones was a pleasant one filled with satisfaction.
“Terribly.”
“Here it is!” Max cried victoriously. The fivesome stood before a large dark door with a silver raven knocker at its middle. Max flashed the key to his family with his usual flair before he opened the door wide. They were home.
The room was lit by a number of golden candelabras, each covered by ivory-colored lampshades. It cast the impressive sitting room in a luxurious amber glow, and the family proceeded inside without further ado.
“Oh, this dining room is so… stately!” Cecil cried out, turning immediately into the room on the left.
“Why, look here. The fireplace is almost as tall as me!” Cordelia laughed and rushed over to stand beside it. Her smile was filled with childish delight. “I call the prettiest room,” she proclaimed and zipped away in search of it.
Jasper stood in wonder near the middle of the sitting room, his hand running over a wide, overstuffed leather chair reverently. “This reminds me of my father’s favorite chair,” he murmured to no one in particular.