by Rebecca Main
“Catching the eye of a pretty woman at court is hardly treasonous,” Jakob muttered before he could stop himself, his exasperation evident to both women.
“Catching the eye of a Roux is,” Cecil seethed, finding her anger once more. “This… this is not to be borne. You will not disgrace our family—you will not ruin all the work we have done to be here for some mere dalliance with a Roux.”
“I recall it being my hard work that brought us here,” Jakob replied, his jaw flexing in agitation.
Cecil’s dark eyes flooded with venom. “I recall you being plucked from the gutters and given a family,” she replied coldly. “We have given you the sun, my dear boy. And this is the thanks we receive?”
Cordelia shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes trained away from the pair at her side. A blonde curl fell delicately from her braid to curl against her slim face, but the vampyré remained as still as a statue. She watched the crush begin to enter, but her ears stayed open to the conversation at her side.
“Do not let one foolish want override this family’s place here. What can be given can be taken away in an instant.” Jakob slouched and ducked his chin to his chest. Cecil grasped his hand with her own. “Family first. No one could ever hope to love you as much as your family.”
“You’re right,” Jakob conceded. “Forgive me. I would not jeopardize my place in this family for a woman. Let alone a Roux.”
His apology calmed the older vampyrés, and Cordelia’s hand snaked out to join theirs briefly. “Let us now talk of more interesting topics, such as the newest contenders for a Greater Household title. After all, that is why we are here.”
“The Mubarks hail from the Arabian Peninsula,” Jakob said, correcting his posture to something more fitting of his station. “Oman, if the rumor proves true. Their family has holdings in Zanzibar, quite wealthy.”
“How exotic,” Cordelia purred. “The last contenders from Denmark were so… common.”
“Not to mention their amethyst necklace proved false,” Cecil added and snapped open her lace fan. “It amazes me still to see how much the court has changed since our historic arrival.”
“Now that would have been a sight to see,” Jakob commented. “The Dark Court in all its glory.”
Cordelia gave an unladylike snort and earned a disapproving glare from her sire. She colored faintly, but an impish smile drew up her lips as she looked at Jakob.
“You would, rogue,” Cordelia said. Jakob grinned back good-naturedly.
“These changes are to be embraced, children,” Cecil said. “We must move with the times, not against them. Perhaps one day we shall even see more supernaturals populating these hallways.”
“We’ll certainly live long enough to see it,” Cordelia responded reassuringly. Jakob nodded in kind, and watched longing penetrate Cecil’s far-off stare. Even in Cecil’s human life, she had been enveloped in the supernatural world, her father and sister being raven shape-shifters, as well as several of their relatives.
“One day,” Jakob agreed aloud. “We shall drive the change we wish to see here.”
The trio quieted as the Pits filled with the voices of newcomers. Some vampyrés came by their seats, making small flirtations and idle chitchat to pass the time before the main event. When a dark-skinned woman traipsed by in little more than silk and rubies, most ignored her presence... or stuck up their noses to her.
As a sorceress, she was used to such dismissal.
Jakob too gave the beauty little more than a passing glance, but when she moved to walk around their grouping, she stopped behind him. With no warning, the woman dropped her hands down his chest, slipping past his buttoned waistcoat with a husky purr ready at his ear.
“Care for a love potion, sir?” she drawled and removed one hand from its exploration to produce a small vial.
“No,” Jakob responded tersely, feeling the other hand continue to wander. Cordelia watched with mirth as he attempted to disentangle himself from her clutches, but his hasty retreat was unnecessary. The sorceress stepped back and removed her hand from his person.
“Another time, perhaps?”
As she walked away, Cordelia and Cecil, along with the two vampyrés who spoke with their group, laughed uproariously. Jakob glowered but attempted to laugh along with them.
“What a tasty thing, is she not?” the man who stood before them said.
Jakob did not hear the issued response; his gaze had followed the dark sorceress across the room… where she stopped to stand by the Roux Household. He swallowed, a rush of anticipation tingling through his veins. As he adjusted his waistcoat, he rejoined the conversation, making a subtle note to the crinkling of paper now in his breast pocket.
Ren Roux’s siren call had him under her spell. But Jakob did not mind at all.
Chapter 10
Present
The walk is maddeningly long to the Lunarium. Sebastian and I converse in hushed voices of what we might expect to face and how best to react. Though our plans settle a portion of my nerves, they are no real balm to my true fears. Whatever test is to occur leaves a hollow feeling inside of me.
Everything I have faced thus far—their whispers and stares, their fists and fangs—feel like a soft pinch in comparison to what we are about to face.
The hallway to the Lunarium is draped in greenery—greenery that grows to encompass the full face of the walls as we near the arched entryway. A crowd of vampyrés mingle about. Their polite conversations doing nothing to stifle my nerves. I scan the crowd beneath heavy lashes. No thralls. Only vampyrés. And me.
“Pretend I’m him,” Sebastian whispers to me before we’re within hearing distance of the others.
I want desperately to glare at Sebastian and flay him with my stare alone but refrain. Too many eyes fall upon us, their mindless drivel ceasing as we step further into the room. The chandeliers cast a soft light around the room, their meager shadows flickering across the occupants below.
All the Royal Households are in attendance in full fold. The Roux. The Delacroix. The Thorburn. Scattered among them are the echelon of choice few Great Households. Omar Mubark. Rudolph Habsburg. Three hulking Pulzin men, with dark beards and darker eyes.
Sebastian slips my hand into his own, bringing my knuckles to his lips for a soft kiss. I let my eyes roam over the crowd, letting a shine of gold pierce my ivy green eyes. The wolf paces restlessly in my mind, readying itself for whatever attack might come our way.
Adrian prowls forward. His dark hair is tied back to his usual preference at the nape of his neck, but long strands defy the leather tie and frame his face like some dark prince. They don’t soften the severe cut of his thin beard, nor his penetrating regard. The crowd of vampyrés parts for Adrian, and his responding smile cuts across his face like a wound.
“You came!” he crows. The distance between us evaporates as he uses his vampyric speed to stand before us. His all-black ensemble is accessorized by a golden necklace, on the end of which is a bear clutching a hammer. A family crest, perhaps?
“We’re honored to have been invited,” Sebastian replies smoothly, tucking my hand back into the crook of his elbow with his hand placed protectively over mine. When Sebastian tilts his head in deference to the old vampyré, I do so as well, but keep my gaze downcast. I’m well aware of my “place” among this elite group and won’t contest it. For now.
“As you should be,” he replies. “You’re the guests of honor after all.”
He ushers us further into the Lunarium, guiding us back to the Thorburn’s designated dais. A wave of unease settles over me as my heartbeat picks up its pace. Sebastian gives a subtle squeeze to my hand, and I force myself to take a deep breath.
“Ladies first,” Adrian proclaims, a dangerous gleam to his eyes as he sweeps his arm to the side.
Sebastian helps me climb the small set of stairs, following closely behind me. As we turn to face the gathered crowd, I take in their smug expressions a
nd feel my unease return tenfold. Claire eluded to a test of our relationship, but I hadn’t expected something so soon. What exactly does Adrian have planned?
“What an odd couple the two of you make. You’re quite the opposite of one another, wouldn’t you agree?” Neither of us speaks, and Adrian’s smile grows. “Shall we compare their differences?” he asks the crowd.
A rumble of consent surfaces, their eager eyes prickling at my skin.
The wolf’s hackles rise.
“One is well-mannered and pragmatic. A true intellect among our kind. He has earned our respect with his hard-working mind. And the other….” Adrian trails off meaningfully. His russet and silver eyes draw a slow path down my form. I stiffen. How can one man’s gaze feel like a physical molestation? “Is the very opposite.”
The crowd laughs predictably. But Adrian’s attempt at humiliation misses its mark. His words are nothing I haven’t heard before in whispers as I pass by haughty courtiers. I keep my regard indifferent as I stare out into the crowd, and then I spot Omar.
He wears a hungry expression, one that is far more intrusive than the one Adrian has bestowed upon me. A curl of fear floods my veins. Omar holds a silver chalice in his hand, and he tips it in my direction. The smile he levels me with is far more vicious than anything Adrian could procure.
“What I find so fascinating about the Dark Court’s newest pet is how reserved she acts. So cold. So aloof. Yet, aren’t lycans passionate beings? Do they not house a feral animal inside of them, not unlike their shifter cousins? Beasts of her kind wear their wild, hot-blooded nature as a badge of honor. But not Irina. You could freeze a room over with your very presence. Tell us, does your lover's touch not excite you?”
The room’s eyes are upon me, waiting with earnest glee for my rebuttal. I tilt my nose into the air, eyeing the lot with cool authority. “It brings me unbridled joy, I assure you, but I choose to keep my passions for Sebastian alone.”
“How touching,” Adrian mocks, placing a hand over his heart as he lets out a hearty laugh. The crowd follows suit. Their cackling echoes throughout the Lunarium. “Perhaps you might indulge us with a viewing of said ‘passion’?”
My mouth runs dry. “If it would please the Dark Court,” Sebastian says smoothly. “In what manner do you wish to see her passions aroused?”
The color drains from my face—I can feel it—and my gaze shoots past the crowd to somewhere miles away. Sebastian removes my hand from his arm and slips his own around my side like an afterthought. Trepidation licks up my spine as Sebastian takes a confident step forward.
“You feed on the she-wolf frequently do you not? From the femoral, I've heard?”
Sebastian gives a short bow. “I do. Her lycan gifts include fast healing, and her blood is intoxicating in its entirety. Addicting. There is little, I have found, that can quite compare. To know she is mine completely is beyond satisfying.”
The claim in his words does not go unnoticed. Several members of the crowd peak their brows. An outbreak of whispers come from the throng as they wonder over the true taste of my blood. I flit my gaze over them and become mesmerized by the patch of vibrant red hair near the left end of the crowd. Bright copper. Red velvet. Black cherry. Dark auburn.
Briar’s steely gaze locks on mine. She is rigid amongst the carefree crowd. Her body coiled with tension. Like me.
I take a shallow breath and force my body to release the panic it holds from my limbs even though the wolf resists. It rages and howls inside my mind, knowing that our fight tonight will be in vain. Run, it growls. Hide. I am almost overrun by the urges, but manage to keep my feet planted firmly on the ground.
“Yes, yes, Sebastian—she’s all yours. It seems you are the only one who can touch her—not that anyone would want your leftovers. Who’s to say she isn’t housebroken?” The crowd jeers and cackles at the slight, but stops at the rise of Adrian’s hand. “Let us find out, shall we? A demonstration.”
Adrian gives a single clap of his hands. A wicked gleam forms in his eyes as two servants rush to move a navy sofa divan to the front of the dais. Disgust collects quickly in my stomach until I feel I am about to heave the contents of my last meal onto the floor. Bile stings at the back of my throat as I stare impassively out into the crowd.
Sebastian turns to me, hand outstretched and a sympathetic frown gracing his brow. The latter is a brief occurrence, and then his features smooth into something more neutral. I follow Sebastian’s gentle guidance, slipping onto the divan and laying myself across it.
Sebastian faces the crowd once I’ve settled. “A belt or something similar, if you please.”
A belt is offered greedily from the crowd, and before I know it, Sebastian is back at my side. He kneels between my thighs, spreading my legs with the care of an old lover—because we’re supposed to be lovers, I remind myself savagely. Cold hands skim up my legs, pushing back my dress until it pools indecently below my waist.
His hands make quick work of the belt. Securing it around my thigh uncomfortably tight. “Close your eyes,” he tells me softly, though a hint of steel penetrates his words. It’s only for the crowd, I tell myself, finding some comfort in this knowledge. Sebastian’s marble hands are unhurried upon my flesh, allowing me to grow used to them, as much as I can.
“We don’t have all night,” someone heckles as my eyes begin to flutter shut. I catch Sebastian's murderous glare out into their depths, but no reprimand is made.
Like a wildcat, Sebastian slinks low and slips my leg over his shoulder. His eyes falling prey to his vampyric nature, turning scarlet. I receive a pointed look as his lips near my pale thigh. Swallowing hard, I close my eyes and hold myself taut.
Sebastian’s cool breath and the slight pressure of his fingertips are my warnings before he takes the plunge, and then his fangs are inside of me. I bite my tongue to stifle a growl and the gasp that wishes to break free.
Pretend I’m him.
Unwittingly I obey Sebastian’s previous command. Viking blue eyes streaked with silver flash before my mind’s eye, as well as a deep carnal hunger. My gasp breaks free at the first pull of Sebastian’s mouth. It does something to me. My temperature flares and a riveting warmth stirs behind my lace panties.
With practiced ease, Sebastian undoes the belt. Timing it correctly with the next drag of his mouth.
The rush of blood back to my upper thigh is intense, and when combined with Sebastian’s greedy attentions, I feel close to fainting. Instead, I moan, the pleasure coursing through my body unparalleled to anything I’ve ever known. All my former dalliances with boys from the pack skirt across my mind, until those Viking blue eyes pierce me again.
I reach a hand down to thread my fingers through Sebastian’s brown curls. But it’s silky blond hair I imagine. The soulmark throbs painfully against my wrist, hidden by Jax’s magical cream. A firm hand presses against my hip, driving me back into the divan, and my eyes snap open. My heartbeat hammering in my chest, I give into Sebastian’s pressure and feel my flush travel down to my breasts. But the ache between my thighs does not abate.
Liquid heat pools there, and I am all too aware of the nearness of Sebastian. And how vulnerable I am here before the Dark Court. Yet, the thought doesn’t frighten me as it should. A different pulse of desire lays waste to my already frayed nerves. It lights me on fire. Without mercy or remorse, a strangled sob is wrenched from my throat.
The hand upon my hip presses me downward again, and then Sebastian rears back. His mouth and chin are coated in my blood.
Red eyes shine back at me, but the want displayed in them is conflicted. Swiftly, Sebastian tugs his pocket square from his suit jacket and presses it against my thigh. I give a whimper, but it is not from the dull pain of his bite.
The room breaks out into hearty applause, and the world around me comes back into startling focus.
Oh God. My eyes drift closed once more, mortification painting itself across my skin in burning red
.
“Bravo! Bravo!” Adrian calls. "She isn't untouchable—or unmovable, at all."
Sebastian stands, and the loss of his touch disarms me. I take the square fabric he has dropped in his hasty retreat and press it against the already closing puncture wound. The terrible, hollow feeling from earlier grows wider than before. Sebastian says something to the crowd—something low and hurried, none of which I hear.
The crowd gives another rousing round of applause. This bout drawing away the hot flush of seconds before and leaving me cold. Cold and trembling. Remnants of pleasure wash over me as Sebastian spins around and pulls me into his arms. The motion draws a small whimper from me, and I tuck my face against the hollow of his throat.
I pretend I can’t see their hungry stares and laughing eyes.
I press my legs together to ease the ache of the bite.
I promise myself this will never happen again.
As Sebastian takes me from the room, I find it impossible to tear the face of one individual from the crowd before our escape: Omar and his vindictive smirk.
++
Sebastian brings me immediately back to the apartment suite. His grip on me tightening with every stride until I beg release from his hold. He sets me down carefully, jaw clenched tight. My blood still stains his face, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He watches me intensely, an unreadable expression on his face. I swallow down my uncertainty.
“I apologize,” he says, his voice as rough as gravel. It is entirely at odds with his usual poise and disposition.
I give a weak shake of my head, my hair tumbling in front of my face. I bat it away, teeth sinking into my bottom lip before I find my voice. “We didn’t have a choice.”
Sebastian places his palm on the middle of my back and guides me forward. We walk the remaining distance in silence until we reach the ominous black door with its silver raven knocker.
“I’m afraid I must leave you here.” I frown at Sebastian’s words, my hand stopping halfway to the door handle.