by Rebecca Main
I would be breaking Jakob's orders after all. “Where do you need me to meet them?”
++
Many stray thoughts run through my mind as I favor the shadows of the less common corridors to reach my destination: the old Pits, Jakob’s former relationship with the vampyré Ren, how Sebastian is fairing with the siren-vampyrés, if Nova will question my absence, and why Jax couldn’t make the talisman for Sebastian.
They provide an unhelpful distraction, when I need to be careful. Ruby had been quick to reiterate Jakob’s sentiments from last evening. My position is more vulnerable than ever with Sebastian making public moves on the Rouxs. The game has changed once more and is back out of my hands. My brow sustains a disdainful tilt the entire length of Ruby’s reminder. I am not pleased to hear Jakob’s words spit back at me in a different coating.
It makes my pulse beat a little faster wondering just how much Ruby overheard.
As I near my location, the air around me adopts a chill. The whirlwind of chatter from open parlors and wide strolling walkways winds down.
I trickle to a stop and contemplate the chill once more. It is not unfamiliar. In fact, it is very much familiar to me. The scent of musty earth and dried blood from the connecting minor hallway always manages to delicately perfume the main corridor it stretches from. It leaves me uncertain, as usual. A phantom finger brushes my spine, and I straighten my body in awareness, stopping before the entrance of the long, dank hallway.
There is something undoubtedly haunting about the defunct arena—an aura that warns away trespassers. It is the perfect place to hold a clandestine meeting. I suck in a deep breath and let the tragic flavor of the air permeate my lungs. There is a reason I do not linger here by the old Pits. The wolf agrees—
“Well, well, well,” a sultry voice purrs, the perfect mixture of venom and thunder, like a storm coming to wreak its havoc. I dull my emotions, afraid to signal my panic through the bond, lest Jakob find out I’ve disobeyed his order. “Looks like we’ve found a stray, ladies.”
The three redheads circle me, but it is Iris who takes the point in front of me. Caught suddenly in their sights, the wolf begins to pace in my mind. Wary, but ready.
“I’ve never liked strays,” she continues. “In my opinion, they should all be put down. Don’t you agree, sisters?”
The other two women reply in unison. “Yes, Iris.”
“What do you want?” I ask tersely.
Iris displays a perfect set of teeth at me. Her fangs are on full display. And then she begins to laugh. “Oh, goodness,” she says, quite breathless. “What do I want? Funny you should ask.”
There is nothing kind about the slant of her smile, although it does pair remarkably well with the violence in her eyes.
Iris raises a hand and snaps her fingers. Immediately, I reach for my porcelain hairpin, but I’m far too slow to retrieve it. The two other Rouxs are at my side in an instant with their icy claws digging into my upper arms to keep me in place. One jabs her heel at the back of my knee, and I sink ungracefully to the ground onto my knees. Iris’s smile grows, curling inward like the Grinch.
“I’ve been wondering....” Hand still raised, she begins to tick off her questions on her fingers. “What slum did they pull you from? And how on earth did you catch the eye of the most boring man alive? It’s all quite suspect. Your head of household has done a marvelous job of keeping the truth hidden. Of course, Jakob has told your ‘meet cute’ about a dozen times or so—along with your darling twenties harlot.” Iris prowls forward. “But nobody actually believes it. Do they, sisters?”
“No, sister,” the women reply.
“Obviously not you,” I manage to mutter. A cold thrill goes down my spine at the answering quiet.
“Obviously not, for I know the only truth there is to know about you. You're worthless—a well-kept dog. A prized pet ready to please them all at the snap of a finger. But not for much longer.”
Anger boils inside me. “I’m not their pet,” I spit back.
“You don’t actually think you’re part of their family, do you?” Their laughter slashes against my skin and pride. I am, I think resolutely. Wait, what? “What did you just say?”
Our green eyes clash. My chin juts up. “I am part of the Vrana family. Get over it.”
Iris looks fit to spit. Sparks ignite behind her eyes as she glares down at me, mouth agape and breathless with fury. Another stilted laugh emerges from her, more manic than her last.
“You foolish girl,” she says. “Don’t worry. I’ll teach you your place. And here I thought you held some semblance of intelligence.”
Two long tendrils of my hair, left purposefully out of my updo, hang hazardously in front of my eyes, tickling the edge of my nose. I blow one aside and flick my head back to deal with the other. All the while Ruby’s voice wails in my head, vehemently reminding me to behave. To not get on this Roux sister’s wrong side.
Too bad I already am.
I send out a small apology in my mind to the phantom Ruby and even one to Jakob. So much for behaving. “I’m surprised you can hold that many thoughts in your head at once,” I reply sweetly.
The blow is hard. My head rockets to the left, the force of the hit ricocheting down my body as it hangs to the side. So much for keeping my activities a secret from Jakob, I think drowsily. With effort, I reconstruct the mechanics of breathing. In and out. In. Out.
Fingers entangle themselves in my hair, so angry nails can scratch my skull. Without mercy, my head is yanked back up. Iris peers down at me with half-lidded eyes. The perfect picture of false benevolence. She plucks from my updo the hairpin Nova gifted me weeks ago and gives it a once-over before tossing it over her shoulder. “I would say fetch, but….”
“Bitch,” I snarl. The wolf agrees, butting up against the forefront of my mind. I know the exact moment my eyes sift from ivy green to lupine gold, for Iris looks entirely too pleased.
Her cold fingers cup my chin and squeeze painfully. “Pot calling the kettle black, wouldn’t you say?” There is just a hint of a glacial laughter in her voice, though it is muffled by the ringing coming from my right ear. “Need I remind you of your place again?”
I am far more prepared for the second blow—mentally, at least. Iris strikes the same spot as before, but harder. Far harder than the last. The faintest hint of wetness dogs my right ear, but it is a trivial concern compared to my jaw. My cheekbone. My thoughts. I wait for the dreaded ringing to clear from my ears, but there is nothing but an ascending whine. My lycan healing battles to even out this one-sided fight.
“You are beneath me. Beneath all of us. You’re nothing but filth,” Iris tells me.
“A bitch in heat,” one sister adds.
“A mangy mutt,” the other concurs.
Their nails split my skin. Amongst the pain comes a different kind of warmth, like a comforting hand that assuages my fear. Jakob. I sink into their biting hold, hoping it comes across as defeat. Hold out a little while longer, I tell myself as I blink my left eye sluggishly. The right is swollen shut.
“He’s going to—” Iris’s cackle stops my promise short. Only my fractured jaw rejoices.
“Oh, Irina,” she coos sweetly. My blood runs cold at the sound. “I’m far too high above the ranks for your lover to seek revenge on your behalf. Not that I think he would even try. I saw him at the cusp of dusk eagerly awaiting an audience with a few of my sisters. It seems Sebastian grows tired of you.”
I let my solitary gaze sink into the cobbled stone just left of Iris's silver-draped hip. My shoulders stiffen as if her nasty remarks mean more than they do, and the ringing dulls to a buzz in my right ear.
“Why is your family so keen on charming every household in the Dark Court? Does Jakob really believe he can return your household to its former glory? What little of it, it once had?” She cackles again, her minions follow suit.
“Let me go,” I say stiffly, jaw bones still knitti
ng back together. Their laughter stops.
“Or what?” she asks. “You are falling from grace, wolf. Before you were untouchable—a prized toy for the Vrana Household to show off. A whipped dog. But now…” Iris releases a pleased sigh, a maniacal gleam to her eyes. She puffs up with her vanity as she sets to pace before me. A hunger lingers in her eye, she must be thinking of blood or death, or both. My blood, I’m sure. I look back down. “Now you are right where you belong. Finally.”
The pure relief in her voice is jarring and more frightening than anything else. Hatred such as hers is like an endless well. Nothing I can say or do would purge her of her beliefs. I give an experimental tug to my captors' grip. They hold fast.
“I still can’t fathom why your kind, or any other for that matter, was ever allowed to set foot in our magnificent court. Adrian and the others must have lost their minds when making that decision. A minor lapse of insanity. We all go through our phases, you see, as the years keep slipping by.”
The cool touch of her finger beneath my chin doesn’t startle me as it should. Nor do her words. She’s insane.
“You’ve been a bad dog,” she whispers fondly, running her finger up my bruised jawline. This time I do flinch. Iris stares at me with crazed intensity. The vampyric silver in her eyes splitting through her emerald green irises like cracked glass. “Running around acting like you’re one of us.”
“He’s going to kill you.”
She stares placidly back. “I'm untouchable,” she reminds me.
Her nail is filed to a point and draws down my cheek with intent. Blood spills. It’s scent mixes with the old that still haunts the air. I release a snarl as Iris licks my blood from her nail.
My wolf goes wild at the sight. Wrong, wrong, wrong, it howls. Its anger presses through my veins and bones until it saturates every muscle and tendon just waiting to release. My nails turn to ragged points.
“I hope this wasn’t supposed to be a private party.” I twist my neck and watch as Nova walks up to us, her hands stuffed into her pockets. The minions do not remove their hands. Iris does not bat a lash.
“Oh, but I’m afraid it is,” Iris says, voiced dosed with saccharine.
“Well, this is awkward,” Nova replies, cavalier as ever. She stops only a foot behind us. I let my head fall forward. Finally. “I’m afraid I’ve been sent to break up your little get-together and escort Irina back. You understand.”
Iris makes a sound like a snarl. Lips curled. Fangs bared. Except it is so much more than that. Pure loathing, I think. And then, without warning, she changes. Her features rearrange into serenity. The two vampyrés at my side release their tenuous hold, and I buckle forward.
“Mark my words, this isn't over. Until next time,” she purrs. The three depart using their unnatural speed. Thank God.
“Thanks.” The word is rough, but no less lacking in gratitude. Nova helps me rise and gives a scornful scowl at my bruises. “Don't worry, they’re already healing.”
“Jakob is going to be pissed.”
I return her scowl. “Not if we don’t tell him.”
Nova gives an exasperated sigh and ushers me around back toward the apartment suite. “Let’s go—”
“Wait!” I look down the deserted hallway leading to the old Pits, eyes searching its dark depths for the hint of a person. The talisman for Sebastian. “I need something from there.”
Nova shakes her head, lips pressing together in a firm line. “No can do. I’m under strict instructions to bring you back. No detours.”
My heart sinks to my stomach, but with a short nod, I follow Nova back. Surely Sebastian will be able to hold his own against the Roux sisters. And if not… I will just have to hope Iris’s sister will be his protection against the worst of them.
The Dark Court | 1858
There was a chill in the air, but this was not uncommon. The fireplaces raged day and night to achieve some semblance of warmth in the underground palace. And though the vampyré elite could not die from excessive heat or cold—beheading or an ivory stake to the heart was the only perpetrators of true death—the constant chill dampened spirits.
But this chill was different. It enveloped the two lovers at the end of another of their midnight escapades and settled far past their skin into their bones.
Jakob cleared his throat and watched as Ren refastened her dress. It was of the latest fashion and the peak of femininity. The color of soft sage, it was trimmed in lace, ruffles, and ribbons. Ren’s hands moved with practiced ease, but the tremor threading her fingertips could not be mistaken. Her hair delicately framed her face, swooping back in a low knot at the base of her head.
“You seem… uneasy,” Jakob offered unsurely. He set about tying a quick bow, the color of navy, around his neck. “Shall I help you—”
“It’s unnecessary,” she cut in, sharp as a knife to the chest. Jakob cleared his throat once more, unsure of how to proceed.
“Tell me,” he implored, voice lowering to a needy pitch. “What is wrong?”
She remained unfazed, or so it seemed from behind. Jakob’s throat bobbed, and his fingers went to task of redoing his bow tie. The slippery silk escaped him until he released a sound of frustration.
“Have I done something?”
Her head shook slowly. “There is much on my mind as of late. I’m sure you can understand why,” she responded, her voice flat.
“Yes,” he said, cautiously approaching his lover. “Peony is now your new head of household. She is a far cry from your last.”
The air around them dropped a degree. “You can’t see it… you don’t hear it… but there are cracks in the Royal Households. From them, I hear murmurs and whispers against the Greater Households. They don’t appreciate the change you wish to bring.”
Jakob stilled, his hand frozen mere inches away from Ren's porcelain skin. He let it fall to his side. Confusion rattled his brain. “The new Madame Roux does not seem to think our requests so outrageous.”
A sharp bark of indignation burst from Ren’s throat. She propelled forward, only to spin around and face her lover with a tear-stained face.
“She plays with fire by hearing out your so-called reasons,” she seethed, her fiery red hair coming undone from its tentative holding. It swayed around her face, bobbing along to her passionate declaration. Jakob did not know how to respond but felt his own ire begin to rise. “This petition for other supernaturals to hold positions as courtiers… it’s absurd. We are the Dark Court for a reason, Jakob. It is the only place where our kind can be free and live by our true nature without persecution from above. To bring in outsiders would ruin it all. I heard only last night talk of demons. This cannot be borne.”
“That isn’t true,” he argued back, stepping forward into the ring. Fists balled at his side, he barreled on. “Already sorcerers do the bidding of the Royal Households, their presence has become far more frequent and regular. I’ve personally witnessed the use of shape-shifters as spies, or as the Delacroix say, ‘messengers.’”
Spots of rose red bloomed across Ren’s cheeks. “It’s too soon for this kind of change, Jakob.”
“Why?”
Time inched by, their gazes locked onto one another in a jarring standoff. Something in Jakob’s heart felt wrong. How could she not see that the way forward was to embrace the supernatural creatures who wished to find their own sanctuary here? To be as the vampyré were—free. Endless talks with Max and Jasper crossed his mind. They were vibrant pushers of the petition to allow more creatures in, vampyré and otherwise.
And Cecil… she regularly visited the above ground to see her relatives, the raven shifters. How could Jakob deny the woman who had been a mother toward him, her own family?
“Peony—Madame Roux,” Ren harshly corrected herself, “is walking the sword's edge. She’s unpopular among the other Royal Household heads, and she enjoys the fact. Her willfulness and need to be in such contrast with the Delacroixs and Thorb
urns reflects on our household as a whole. I fear she will ruin us all.”
“She is a young leader,” Jakob replied, he kept his voice level and continued his approach. Ren’s shoulders sank. “There is always a learning curve with such things. But with her echelon there to support her and help her make the best decisions for your household—”
“I fear for my children,” Ren said. Jakob blinked at the hollow tone of her words. “They’ve been taken advantage of while we’ve… while I’ve been off with you. And now this? I cannot leave them to tread the waters of this instability on their own. It isn’t right or fair.”
“Of course,” he uttered. “I understand. Spend time with them. Protect them. This will all blow over soon enough.”
The color drained from Ren’s face. “No, my love. I do not think it will end soon at all, and until it does... until we are safe… I must end our affair.”
Jakob stepped back. “What?”
“It’s not safe, Jakob. All eyes are on my household. Running around with you behind everyone’s back will only end in disaster. For both of us,” she said. Ren countered Jakob’s retreat with a small advance, her lips tilting downward as he kept the distance between them. “I will always cherish our time together. It will fill my heart with warmth for decades to come.”
“Decades….”
Ren nodded with a meekness so unlike her Jakob shook from his stunned state. “I—”
“We’ll run away. We’ll take the twins and go and start our own family—”
“Jakob!”
He rushed at her, pinning her with his hips against the nearest wall. His arms caged themselves around her slender body. “It won’t be easy, but we can do it. I know we can. We just have to wait a while longer, that’s all. I’ll make all the arrangements.” Ren’s eyes swam with tears. “Please,” Jakob begged, cupping her face with both hands. “Do not do this, Ren. We can have everything together.”
Her own hand came up and stroked his cheek. “No,” she whispered sadly. “I’m sorry.”