by Lola White
Silver light slithered over Madeleine’s hands, rising to coat her wrists, her forearms. A halo of magic wrapped her for a brief moment before it splintered, brightened and faded, absorbing into her body. She blinked, her lips eased.
Silviu pressed his advantage. “Write it into the betrothal contract, seal it with blood and publicly announce your decision. Georgie will be your heir, and I will take the Davenold name.”
Madeleine blinked again, and the spell faded completely. But Silviu was confident that an element of his persuasion would remain. He was secure in his talents, until she spoke and planted too many doubts to identify.
“You would defeat the purpose of all we’ve worked for. The Davenold name would make you ineligible to lead the Council while the Lovasz name keeps you in the running.” The old woman cleared her throat. “And if I decree Georgeanne to be my heir, she will be at risk of assassination.”
“I’ll protect her.”
“No, she must prove herself strong enough to silence the naysayers. Let’s hope your father’s suspicions of her strength prove as accurate as everything else he’s claimed.”
Silviu went cold, his brain stuttered. “You have no plans to blood her as your heir, do you? You’ll make her fight for the power over your dead body.”
Madeleine sighed heavily, suddenly looking every minute of her age. “She has to wield power or her life may be forfeit, though she refuses to put much credence in that fact. She is overconfident in her abilities to defend herself.”
Silviu watched the woman closely, trying to intuit her strategy. “Why can’t you perform the blooding ritual in secret then, and let the rest of the world find out when you pass the power on?”
An unyielding moment elapsed while Madeleine’s lips contorted. Finally, she said, “Georgie believes being blooded as my heir will immediately bestow the ability to take in the Family power. But I don’t know. She’s Bane, can the power break through the shield that develops around her when confronted with magic?”
For the third time since he’d sat down with the old woman, Silviu tensed. This time, his emotions were forceful—his skin prickled, his scalp itched. His lungs went still in his chest until he forced them to work. To have Madeleine voice his own secret fears was almost more than he could handle. “My magic gets through.”
“You are her Match,” Madeleine spat. “It’s the only reason I allowed the betrothal contract to be sealed with blood. When you met at my estate in New Hampshire, you reached for her hand and the entire room blazed with gold light.”
“You were married to your Match.”
“And we had many children. That is my hope for the two of you—a dynasty. Your father thinks your children will be the strongest witches the world has ever known. Your talents combined in their blood.”
Silviu had heard the theory his whole life. “He says Bane only means that all her magic is trapped, concentrated into enormous strength with no outlet.”
“Let’s hope so.” Madeleine waved her hand. “My research suggests otherwise.”
Silence grew between them as Silviu deliberated her words. He let his options play through his mind, trying to anticipate the wily Mother’s choices and make contingency plans for the future. He wondered how he would gain Georgie’s cooperation with them.
His scheming finally circled around to his present situation, and Graves Ngozi. Silviu refused to leave his betrothed unprotected at night, and yet the intimacy they’d shared in Poland had come too close to shattering his control. He needed Madeleine to bend before he broke. “I think Georgie should stay in my room.”
Madeleine’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowed. “I don’t think so.”
“I’m not leaving her where Graves can find her.”
Madeleine lifted a shoulder. “I don’t want her sleeping with you.”
“Then where will she go?” Silviu clenched his jaw. “You have more people in your entourage than rooms provided. I won’t let Georgie sleep in the Ngozi Family wing.”
“She can stay here, on the sofa.”
He tried to control his gnawing frustration. “What does it matter? We are betrothed.”
Madeleine held her silence, but Silviu already knew the truth. The old woman didn’t want Georgie to love Silviu more than she loved her Family.
It was already too late.
He studied the old woman, but she didn’t look as if she were considering his request. He sighed, knowing only the truth would gain progress, even though it would expose another vulnerability.
“Everything I’ve ever done, I’ve done for her.” He caught and held Madeleine’s gaze. “Georgeanne is the only thing that has ever been mine and mine alone, and I intend to take very good care of her.”
“And the Davenolds? Will you take care of them, too?”
He elevated his chin but held his silence.
Madeleine gave him a scathing glare and waved him on his way. “Remember the last time your lust got the best of you.”
Georgie had been taken from him. Madeleine’s threat was crystal clear. Silviu rose to his feet and stalked out of the room.
Chapter Nine
Tulah
The ballroom was in the process of being redone for the wedding, so dinner was a restrained affair hosted in a too-small dining room. Ten round tables were carefully placed around the space with just enough room left over for a laden sideboard. Even with barely half the guests yet arrived, it was much too close for Tulah’s comfort—or Adam’s, it appeared, when a raucous Levy man slid his chair back and bumped into him.
Adam jolted in his seat and the Levy man quickly apologized. Adam made some comment that was impossible for Tulah to hear over the din of the diners, but both men laughed and nodded, the minor conflict resolved.
Tulah was, unfortunately, seated between Charles and Daniel, at the table next to the one occupied by Graves and his bridal party. She was stuck in a place where any of the three men could keep a watchful eye on her, and in Charles’ case, a heavy hand. She wriggled as his fingers tightened on her knee, exerting just enough pressure to be uncomfortable but not painful. Yet.
In the process of turning from the man who’d bumped him, Adam caught her staring. Embarrassment heated Tulah’s cheeks, but she didn’t drop her eyes right away. She gave the Davenold man a few seconds of bold connection first, vaguely surprised at the violence of the feelings his gaze stirred up within her.
Awareness sizzled her nerves from her toes to her eyebrows. She hadn’t doubted the Davenold male would be attractive, but she hadn’t been prepared for the sheer sense of virility he carried so easily. Before his arrival, she’d pictured someone more like Silviu Lovasz, a man who leaned toward pretty, cold and indifferent until he looked at his betrothed—for only then did life spark in his icy eyes and the set of his hard lips soften. Tulah had prepared herself for the same things in Adam, based solely on the fact that Constance wanted him.
She’d assumed he would be the type of man who would chase the selfish woman, not the type to avoid her, which he’d been unsuccessfully attempting to do all afternoon. Tulah had been caught off guard by the humor lurking in Adam’s blue eyes. She’d been surprised by the barely restrained power he exuded. He was confident and smooth, watchful and bold in equal measure.
He was dangerous—to her curiosity, her resolve and her mother’s plans.
Tulah pushed away from Charles suddenly enough to take him by surprise and his hand fell from her knee as she surged to her feet. Without expression and without meeting his glare she told him, “I’m going to get more salad.”
“Maybe you should get more than that,” he growled. “You’re too damned skinny for my liking. You look like you’ll break when I fuck you the way I intend.”
“Please,” Daniel scolded, overhearing their exchange, “let us pretend the Ngozis have manners. That kind of speech is unacceptable at the dinner table. “
Charles’ jaw worked, but his lips pressed together over any arguments he might have made. He
gave a sharp nod and turned his murderous eyes back up to Tulah. “I’ll be watching you. Make it quick.”
She practically ran to the sideboard, but then she dithered, taking the opportunity to simply breathe. With her back to the guests, no one could see the emotion she knew contorted her face, there was no risk of revealing the misery swamping her. Not that Graves would care, but her pride demanded she show nothing more than anger at the imprisonment forced on her.
And fear. She knew she never managed to hide her fear.
A warm presence sidled up to her. Her nose filled with the scent of expensive, subtle cologne and her vision filled with dark hair shining under the overhead lights as Adam leaned forward to snag a roll. He turned his head and his blue eyes pierced her. Her stomach flipped and her nerves pulled tight. Agitated, she launched into motion, reaching for a paper plate with a clammy hand.
“Are you all right?” Adam’s voice whispered over her ear. “Do you need help?”
Inexplicable irritation flooded her. She put it down to her own nervousness and the fact that her imagination immediately provided an illicit scene where Adam used the very same tone of warm concern while hovering over Constance’s naked body.
Pride, and she feared jealousy, pulled her shoulders straight and she inched away. “I can take care of myself. I’m not some weak woman who can’t even carry her own plate. I stand on my own two feet, not waiting for a man to come along and do for me the things I’m perfectly capable of doing for myself.”
“Settle down, wildcat, that’s not what I meant. I take the happiness of women very seriously and you looked upset.”
“I’m sure you really care.”
“I do.” The humor that had thickened his voice fled, leaving a chilly note of determination behind.
Tulah felt her tension evaporate as hopelessness rushed in. “I’m a prisoner. Of course I’m upset.”
“What can I do to get you out of here, Tulah?”
She blinked up at him. For far too long, Tulah had been responsible for the safety and wellbeing of both herself and her mother. She wasn’t used to asking for assistance, and certainly wasn’t used to men choosing her side over Graves’.
Adam’s expression was open, his gaze honest, but only time would tell if he was in earnest. Still, a thrill went through her at the possibility, and she appreciated having an alternative.
She willfully dropped all remnants of enmity from her words, letting them soften so as not to provoke Adam into retracting his offer. “I’m waiting for my Family Father to arrive. I hope to appeal to him.”
“Will he help?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, but there is no love lost between him and Graves. They haven’t spoken to each other in a dozen years.”
“Why not?”
Tulah stilled, but inside her head, a furious debate raged. She was more than tempted to lay the whole sordid mess out for Adam Davenold’s inspection, as she had no desire to keep Graves’ secrets and desperately wanted him to pay for his crimes. And yet, she knew the consequences of revealing past history.
Graves had made it very clear—if she spoke of what happened twelve years ago, she would find herself tied to Charles’ bed until his lust killed her. The head of security had been far too enamored of that possibility, and Graves was demented enough to allow it to happen.
Tulah wanted to save herself from that fate. She also wanted to protect her mother. She knew she could only push so far before Graves stopped threatening to beat her and started retaliating in more creative ways, in spite of who might be watching. There were too many guests milling about the crowded room, and more would be arriving over the next few days, so she couldn’t tell her tale and risk being overheard.
“I can’t say.” Tulah peered at Adam through her lashes.
Adam nodded his understanding and switched topics. “What’s between you and the guy with all the braids?”
“He’s my warden.” Tulah couldn’t help the waver in her voice. It wasn’t a secret that the man followed her virtually any time she wasn’t being manhandled by his employer. “Charles is Graves’ chief of security.”
“This hotel doesn’t seem large enough to need a chief of security as frightening as him.”
“I didn’t say he worked for the hotel. I said he worked for Graves.”
“Bodyguard?”
Tulah shrugged and distractedly ladled potatoes onto her plate. “Bodyguard, enforcer, all around pain in the arse.”
Adam chuckled quietly. “The braids suit him. You’d think he’d look feminine, but they do add to the treacherous persona he so carefully cultivates, don’t they?” Adam twisted to look at the man over his shoulder. “He’s watching you. He’s always watching you.”
She snuck a peek at Adam’s face and was surprised to see resentment flash in the depths of his eyes. Tulah wondered if that was an encouraging sign. She took a deep breath and licked her lips. “He wants me. He’s made no secret of that.”
“And do you want him?”
Tulah slowly lifted her head to look at Adam directly. He caught and held her gaze, and a warm flush again traveled from her head to her toes. Her heart seemed to slow and her spine seemed to loosen. “No. I don’t want him.”
Adam’s blue eyes darkened and his lashes swept down to half hide them. His nostrils flared as his gaze moved to her lips. Tulah found herself leaning toward his body. He stared at her mouth for a tense moment before shaking himself out of whatever thoughts had captured his attention.
Adam scooped some peas onto her plate. “What’s going on around here?”
“Power plays and manipulations. Dangerous games and treasonous plots. Your cousin told you about the exits?”
“Yes, but I don’t want to destroy the imprisoning spell before we’re ready to leave. That will only complicate matters and draw attention to my Family’s strengths.”
“It’s best to let Graves continue to underestimate your Family for as long as possible,” Tulah agreed.
They’d shuffled to the end of the sideboard, gathering tiny portions of more food than she could ever eat in one sitting, and Tulah knew her time was up. The cheap paper plates Graves had provided for all but the bridal party, Daniel Levy and Madeleine Davenold could only hold so much. Tulah’s threatened to give way under the weight she’d piled on it and Charles was watching her closely. There would be no plausible reason she could give for conversing with Adam Davenold, and Graves would punish her if she didn’t return to her seat fast enough to suit him.
But before she left his side, she had one last thing to tell Adam, keeping in mind his offer of assistance. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on, I haven’t figured it out yet. Just…keep your eye on how Graves, and Charles for that matter, treat Daniel Levy. I’ve never known Graves to back down to anyone, not even our Father, Muso, but he’s practically falling all over himself to make Daniel happy.”
“Because he wants this wedding to go through. He’s afraid to offend Daniel and lose his bride.”
Tulah lifted a shoulder. “Maybe he wants this marriage for more than just access to Constance’s body.” Jealousy reared its ugly head and she couldn’t hold back her next words. “Clearly a man doesn’t need to be married to her for that.”
Adam pursed his lips, looking not at all contrite. “I’ve found that everything in this world, including sex, always boils down to politics. Graves wants Daniel’s influence, Daniel wants an alliance to offset the one your Family has with the Njeles.”
Tulah narrowed her eyes, gaining a new perception of him and wondering how that fit in with her plans. “You’re a cynic.”
“I’m just a man whose body has been used for political power plays before.”
Adam moved away quickly, his hard tone leaving Tulah with a sinking feeling. Carefully balancing her plate as she wended through the crowd, she weighed her options. Intuition was screaming, her conscience was bullying and her mother’s words were spinning through her memory.
She wasn
’t remotely at ease when she regained her seat, and Charles only made it worse by clamping his meaty palm over the top of her thigh and squeezing. He pinned her to her chair with an icy look and jerked his chin toward her plate. “That’s more than a salad.”
“I was hungrier than I knew.”
“What did the Matriarch’s man speak to you about?”
Tulah searched for calm as desperately as she searched for words. Once again, Charles’ hold on her stopped just shy of painful, but with his hand as high on her leg as it was, Tulah found it difficult to sit still, to think, to breathe. To not throw up. In that moment, she would have traded nearly anything to have been in Graves’ clutches, because at least he only watched her with mocking hostility. Charles’ eyes burned with lust, jealousy and possessiveness.
Fighting nausea, she pushed her full plate away. “We were discussing dinner,” she finally grated out. “He was surprised he had to serve himself at the sideboard, rather than being served at his table.”
Charles grunted and backed off slightly, though he maintained his hold on her leg. “He’s American. I thought they all loved buffets.”
On her other side, Daniel’s lips pinched and he leaned in to set Charles straight. Claustrophobia took hold of Tulah as she became caged by the two men, but she tried to pay attention to Charles. She struggled to glean any information about his relationship to Daniel, and why the powerful enforcer was so subservient to a man rumored to be entirely too weak in magic to be a threat.
As Adam had claimed, it had to boil down to politics.
With that thought, Tulah looked over at Constance, happily chatting with her expressionless groom, and wondered if the woman was quite right in her assessment of Adam Davenold. In the conversation Tulah had overheard between Constance and her mother, a plan had been laid out to garner the Davenold male’s attention through a careful balance of aggression and indifference. A challenge to draw him closer.
Constance didn’t appear to be having the slightest bit of luck in that regard, which only made Tulah wonder more. Again, her intuition was telling her something different from what she’d expected or planned for. Tactics would need to be changed.