Graced

by Amanda Pillar

  Unable to answer the questions, and too distracted to think about them more, Elle felt her stomach’s hollowness turn to gnawing pain. Her teeth began to extend, so far that they pricked her lower lip. She licked it, to see if she could taste blood, but thankfully, there was none. She began to grow light-headed, her skin overly sensitive. Worst of all, she felt so incredibly empty; it was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before.

  This is what it means to be a leech, she thought.

  She didn’t like it.

  Elle had thought Clay would come back for her—would help her—but he hadn’t shown head nor tail since he’d told her to hide. Maybe he wouldn’t come at all. He likes me, she thought, enough to have sex with me at least. He’ll come back. Sure, that other part of her replied, they’d had sex, but he might have just done that to get closer to Emmie.

  She groaned, her thoughts so turbulent she didn’t like any of them.

  Then there was Emmie. Sweet, human Emmie who had smelled almost good enough to eat earlier, when Elle had escaped her coffin.

  Coffin.

  Dead.

  Food.

  By the blood, she hurt.

  Breathing was becoming a chore, each inhalation like burning knives raining down her throat. She hadn’t heard any stories about this—that the hunger could be so strong that it even made existing a challenge.

  Elle fought back hysterical laughter.

  She wasn’t sure how much longer she could last before she did eat someone.

  *

  Clay was whistling a jaunty tune as he walked down a side alley. He could feel Bjorn following him—hear him, too—so he made a few quick detours; over a wall, under a fence and through someone’s vacant living room. Detours that only a fellow were would be able to pursue. Grays were good, but not that good. Within minutes, he was standing outside the funeral parlor’s side entrance, half the city traversed behind him.

  Now, how to gain entry without raising suspicion?

  He eyed the side of the building and walked around the corner, into an alley. He couldn’t hear or see anyone nearby. He spotted a window that was partially open. Piece of cake, he thought. Quickly, he walked over to the area underneath the window then leaped. He gripped the frame and looked around again to make sure he was unobserved. Then he hoisted himself up and pressed his ear to the glass. No sounds within. Perfect. Within seconds, he’d pried the window open the rest of the way and swung himself inside.

  He was in an office. Clay ignored the wooden desk—human owned—and its associated paperwork and headed toward the door. Prying it open, he listened for the sounds of anyone approaching or talking, but heard nothing.

  Just rapid breathing coming from down the hall.

  Walking toward the sound of crackling fire from the crematorium, he found himself outside a plain door. Blood, he didn’t like this place. It wasn’t so bad when he’d been surrounded by people, but burning furnaces and the heat of flames reminded him of the past, back when cities had crumbled and people were burned alive. Trying to banish the memories, Clay opened the door and stepped into the storeroom that sat between the parlor and furnace room. See, he told himself, no bombs, no screams. Just a room. Plus, bombs didn’t exist anymore. His eyes scanned over the tables, chairs and cloths, as he walked toward the corner where he’d told Elle to hide. All he could hear were those rapid breaths, which was odd for a vampire. He hoped she’d kept to his final instruction.

  Bending down, he lifted the drooping red cloth that covered her assigned sanctuary. He barely had time to blink before he was thrown onto his back. He thrust his forearms up to protect his face as a pair of hands latched onto his upper arms. Sharp teeth snapped the air in front of him.

  Looking up around his arms, he saw Elle’s face contorted in pain. Her pupils were so dilated the red-purple of her irises was barely visible. Stretching his arms out, he tried to push her away, but she was strong, so he gripped her shoulders and held her at arm’s length.

  Something like sanity seemed to flicker in her wild eyes and she moaned, “Hungry.”

  I’m an idiot, Clay thought and slowly let go of one of her shoulders. Instantly, she tried to swoop down and latch onto his neck, but he shoved her away. She landed on the floor with a thump and he threw himself at her, pinning her down. Her eyes had grown wild and there was no sense of Elle left within them, just pupil-huge hunger. He was going to have to allow her to feed from him.

  The idea gave him the creeps.

  Slowly, like working with a wounded animal, he waved food—in this case, the veins on his wrist—in front of her mouth. Needing no more encouragement, she struck like a snake, her fangs piercing his wrist. He could feel her greedily sucking on the wound she’d made, but because he healed so fast, she had to bite him again and again to keep the blood flowing. He grunted and tried to pull away, but that made her bite harder.

  It fucking hurt.

  A lot.

  After she’d drunk her fill, she fell back from his wrist like a sated tick. He rocked back on his heels and squatted before he looked down at his wrist. The wounds were already closed, but there was blood smeared over the skin around them, and he felt a little light-headed. It was too bad weres were immune to the toxin in vampire venom; it would have made the feeding less horrible.

  “Sorry,” Elle muttered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She seemed like she was in control of herself again, but he wasn’t sure. New vampires were blood-hungry, but he’d never really had to deal with one before. Everything he knew was hearsay.

  This is what her bloody Chooser is for, he thought.

  Running his eyes over her as she half lay on the floor, Clay tried to convince himself that she was still Elle—his Elle—and her bloodlust was gone. For now. When his eyes reached her face, he dropped onto his ass in shock. He hadn’t really looked at her since she was Chosen. He’d been hurrying her to a hiding space and then he’d been prying her off his arm. But he was looking now.

  “What?” Elle raised her other hand to her face and touched her cheek.

  She was like an ancient princess, he first thought. Her short red hair had grown over the last day or so and now hung like a blood-colored curtain down her back, the darker color accentuating her pale skin. Her cheekbones, which had been sharp before, were now matched by the clean, forceful lines of her forehead and chin.

  He’d seen her body before, when she’d been “dead,” and she hadn’t looked any different. But then, the external changes were usually the last stage of the transformation. The first two days were when the internal organs adapted, the muscles grew stronger, the blood systems reworked. The final day was when the outside was made over; hair grew longer, skin became clearer, features sharpened, teeth grew and the body became the perfect hunting machine. Faster to catch prey, more attractive to lure it in.

  Shaking his head, he met her eyes and froze. He’d never seen anything like it. The unique color was stunning. Even Clay’s sister’s weren’t like this.

  “What?” Her hand had moved from her cheek and was now rubbing at her nose, as if it was dirty.

  Her eyes. They were a deep red-purple color with slashes of glowing Green and luminous Gray.

  “You’re beautiful,” Clay managed to choke out.

  “What?”

  He’d thought her lovely before, no doubt about it, but this was different. It was like seeing a refined version of Elle—as if her personality was now showcased by her appearance.

  “You’re beautiful,” he repeated. Shaking his head, he forced himself to focus on what was happening in front of him, which was Elle’s disbelief.

  Elle stopped rubbing her nose. “Tell me another story.”

  Clay just shook his head. Again. Until Elle saw herself in a mirror, she wasn’t going to be able to reconcile what he was saying to what she thought of herself. Now wasn’t the time anyway, he had to get her out of here.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked, which was a dumb question, but he needed to kno
w that her hunger was gone.

  “Better.”

  Clay nodded and then quickly scanned the room. “We need to make you look less like a vampire and more like a werewolf.”

  “Why?”

  “Because your grandmother is having me followed,” Clay answered.

  Elle just watched him with her amazing new eyes.

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Have you forgotten she’ll want you dead?”

  Elle sighed and stood. “No.” She seemed to think for a moment. “Fine, let’s make me look more wolfy.” She barked a quick laugh. “Never thought I’d ever say that phrase.”

  Chapter 34

  Dante stared at his father, too stupefied to say anything. His fingers were clenched on the arms of his leather chair and his body was coiled, ready to launch away from his father’s words. The walls of the study, normally a place that Dante enjoyed visiting, seemed to close in on him. He didn’t even want to look at the skulls.

  Deep down though, he had known something like this would happen. Not the particulars—Dante had never really been able to predict what his father would do next—but he’d known some punishment would be meted out for his Choosing that girl. Misty had even hinted as much.

  Viktor glanced up from the paperwork spread out on the desk in front of him and tapped his chin. The papers had been sorted into three methodical piles, one of which seemed to hold the most interest. “The marriage is to take place shortly.”

  Dante looked at the yellowy paper; he could see the swirling letters and make out his name, which was mentioned over and over: Dante Daemon Ernest Romanov Kipling.

  “What is the settlement?” Dante asked.

  His father’s inky eyebrow slashed upward. “I didn’t realize you needed to know anything about this, other than the time and place.”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, Father, I am the one getting married.” He didn’t even bother to cloak the sarcasm in sycophancy.

  Dante wasn’t interested in pleasing his parent anymore. This was about trying to determine how much his father had handed out to get rid of him. And who he’d handed him to. That little gem had yet to be announced. His stomach started to churn uncomfortably, making him restless. Maybe the blood he’d had this morning had been polluted by drugs?

  “Enough to clear your groom’s debt.”

  Groom. So Dante was being married off to some financial idiot, who happened to have a cock. Part of him hoped that his prospective husband didn’t like men sexually, because then it meant Dante wouldn’t have to have sex with him. It would just be a dry union on paper. Not that they had to have sex. There was nothing that said they had to, and there seemed to be plenty of couples who didn’t copulate—it seemed to be the one common theme of marriage, Dante had noticed—but it was expected.

  Dante, however, assumed that the man would like men; it wouldn’t have been a punishment otherwise. What Viktor didn’t understand was that it wouldn’t bother Dante that he was being married off to a man. Gender wasn’t important. It was sex that was the problem.

  Any type of sex.

  It was just, well, not for him. People talked about sex drives and libido, but he didn’t have one.

  The uncomfortable feeling in his stomach built, and he was feeling…antsy. Was that the word for it? Pretending calm—which was in itself strange, since Dante seemed to be perpetually calm—he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his stomach. “How much is my groom’s debt?”

  “Fifty thousand groats.” His father picked up a pen and began signing the paperwork from the middle pile.

  Dante deliberately kept his expression blank. Fifty thousand groats. What kind of an idiot was he marrying? “Well, you really must have wanted me out of your house.”

  “That’s all you can say?”

  Dante raised an eyebrow of his own. “I wasn’t aware you cared about what I had to say.”

  Viktor shrugged.

  Now, Dante thought, who would be in that much debt? He racked his brains, but couldn’t think of a vampire family that needed so much coin. Then again, he didn’t really know much about the financial situations of other families; although he may have heard something about that. Misty would know, but she had been barred from this meeting.

  His father signed the final page with a flourish. “Here is the situation in a nutshell: You are going to marry Anton Greystoke, and you aren’t going to complain. Not once.” His hard voice didn’t match the gentleness with which Viktor placed the pen in its small holder. His father steepled his hands.

  Dante blinked and racked his brain. Why did he know that name? His stomach did an uncomfortable flip-flop, and were his hands sweating? His hands never sweated. But he was sure he’d only met the person recently… “The one who came looking for the ‘fiancée’ I had Chosen?”

  Viktor nodded.

  That pretty boy? But he was human. The levels of punishment were just piling on top of each other. Hopefully, Dante thought, Anton may not like having sex with men, seeing as he had been engaged to a woman. He definitely wished it was so, and he dried his palms a little.

  “You both have clauses in the marriage contract that will allow you to father heirs, if neither of your sisters do so. Is that clear?” Viktor’s eyes turned to a frosty mauve.

  “Sure.” When his father stared at him, Dante added, “Become a stud if Misty doesn’t perform her duties, I understand.”

  His father flicked a hand dismissively through the air. “It isn’t stud duty; it is family duty, which you seem unable to grasp. And you will do it if it is required. Do I make myself clear?”

  Dante fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Crystal.”

  Although, he had to mentally scoff at his supposedly not understanding “family duty.” His whole life had been dictated by it. If not for that, he would have been following his suspicions about the colored-eyed humans more. A whole lot more.

  “There are some rules, however.” Viktor tapped the paper.

  Of course there are rules, Dante thought. I can’t have something easy, can I?

  “You are not to bite your husband and you are not to Choose him without written consent from his family. In fact, you will not Choose any more humans. Is that clear?”

  “Not to bite him?” Dante blinked. Most humans liked being bitten during…well. At least, that was what he’d been told. Dante wasn’t really sure he wanted to think about that.

  “Those two points are clauses of the marriage contract. If you do either of these actions, the marriage will be terminated, but the debt will remain paid.” The tapping became more forceful. “I will be very unhappy if that happens and there will be consequences.”

  “What happens if I refuse to go through with this marriage?” Dante asked, more out of curiosity than any desire to disobey. He was sure that whatever it was would be worse than marriage to a potentially man-loving, brown-eyed human.

  “The paperwork I have here,” Viktor tapped the pile of yellow parchment on his left, “are forms which will allow me to place you in Pinton’s Insane Asylum.”

  The insane asylum. Dante repressed a shudder.

  Curiosity killed the cat. He could now see why.

  “I see.”

  “No, I’m not sure that you do. If you refuse to go ahead with this marriage, I will have you confined to the asylum. If you violate the clauses of the marriage and it is terminated as a result, I will confine you to the asylum. I would prefer not to risk the earldom’s succession, and this way there is still the hope that we could obtain an heir from you, if necessary.”

  Dante’s heart seemed to kick up a gear, and his palms went back to sweating. He’d never had this physical reaction before. What was going on? He’d known something like this was going to happen. And anyway, why couldn’t his father sire another child, why did Dante have to?

  “Not if I refuse to play stud,” Dante snapped.

  His father snorted. “If a man is given the right stimulation, then he can perform.”

&n
bsp; Dante wasn’t so sure that his father’s plan would work. Dante didn’t exactly respond to the “right stimulation,” or any stimulation for that matter. Not without a lot of effort on his and his partner’s part. And even then it was hit and miss.

  “I do have another contingency plan as well, just in case you do prove stubborn; another letter I can use to gain your obedience.”

  Dante didn’t like the sound of that; he was even feeling a bit light-headed. There was something worse than being committed?

  “A death warrant?” Dante quipped, trying to discreetly wipe his palms on his jacket.

  His father froze, hand hovering over the final pile of papers. Viktor appeared to give himself a shake before he clasped his hands together. “Yes.”

  Dante shrugged, pretending he wasn’t shocked. Pretending he wasn’t feeling…anxious. That was it! He was feeling worried, for himself. He’d never experienced that before. Was something wrong with him?

  Thinking about his father’s words, about the threats, he figured, Well, it probably is okay to be anxious when your father is threatening to have you executed.

  And really, his mind said, why are you even surprised?

  Chapter 35

  Elle hadn’t felt so bereft in her entire life.

  She couldn’t see Emmie, couldn’t steal a quick, hard hug off her mother, and she couldn’t even be told off by Gran. Although, to be fair, the latter was no hardship. It was just different. Everything was different.

  Now that her stomach had stopped asserting itself and her head was clear, she felt mortified. She’d attacked Clay without provocation. Just jumped him and tried to bite him. Elle figured she would probably still be trying, if he hadn’t given in and let her have her head and his blood.

  She felt dirty, like she had violated him.

  Hugging her knees to her chest, Elle propped her chin on them. The mattress was soft under her—Clay must have some coin; most people couldn’t afford that kind of feathered luxury. She looked contemplatively across the room at Clay, who had just come out of the small bathroom, which was attached to the bedroom of his apartment. He had a towel draped around his neck and a pair of buckskins on and nothing else. It was enough to make her mouth water again, although this time for a different reason.