Graced

by Amanda Pillar

  Well, their confusion wasn’t his problem.

  Anton walked toward the double glass doors at the end of the ballroom. They were open to the cool night air and a darkened terrace, but he couldn’t feel the breeze from his position in the center of the room, surrounded by false well-wishers. Pushing past a vampire woman, Anton limped his way to the door. As he moved, he overheard snippets of conversation.

  “Hadn’t thought he liked men.”

  “Why is food marrying one of us?”

  “Kipling is just too pretty to waste in marriage. Not that he ever socializes, anyway. Although, that human is a tasty-looking morsel.”

  “Hope he bites him.”

  No one seemed to have an original thought to say.

  Anton made it to the terrace, where the cool breeze danced with damp tendrils of hair that had drooped low on his forehead. He limped to the rail and clasped the cool metal in one hand, leaning his cane against the ornate bars with the other. Candles in red and yellow paper lanterns lit the area, casting a flickering glow out onto the gardens below. The scent of roses and honeysuckle wreathed through the air. Finally, he was alone.

  “So, you’re the little boy set to marry my brother.”

  Of course, he thought. Someone would have to come and bother him in the five seconds he’d managed to think he’d found silence.

  Anton let go of the rail and turned around. A woman was standing with her back to the doors, her blonde hair catching the light cast from inside, giving her a halo. She wore a white dress, cut so low he could almost see her nipples, and her skin was like alabaster. Vampire. Although, the fangs alone would have given her away.

  She looked like a whore. Not even a well-paid one. He should know, he’d almost married one of those. And he’d met the viscountess before.

  Anton gripped the rail. “Little boy here, at your service.”

  “You…”

  “Me?” he said.

  “You—”

  “Do you suffer from a speech impediment?” Anton asked. He reached behind his leg and picked up his cane.

  She shut her mouth with a click.

  “So, I assume I have other such wonderful welcomes to expect?” he asked when she kept staring at him.

  He’d met her father, for blood’s sake, and he couldn’t imagine being given a warm welcome there, either. He couldn’t really work out why Wintermere had agreed to marry his precious little son to a human. To him, in particular.

  “For a human, you’re ruder than normal.” She sniffed the air, tilting her chin up.

  “Says the girl who came out here to make snide comments to her future brother-in-law.” Anton crossed his arms, his cane leaning back against the rails again.

  Her eyes flashed. “You are barely out of leading strings; it’s ridiculous that you’re marrying someone almost five times your age.”

  He couldn’t help it, he grinned. “Ouch, you wound me with your harsh comments on my age.”

  She flicked her hair over a bare shoulder. “Says the child.”

  “Oh dear, you terrify me.” Anton pretended to wince. He picked his cane up and bowed. “Viscountess Kipling, it was a pleasure.”

  Anton managed to make two steps before the vampire was at his side.

  “So, you met Dante and then asked for his hand? Because you were so smitten?”

  Anton sidled away. He didn’t like being close to vampires. They made him feel uncomfortable, like prey. How he was going to stand being married to one, he didn’t know. Maybe they could have a “fashionable” marriage and live in separate houses.

  “That’s the story Kipling told you?” Anton asked.

  She took another step closer to him, forcing him to back further away. Soon they were out of the candlelight’s glow. He had to fight the urge to tug at his cravat again. The cool air seemed like the hot winds of summer.

  Blonde eyebrows shot high on the viscountess’ forehead. “Dante?”

  “Yes, did Kipling tell you I met him and then fell for him so badly I wanted to marry him?” Anton couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice.

  “Well, no.” She tapped her chin. “That was what Father said. Dante didn’t seem to have much to say on the subject at all.”

  Great, Anton thought. His fiancé hadn’t even bothered to tell his sister about the marriage. Why would he have agreed to it if he wasn’t even interested enough to tell his sister?

  Anton’s stomach had a sinking sensation.

  “Let me guess. Your father said Kipling and I met somewhere socially?” Anton’s fingers tightened around the head of his cane.

  “At a ball, which I found strange, to be honest.”

  “Oh?”

  “Dante doesn’t…well, socialize.”

  He’d heard that in the whispered ballroom titters.

  “I try not to, either,” Anton said.

  “Really?” She had a hopeful look on her face, which Anton found strange. This whole conversation had gone way beyond the pale a few hundred heartbeats ago.

  Anton wasn’t sure if he would be able to sneak away from her, so he might as well try blunt trauma. In a non-physical way. “I think most aristos are idiots.”

  Her pale eyes seemed to glow, he thought, with amusement. “You mean vampires?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “That’s wonderful!”

  Anton began to wonder if she was a little backward.

  “Dante doesn’t like most people, either.”

  That did sound…wonderful, Anton thought. What kind of lunatic family was he marrying into? Did his father know that the Kiplings were freaks?

  “I didn’t meet your brother in a social setting.” Anton tugged on his cravat.

  “I didn’t think so,” the viscountess said. She flicked more hair over her shoulder.

  “I met him because I forced an audience with your father, and he happened to be in the room.” Anton’s knuckles turned white as he gripped his cane.

  “Why did you need to force an audience?”

  “Because I wanted to know what had happened to my fiancée.” Anton stared at her, hard. He wanted to see what her reaction was. Mild surprise flitted across her face and then her eyes narrowed.

  “Which one was your fiancée?” she asked.

  “Which one?” His fingers loosened on his cane.

  “Uh, I mean, which one did Dante seduce?”

  Anton felt his draw drop. She really wasn’t very good at dissembling. “Which one he Chose, I think you meant.”

  “I know perfectly well what I meant.”

  How many women had Kipling attacked?

  “Your fiancée was the whore?” The viscountess leaned forward, her breath wafting across his face. It smelled oddly of clove.

  “Was being the operative word there. Yes.”

  She was frowning. “Why would you have gotten engaged to a whore? Are you a bit simple? You could have just paid her for sex.” She really was talking to him like he was five years old.

  He raised both eyebrows. He didn’t feel he should have to reply to that; it wasn’t any of her business by a long stretch, but he felt like being honest. “Because I loved her.”

  “Oh. And you don’t love Dante?”

  Anton snorted. “Far from it.”

  She flicked her hair over her shoulder again and began tapping her chin with her index finger. “I’m not sure I like this idea.”

  “What idea?” Anton wasn’t sure his future sister-in-law was entirely sane.

  “Of you marrying my brother.”

  “Good,” Anton said.

  She raised an eyebrow at him.

  He sighed. “That makes two of us.”

  Chapter 37

  “So,” Clay said into the quiet. “What do you want to do?”

  “Do?” Elle let the mirror drop to her lap and she looked at him, eyes wide.

  Clay ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the wall. He was still reeling slightly from her pronouncement that she didn’t look too diffe
rent. He guessed that she might not see so many changes, because it was still the same canvas, just a differently hued one. Maybe she’d always thought she looked like she did now; that the outside had always reflected the complexity and sharpness of her character.

  He didn’t know why it even mattered to him.

  “Yes, what do you want to do now you’re a member of the undead?” Clay asked. Not that vampires were undead, but legends are legends.

  He wanted to walk over and sit down next to her, maybe hold her hand, but he wasn’t sure it would be a good idea. He didn’t know what she was thinking or how she might react to some of his suggestions about what she should do now. That’s why he needed to hear her ideas. He doubted she’d thought far beyond her next meal, and he didn’t want to feature as her next course.

  “See Emmie.”

  “You want to see Emmie?” He crossed his arms.

  She was looking at him as if he were an idiot. “Yes. Well, take her away.”

  “And how do you plan on doing this?”

  “I will…well… I’ll—”

  “They all sound like great ideas,” Clay said.

  The Green in her eyes flashed. “I don’t know. But I can’t leave Emmie with Gran. I just can’t.”

  “I can understand that.” More than you know, he thought, but he tried to keep that one to himself.

  “Will you help me?” Elle asked.

  “Help you what?”

  “Get Emmie.” Her fingers clenched around the mirror and with a crack, the handle broke off.

  He took a few steps forward and retrieved the now two-piece mirror set. “Thanks.”

  “Sorry.” She looked sheepish.

  He didn’t say anything, just set the mirror down on the vanity. Maybe this will make her understand that she isn’t herself anymore, he thought. Staring at the mirror, he amended, That’s if she hasn’t already made a habit of snapping people’s accessories.

  “So, are you going to help me or not?”

  He guessed she hadn’t worked it out.

  When he turned around, she’d risen from the bed and was now standing with her arms crossed, chin pointed out stubbornly.

  “It depends,” Clay hedged.

  Her eyes darkened. “On what?”

  By the blood, he thought, jaw hanging. She looked sexy when she was riled. Time to sit, he decided, I need to adjust the pressure on my crotch. The movement also might turn his mind from his cock, which was important, because Elle didn’t look like she was interested in him or his appendage. He walked past her to the bed and sat. He swung his legs up, crossing them at the ankles as he leaned back against the headboard.

  “It depends on your plan,” Clay said.

  “My plan?” Her arms dropped to her sides.

  “Well, I assume you’ve got one? Or were you just thinking about knocking on your mother’s door and asking for Emmie?”

  From the look on her face, he guessed that was what she had been planning.

  He groaned.

  “What!”

  “You can’t seriously think that your mother will hand Emmie over to you?”

  Elle sat on the foot of the bed. Her finger began tracing over the circular patterns that covered his bedspread. “My mother loves me.”

  “She loved you, yes.”

  Her eyes snapped to his.

  “You’ve been Chosen. You aren’t the same person you were a week ago.”

  “How can you say that? I feel the same.”

  Clay wanted to make a smart crack about how she might feel now, but decided against it. Instead, he looked down at his wrist, not that there was any evidence of her feeding there now, but he figured she’d get the point. When Clay looked back at her, her pale skin had a faint pink flush to it.

  “I said I’m sorry.”

  “Look, you’re still you. Still prickly, adorable Elle. But what happens if you get hungry and I’m not around as a convenient chew toy? What if it’s just you and Emmie?”

  “I’d control myself.”

  He tried not to look as skeptical as he felt. He didn’t seem to do a very good job.

  “I just want to make sure she’s safe!”

  “So do I, but you taking her now isn’t.”

  “But if you were with me, you could make sure I didn’t…hurt her.” Her whole face shone with hope.

  “I can’t be around you twenty-four hours a day. And where would we go? A vampire, a werewolf and a little human girl?”

  “Somewhere far away. I hear that there are islands in the Turquoise Sea without vampires or weres.”

  Well, she was right about that, mostly. There were some weres that lived in the sea.

  “And how would we get there?” He ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t like being a naysayer, but she couldn’t seem to grasp her situation.

  “By boat.”

  “And we’d have to stop at ports. Lots of ports.”

  She was looking at him like he had a mental problem. “So?”

  “So? Your gran is a Green, a very powerful one. All she needs to do is reach out to another Green a few hundred leagues away. They reach another…”

  Understanding shot through her with a flinch. “And by the time we get to each port, there’s a chance a Graced there will know about us.”

  “And try to get Emmie back.”

  He didn’t have to add that their deaths would probably be a bonus.

  Agony contorted Elle’s face. “But I can’t leave her with Gran.”

  Clay had to admire her passion, but he wasn’t sure she was getting it. “You need to get out of here. Get away. I can keep an eye on Emmie for you.”

  “No, you don’t understand.” Her fingers were plucking at the bedsheet and he was worried she’d tear it. He only owned one.

  “Understand what? You can no longer live without me?” He grinned, but it faded when she didn’t say anything for a while.

  “Emmie is different.”

  He’d already worked that one out. The both of them were. “I know.”

  “No, she’s really different.”

  Clay thought about someone else he knew who was Graced and really different. He’d done everything in his power to protect them, and he could understand that Elle would want to do the same for her sister. At least he knew what Emmie’s power wasn’t—wrong eye color—but he didn’t want to go there. He shook himself.

  “How is she different?” Clay asked.

  Elle’s mouth formed a stubborn line.

  “Do you want me to help or not?” He tried to look stern, but he didn’t know what he’d do if he was in her position. Actually, he did know. Tell someone he barely knew, from a race he normally wouldn’t share bread with, a confidence? Blood no.

  “Emmie has ability; but it’s not one that is normal for Graceds.”

  “So she can do something other than read minds, move stuff and manipulate emotions?”

  Elle locked her eyes with his. “Yes.”

  He wanted to ask what it was, but that might be—blood, it would be—pushing the boundaries a little too far. And really, did he need to know? He wasn’t going to tell Elle all of his secrets—plus, many weren’t his to tell, anyway. Especially not the important ones.

  Clay ran another hand through his hair, before tying it back with a small piece of leather he fished from a pocket. “And you don’t trust your gran with Emmie? Not to exploit her?”

  “Gran doesn’t know about Emmie, about what she can do. She thinks Emmie is a latent, and that one day she’ll develop telepathy or empathy or something. In the meantime, she’s cruel to Emmie about it. Makes her feel useless.”

  It was sad that he could easily believe that. Look at what her grandmother had planned for Emmie already; bidding for potential “special” great-grandchildren, with Emmie as a mere vessel.

  And why were the great-grandchildren that important? How could the old dragon achieve immortality—which Clay was sure was her main goal—from a half-wolf child?

  “Loo
k,” Clay said, “there isn’t much you can do. If you take Emmie, we will be hunted down. Maybe not straight away, but eventually, they’ll find us.” Especially since it seemed Olive had big plans for her “useless” granddaughter.

  “I can’t just leave her.”

  Clay tapped his thigh, thinking. “You might not have to.”

  Chapter 38

  “I like him.”

  Dante glanced up from his reflection and stared at his sister. She was wearing a blood-red dress that draped around her figure in a way that should have been decent, but wasn’t.

  “Why are you wearing red?” Dante asked, distracted.

  Misty smiled at him and patted her blonde hair, which she’d piled on her head in a riot of curls that were speckled with carnelian beads. “It’s your wedding day; I needed something a little more ceremonial.”

  Well, she’d certainly achieved that. Red was the vampire color, after all. It represented mourning for humans; life for vampires. Dante turned back to his reflection and his valet, who was struggling to maintain his temper. The man was a vampire—Dante wasn’t allowed to have human servants anymore, in case he was tempted to Choose one—and he was wound so tight Dante wondered how it was possible the man could crap, let alone do something so outrageous as smile.

  Which he wasn’t.

  Smiling, that was.

  In fact, his valet looked as if he had just chewed on a pox-infested, bit-ridden whore. Although, Dante wasn’t sure he liked thinking of himself in those terms, since his valet was aiming that disgusted look at him.

  “What?” Dante asked the fussy man.

  “You just look—” His valet seemed at a loss for words. He waved a hand through the air, in what Dante assumed was the physical expression of his mental discomfort.

  “Rumpled?” Misty offered. She came further into the room to stand by Dante’s side.

  “Exactly!” The skinny valet threw his hands up in the air. “I just took the clothes from the hanger and dressed him and he still looks like he fell out of bed.”

  “Unfortunately,” Misty said, seeming to fight a smile, “that’s just Dante.”

  Dante wasn’t sure if he should be insulted or not. He turned back to the mirror, the valet’s hands waving between him and the glass, and checked his appearance. He looked perfectly presentable; he didn’t know what their issue was. His hair was slicked back in a queue, and his face was freshly shaved, without even a nick. His white shirt had a collar so high he was worried that it might strangle him, especially when added to the fact that a red cravat was tied tightly around his throat. His jacket and breeches were black and looked fine to him. He couldn’t even see that many wrinkles—the clothing was stretched tight over his shoulders and thighs.