Graced

by Amanda Pillar

  “You like children?” Anton thought he’d throw up.

  “No, I don’t like children. That’s disgusting.” Kipling looked like he thought Anton was a deviant for even suggesting the idea.

  “Then you just don’t like sex?” Anton asked, feeling his nausea roll down a notch.

  “Exactly.” Kipling seemed relieved.

  “With men or women?”

  “No. I just don’t like it.”

  “What about on your own?” Anton couldn’t quite grasp the idea of someone not liking sex. He’d heard about it, and normally he would have no trouble accepting it. People were people and everyone was different. But he wouldn’t have married someone like that, not if he’d been given a choice. Because Anton liked sex. A lot.

  “What do you mean? You can’t have sex on your own.”

  Anton couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. “No, but you can masturbate.”

  “Oh. Well, no.”

  “No?”

  “I don’t do that.”

  By the blood. Anton was never going to get laid again.

  “Greystoke?”

  He’d married a murderer who didn’t like sex. Anton wanted to cry. He started laughing.

  “Greystoke?”

  Anton was doubled over, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. But it wasn’t funny. He didn’t know why he was laughing, but he couldn’t seem to stop.

  “Greystoke?”

  A hand touched his shoulder and Anton jerked mid-laugh. He looked up into Kipling’s bright violet eyes, which seemed concerned. Surely that wasn’t right, because Kipling was emotionless.

  “Anton, are you okay?”

  “No,” Anton gasped.

  It was the first time he’d heard Kipling speak his name, and it almost melted his bones. It shouldn’t have sounded that good, it really shouldn’t. Kipling gripped him under the arms and pulled him upright, almost without effort.

  “You have had too much to drink,” Kipling said.

  Anton wheezed, “You think?” between hysterical bursts of laughter.

  Kipling just shook his head and then hauled Anton over to his bed. Part of him panicked, and then he remembered their conversation and the laughter welled up again. No sex. No sex.

  Somehow, Anton found himself lying on the bed, Kipling having already taken his shirt and jacket off. He was unbuttoning his fly when Anton came back to reality.

  “I can do it,” he snapped.

  “Really?” Kipling asked, stepping back and folding his arms across his chest.

  Glowering at the vampire, Anton shucked off his breeches. Next thing he knew, Kipling had him tucked under the covers.

  “You had better not be a drunk.”

  “And you had better not murder any more of my friends,” Anton growled.

  “Done.” Kipling seemed to smile, and it almost made Anton hard.

  I’m in deep shit.

  Chapter 40

  “I look ridiculous,” Elle said.

  She stared at herself in the mirror and shook her head. Looking over her shoulder at Clay, she watched as he sucked the inside of his cheek while he studied her.

  “I don’t know,” he said and strode forward. “You look pretty hot to me.”

  Elle turned back to the mirror and rolled her eyes. She was wearing a rusty red dress made from some type of shiny material—silk, according to Clay. The neckline was too low and edged in some expensive type of lace, but Clay said it was “the fashion.” If she bent over, anyone looking at her would be able to see down to her navel. When she’d said that, Clay had just told her not to bend over.

  Elle snorted.

  “What?” Clay asked.

  “Dressing me like an aristo won’t make me an aristo,” Elle said.

  Her fingers itched to peel the long red gloves from her arms, but Clay had slapped at her hand when she’d tugged at one earlier. The color of her dress should have clashed with her hair, she thought. But it didn’t. Maybe it was all that white skin on display; the paleness distracted from the hair Clay had piled on the top of her head in lazy curls. Where Clay had learned to dress women’s hair…well, she wasn’t about to ask.

  And really, she didn’t even want to think about her hair. She’d cut it, back to the short style she’d always preferred. Then she’d had a nap, and next thing she knew, she was awake and had a mane of the bloody stuff again. Not quite as long, but it brushed past her shoulders. She had wanted to cut it a second time, but Clay had prevented her; it wouldn’t help their new plan, he said, it would grow back while she slept and vampires always had long hair. When she’d demanded why, he said it had something to do with their regenerative abilities and blah blah blah. It had become a bit of a lecture, so she’d tuned out. All she remembered was that she shouldn’t stand out too much.

  Bloody vampires.

  “Remind me why I agreed to wear this abomination?” Elle asked.

  Clay tutted.

  She slashed a glare at him.

  “You have to look the part,” Clay said.

  Elle turned back to face him, abandoning the mirror and the reflection that showed an aristo lady who didn’t resemble her at all. Elegance and style were not the usual hallmarks of Elle’s appearance. Rough and ready, those were more like it. That’s how she liked it.

  “I look like an aristo.” Elle tried to keep the sneer from her voice. Clay had told her off for that earlier.

  “Exactly. Vampires are normally aristo or trying to be aristos. If you look the part, it will make your life—uh, unlife—easier.”

  Elle sighed. She wasn’t exactly sure about this plan. “I think this is going to get me killed.”

  Clay smiled and gently clasped her shoulders. “Trust me.”

  That’s what she was worried about.

  Chapter 41

  The noise was deafening.

  And it wasn’t the chatter in the receiving room at the Crystal Palace that was causing her headache. The vampires’ thoughts were doing that. It was like walking into a taproom during happy hour. Everyone was talking at once, except here, they were thinking. Taking a deep breath, she tried to picture her mental shield, the one she’d spent hours building for extra protection from Gran. It didn’t stop the noise entirely, but it dimmed it, enough that she could take a deep breath and relax slightly.

  Half clinging to Clay, she followed him as he walked down the receiving room’s long expanse. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting rainbow glitters over the room and its hundred or so occupants. Mirrors hung on walls opposite each other, reflecting the sparkling structures and the jewel-gowned courtiers, replicating them into infinity.

  At the end of the room, King Johan II, or King Jo as Elle’s guard friends liked to call him, was seated on his throne and looked, well, bored. She hadn’t thought he’d appear like that. Regal, yes; intimidating, probably—but not chronically bored. Not that she’d ever thought she’d get to see him this close. The City Guard rarely worked with the Palace Guard; the former generally employing humans and the latter vampires. And Elle had never gone to a formal dinner with Mikael. Not that the king showed up to all that many of them, from what Mikael had said.

  The king was wearing a red silk suit that should have looked tacky—Elle would have called it that had it been on any other person—and a crisp white shirt. He had his chin propped on his hand and he was absently waving away an attendant who was hovering nearby.

  As Clay “guided” her across the receiving room’s floor, easily weaving them around curious courtiers, Elle tried not to tug on her gloves, trip on her dress or stare at the king. All were apparently bad. But it was hard to look away from him; the red suit highlighted the olive tone of his skin, which was unusual for a Pinton leech. His black hair swept away from sharp features and his light eyes seemed to glow. The king was one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. Only Clay and the Creep were in his league, although the Creep was probably even prettier.

  Thinking of Clay, she manage
d to turn her eyes away from the king and to her companion. He looked nice enough to eat, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing anymore. Not for him, anyway. She hadn’t ever seen him in formal clothes before, and his were certainly designed to highlight his assets. Which was everything about him, as far as she could see.

  Elle hadn’t thought she’d have much of a libido, not that she’d thought about it all that much. Since she’d woken up, she hadn’t been interested in anything other than food and saving Emmie. Although, she had to admit, she hadn’t been awake for that long. But as soon as she spied Clay in his fancy clothes, she’d tried to jump him. Literally. He’d had to fend her off and then gave her a lecture about leaping around in her new dress.

  She still hadn’t gotten laid.

  “What?” Clay said.

  Elle sent him a sidelong look. “Huh?”

  “You started digging your fingers into my arm. What were you thinking?”

  He was leaning close to her and she could smell him. By the blood, this wolf always smelled yummy. Her vampire hormones hadn’t gotten over their rejection from earlier, so she felt her heart speed up and her blood rush to parts of her body that shouldn’t be doing the thinking right now.

  “About you.” She didn’t say anything more, but from the way his eyes seemed to darken to molten gold, she figured he’d understood.

  He placed a warm hand over the one she had resting on his arm. “Later.”

  “Promise?”

  He laughed.

  Heads turned their way at the sound and the few courtiers in the room close to them tittered. They looked like overdressed cats, she thought; all glittering eyes and gems, furs and fangs. Cats were at least friendly.

  Elle could hear their comments and they weren’t flattering:

  “There’s a doggie in the room. Hope he’s toilet trained.”

  “Who’s his whore?”

  “Who let the trash inside?”

  Elle saw that Clay was smiling. Surely he’d heard what they were saying, too?

  “Sir—”

  Elle turned and looked at the nervous human who’d spoken to them. He was wearing royal livery and was obviously uncomfortable approaching a rather large were with a female vampire on his arm.

  “Yes?” Clay said.

  “Sir, may I ask your purpose here?”

  Obviously one of the aristos had taken exception to the dog and his lady friend. She tamped down on the feeling of outrage, admitting to herself that a few weeks earlier, she’d have been saying the same things.

  “I already gave my card at the entrance,” Clay said.

  Elle had tried to read what was on the card, but Clay had kept it out of her sight. The servant who had taken the card had gone a little pale, muttered something and ushered them on. Whatever it said, it was impressive. How had Clay managed that?

  The servant looked wide-eyed at them.

  “I’m here to have a meeting with the king,” Clay said slowly.

  The attendant appeared skeptical, then seemed to decide it wasn’t his job to eject them, and turned to lead them toward the throne, when a new voice said, “Dog, our king doesn’t have time for you.”

  Clay let go of Elle’s arm and turned to face the speaker. The man wore his hair long, down to his butt, and had a collar so high it poked him in the chin. He looked ridiculous, Elle thought, and familiar. She might have thrown him out of a brothel or three before.

  “Why don’t you let the king decide that for himself? Or are you making his mind up for him?”

  As if he were a magnet, Elle felt her eyes drawn to Clay. The air about him crackled; gone was the buckskin-wearing backwoodsman, and here was the polished aristo wolf. It was as if he had shed part of himself like a winter coat.

  “He doesn’t need to make a decision. It’s obvious.” The man tilted his chin high in the air, which meant that Elle could see the marks the collar had left against the pasty flesh of his throat.

  Idiot.

  “What is obvious?” This new voice was deep and smooth; it sounded like how melted chocolate tasted.

  Elle managed to stop her jaw from dropping by sheer willpower alone. The king was standing right behind the popinjay. Up close, he was even more breathtaking. For someone who didn’t like leeches, she could fast see herself liking this one. Does that make me shallow?

  The pompous vampire turned slowly on his heels, rocking back a little when he saw the king smiling at him. But it wasn’t a warm expression.

  “Your Majesty.” The vampire dropped into a low bow.

  Realizing that she should have done the same as soon as she spotted the king in their crowd, she dipped into a deep curtsy. One thing she had to say about her new vampire powers—she liked the fact that she was super coordinated now. She didn’t even wobble.

  Clay took hold of her elbow and slowly drew her upright. She frowned slightly when she realized he hadn’t bowed at all. Instead, she saw him tilt his head at the king, as if they were equals. She swallowed.

  “I think the king asked you a question,” a woman said, her wire-framed fan poking the collared vampire in the arm. From his wince, it must have been hard.

  Elle decided, studying the woman, that the vampires in this city were all too attractive by half. Even the ugly ones, like the popinjay, were still good-looking. He was just ugly because he was stupid, and because he didn’t have a lick of dress sense. The woman, on the other hand, seemed sharp, like a two-edged sword. She was wearing entirely white, from the ribbons in her hair down to the slippers on her feet, and her pale blonde tresses hung down over her shoulders like a silk scarf. She looked familiar too, for some reason.

  “It was obvious that our king doesn’t have time for this wolf.” The man was struggling to speak, and his cheeks had a faint pink tinge. Elle worked out that a pink tinge was the equivalent of a human’s full-body blush. The vampire shot Clay and Elle a glare, as if it was their fault he’d been caught making grand statements about the king’s desires.

  “Really? That’s interesting, Jay.”

  Elle blinked. The man’s name was Jay? That was too funny.

  “Why is that?” Popinjay raised a hand as if to tug at his cravat, but lowered it quickly.

  The woman’s lavender eyes glinted. “Because I was talking with the king just as he spotted this lovely couple, and he said he simply must speak with them. Didn’t you, Your Majesty?”

  Cat with mouse, Elle thought. Cat one; mouse dead.

  “Indeed,” King Johan said. He turned to Clay. “It has been, what? Three centuries since I last saw your ugly face?”

  Elle felt her eyes widen.

  “Ha! Only when compared to you, pretty-boy.” Clay was grinning.

  Clay knew the king? He was on joking terms with him? And he hadn’t told her about that at all?

  Oh, she was going to kill him. Cut him into tiny chunks and feed him to wild animals. No, she was going to bite him and bite him and bite him, and then when she was full, then she’d cut him into tiny chunks and feed him to wild animals.

  “—Elle.”

  Elle jolted and then stared at the hand the king was holding out to her. When had that happened? He was murmuring something to her.

  “S-sorry, Your Majesty?”

  King Johan looked up then and met her eyes. His mouth parted slightly and he blinked rapidly. “Clay, where did you say you met this charming lady again?”

  “I didn’t.”

  The king took hold of her hand and placed it on his forearm. “Then she simply must tell me herself.”

  The king began leading her away from Clay, which was a bad idea. A really bad idea.

  “Uh, I mean, sorry—”

  “What my darling fiancée is trying to say, Johan, is that she isn’t comfortable wandering around without me.”

  Elle froze. She almost mouthed the word “fiancée” at Clay. The king’s arm tensed under her hand.

  “What are you doing?” she mentally shouted at him.

  “Play along.”r />
  “You didn’t say anything about this before.”

  “I didn’t think I’d have to say it.”

  “But…fiancée?”

  “It means that I’m justified in my interest in you. In my proprietary interest.”

  She didn’t like the sound of that, but she smiled at the king, teeth hidden.

  Elle heard someone coughing, but since it was the popinjay who was doing it, she had to assume it was to hide some other emotion. Vampires didn’t get colds.

  “Fiancée?” he squawked finally. “Vampires aren’t allowed to marry wolves.”

  “They are allowed to,” the king said slowly, turning around to face Popinjay. “It is discouraged though, which you well know, Clay.” That purple stare focused hard on her wolf.

  My wolf?

  Staring at him, she decided she didn’t want to pursue that thought. Not now and not yet. It was just because he looked too bloody good, she thought. Purely physical.

  “Is it my fault that she got Chosen by a vampire before I could Bite her?” Clay shrugged.

  “I wasn’t going to Bite you,” Clay said telepathically. “Well, I would’ve asked first.”

  She tried not to grunt at him. He’d thought about it?

  “You were engaged to a human?” This, surprisingly, wasn’t from Popinjay. It was from the woman.

  Clay raised both his eyebrows. “Yes. Wolves are happy to Bite our mates when we find them, if they aren’t already our kind. I understand vampires tend to do the same.”

  Popinjay turned a sneer onto the woman, since he couldn’t seem to ruffle Clay’s hackles. “Isn’t that what your brother did recently, Lady Kipling? Although now he’s married to Greystoke. Such havey-cavey happenings.”

  Elle felt the floor drop out from under her. This was the Viscountess of Kipling? This was the Creep’s sister?

  “What? What’s wrong?” Clay asked.

  “How is it havey-cavey?” Viscountess Kipling asked.

  “This is the sister of the vampire who Chose me,” she replied mentally to Clay, not even looking at him. She was too busy watching the reactions of everyone around her.