Graced

by Amanda Pillar

  She saw Clay turn to stare at the woman. Elle swore she could see the cogs turning behind his bland gaze. Part of her dreaded what insanity he would spout next. The other part of her looked forward to it.

  Chapter 42

  “Yes,” Anton said into the sudden silence. “I would like to know how—and when—my marriage became classified as ‘havey-cavey.’”

  He’d been on his way to say a polite greeting to the king—since it was important to maintain appearances—when he’d overheard the conversation between the idiotic Jay Worthington and Anton’s sister-in-law. Handy for Anton that their conversation was occurring next to King Johan’s side; it meant he didn’t have to limp across the room to greet his ruler afterward. With the king was a huge were—presumably a wolf—who easily crested six feet and beyond in height, and a tall, slim vampire woman. She was eye-catching, with her vibrant red hair and sharp features, but she wasn’t beautiful. Not like his Annabel had been.

  “Greystoke.” The way Worthington said his name was almost like a sneer.

  Anton didn’t bother even inclining his head. The vampire was, after all, his social inferior. “Worthington. Please enlighten my sister-in-law and myself as to why my marriage is questionable?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the king lean toward them, as if listening. The female vampire on his arm seemed totally absorbed in the conversation, her dark purple eyes burning into his neck.

  “One minute your new husband was supposedly Choosing the love of his life, the next, he tries to Choose some servant, and then he marries you. You’re in third place, by the looks of things.”

  Anton was surprised. Not many people knew of the servant.

  He’d only just heard of the servant from Dante last night. He’d told Anton as a warning. “I feel like I should tell you that I recently tried to Choose a servant as well. After my failure with San—Annabel, I wanted to make sure I hadn’t done anything wrong, but it didn’t work either.” His violet eyes had appeared solemn. “I don’t make a habit of Choosing people, and I don’t normally kill slaves, just so you know.”

  Anton had just raised his brows and rubbed the muscles in his sore leg, while sipping brandy.

  “Well, you wanted me to stop killing people. I’m just letting you know I hadn’t made a habit of it.” Dante had sounded…defensive. As if Anton’s opinion had mattered, which was astonishing.

  “My brother only Chose the servant because she wanted it,” the viscountess said now.

  A sound almost like a hiss emanated from the female vampire on the king’s arm. They all turned to look at her.

  “That’s fascinating.” The werewolf crossed his arms and stared hard at Dante’s sister. Anton wondered why the wolf was wading into this discussion.

  The viscountess flicked her hair over her shoulder. “What do you care?”

  “I care,” the other female vampire said, the redhead. “Because it was me.”

  Anton’s jaw dropped.

  So did Worthington’s and Misty’s.

  The king looked startled.

  The viscountess was the first to recover. “What? That’s not possible. She died.”

  The redhead cracked half a smile. “Well, yes, I assume that is part of the process.” She tried to step toward the wolf, but the king had a firm grip on her hand.

  “You were Chosen by Dante Kipling?” the king asked.

  She turned toward him and nodded.

  Please, Anton thought suddenly, fearing what would come next. Please, don’t say you didn’t want him to. I have enough scandal on my plate without adding this to it.

  Anton was starting to get a firm grasp of what had happened. Dante wasn’t the sort to ask, and Choosing someone against their will was a crime. One of the few that was punishable by death. And it didn’t just affect the vampire; their Chosen also suffered.

  Looking up, Anton saw that the redheaded vampire was watching him closely.

  The king spoke first. “From what I can gather from the viscountess, Dante thinks you’re dead?”

  “I don’t know. I assume so. When I woke, I was about to be cremated.” Her voice was flat, her accent distinctly Pintonite.

  Everyone flinched, apart from the wolf. He seemed to be studying the blonde vampire.

  The king tapped a finger on the redhead’s hand and nodded at Anton. “Well, since you are newly Chosen, you need to be with your Chooser. You are very lucky your fiancé was there to save you, which I assume he was.”

  The wolf nodded.

  Anton tried not to stare. The wolf was engaged to the redhead? Oh, this just got worse and worse.

  The words, “be with your Chooser” suddenly replayed themselves in Anton’s mind. Wait—had Anton just gained a step-vampire? He was still trying to deal with the one he had.

  The wolf shook his head. “No, she can stay with me, she doesn’t need her Chooser.”

  “Clay, she’s a newly Chosen vampire,” said the king. “She has to be with Kipling.”

  “Fine. She can be with Kipling with me there, too.”

  Anton opened his mouth to protest. Having that werewolf living under his roof? It would terrify his servants. It would worry him. Despite his finely-tailored court dress, there was still a definite feral edge to the man. Having Dante there was bad enough.

  “You really still plan on marrying her?” Worthington asked.

  The wolf stared at the courtier as if he were a bug that should be crushed beneath his shoe. “Not that it is remotely any of your business, but yes.”

  “That’s—”

  “Perfectly fine,” the king said. “Provided Baron Greystoke’s family agree.”

  “What has my marriage got to do with the baron?” the newly Chosen vampire asked.

  The king patted her arm. Anton hadn’t seen his ruler this friendly with anyone for a long time. “Baron Greystoke is your Chooser’s husband, young one. Your human family no longer has any rights to your future, but your Chooser’s family does. Until you marry Clay, that is. As such, you are now a member of the Greystoke family, and the baron’s father is head of that family.”

  Anton blinked. He had just gained a step-vampire.

  Great. Just bloody great.

  His stomach sank. He really could wait to tell Dante.

  Part III

  May you get what you wish for

  Chapter 43

  If he could count on Elle for anything, Clay thought, it was to keep life interesting.

  He really wished he could go back in time and re-do things. He should have told Elle that he already knew the King of Pinton, but he hadn’t thought that Johan would greet him so openly. He should have warned her that he might have to pose as her fiancé, since her Chooser had more right to her than she did. And he should have told her to keep her mouth shut in public about her origins, although Clay probably should have known that it was the Kiplings who had done the deed. They always were an arrogant bunch and he’d heard the rumors.

  Either way, there were a lot of “should haves” involved. But the actual events had put his vampire into a bit of a state. Clay hoped he’d given her enough time as he strode up the stairs to his apartment.

  He rubbed his forehead and hoisted the paper bags full of shopping higher. Then, jamming them under his elbow, he used his free hand to fish the keys out of his pocket. He unlocked the door and walked inside, only to stop short at the sight.

  Elle was on his bed, wearing nothing but one of his shirts. Feeling his pants growing a bit tight, he took a step forward, only to stop when he saw the small satchel next to her. It was packed full; probably with the clothes he’d bought her the day before. Looking over at the half-open closet, he saw the red dress hanging there like a swathe of blood.

  “You’re packed already?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I figured we’d be better off going sooner rather than later. Before Gran hears.”

  Clay sat the bags on the floor next to the set of drawers. “It wasn’t the best idea to announce
who Chose you in front of Worthington.”

  Elle looked at him. “No, I guess it wasn’t.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Why did you?”

  “I wasn’t really thinking.”

  Clay sat down next to her. He picked up one of her hands and it was cold, so he began rubbing it. She pulled it from him. “I don’t think I’m going to get much warmer again.”

  He felt his cheeks flush. “Are you hungry?”

  She turned toward the wall and glared at it. “Yes.”

  Clay stood and walked toward the bags he’d dropped on the ground. He pulled out a skin from one of the paper packages. It was warm to touch.

  Elle was eyeing the bloated container with a grimace.

  “This is pig’s blood.”

  She looked slightly queasy. “Yum.”

  “You should give it a try.” Before you bite me to shreds again, he thought.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Go on.” He handed it to her.

  Elle opened the top of the skin and sniffed it tentatively. “It doesn’t smell great.”

  “Hold your nose.”

  Wincing, she did just that. She upended the container and gulped the fluid down. She didn’t gag, but she didn’t seem too happy about it either. She thrust the skin back at him when she was done.

  “How was it?” Clay asked.

  “Not very nice, but better than nothing.”

  He had a feeling her reaction was more psychological than physical. From what he’d heard, pig blood was similar enough to human blood that you could transfuse it, back when the technology had been used. So it couldn’t be that different. Either way, her cheeks were looking a little pinker, but she was still really pale. Then again, she’d probably always be one shade away from death from now on.

  Clay stoppered the skin and popped it on the small kitchenette bench.

  He felt Elle come up behind him. “Thanks. I know you didn’t want me to bite you again.”

  “It’s not just that,” Clay said. “If you keep drinking my blood, any other type of blood will seem…weak.”

  She didn’t look like she particularly believed him, but he wasn’t lying. He turned back to grab a glass from the cupboard.

  A sharp jab had him spinning around as pain shot through his lower back. Another punch hit his stomach and made him wince. He put the glass down.

  “What?”

  Her eyebrows were drawn low. “The first one was for not telling me about the king. The second was because you promoted me to fiancée without letting me know first.”

  He rubbed his back. “Sorry.”

  “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “You said to trust you. It’s a bit hard to do that when you don’t tell me anything.”

  She had a point, especially when added to the fact that he doubted she’d ever trusted anyone but Emmie before. He reached out and placed his hands around her waist and drew her close. Resting his cheek on her head he said, “I’m sorry.”

  She snorted, but she wound her arms around his waist. It felt good.

  “So, are you going to tell me how you know the king?” she asked against his chest.

  Clay withdrew his arms and then walked over to the bed. He sat down and leaned back against the headboard, crossing his legs at the ankles. Elle sat next to him, crossing her legs underneath her.

  “I knew Johan when he was a child,” Clay said.

  “You grew up together?”

  He took a deep breath. “No.”

  “But, King Johan is at least two thousand years old…” Her expression was half-horrified and half-thoughtful.

  “Yeah.”

  “You were an adult when you met him?” she asked.

  “Well and truly.” Clay gave her a crooked smile.

  “How old are you?”

  Clay paused. “Do you really want to know?”

  He didn’t really want to tell her, but he was meant to be inspiring trust. If he wanted her to believe in him, he should at least afford her the same courtesy. Even though trusting a newly Chosen vampire went against his instincts.

  “I wouldn’t have asked otherwise,” she said dryly.

  He winced. It sounded ridiculous when he said it aloud. “Just a touch over thirty thousand years.”

  “You…what?” Her jaw dropped. “That’s not possible!”

  He flicked a hand in the air. “Yes, it is. I’m living proof.”

  “But, vampires die after around four thousand, from old age! Aren’t weres—werewolves—the same?”

  Clay sighed. “Generally, yes. But my situation has to do with my blood. With genes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How much do you know about the history of Graceds, vampires and weres?”

  She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “We’ve always been this way. The Graceds were always the rarest.”

  “Sort of,” Clay said.

  Elle frowned.

  “There used to be Nons and Graceds, although the Graceds didn’t always have abilities. That’s why you’ll get a Graced every now and then with no power at all.

  “Scientists engineered the genes—the blood—so that the abilities manifested more often. Then they tried to make immortal Graceds. But they found that Blues, Greens and Grays just couldn’t become immortal. So they made vampires—purples—and weres—yellows—which is a whole different story, and even I’m not sure of the particulars. But they were born to normal Graced parents.”

  “You said a gene is like a personal code. How can someone change it?”

  Clay had to think for a moment. “Genes are the building blocks of life; people used to be able to see them—microscopes were much more advanced. And they could change them. Change the base of the structure, and you’d change the rest of the building.”

  Elle laughed, disbelief evident on her face. “Scientists could do that? Most of them don’t even know what day of the week it is, let alone how to make a Graced. Dante—the Creep who Chose me—he likes to think he’s a scientist. He just kills people.”

  “A scientist used to be a reputable job. It used to take years of schooling, and things were more advanced. I remember; I’m only third generation wolf.”

  “What?”

  “My grandfather was one of the first werewolves.”

  “But…”

  “Which means my great-grandfather was a Graced.”

  Her jaw had dropped again. “But, why do vampires and weres live only to four thousand years now?”

  “Well, weres live longer than vampires, although not by a huge amount. As for the leeches; they’re inbred. Those that do live longer are the ones whose parents were careful about who they procreated with. And a lot of them bred with Graceds; it shortened their life expectancies as Graceds are mortal.”

  Elle frowned. “That explains a few things. Could a Graced still have a child with a were or vampire?”

  Clay winced. “Some could, yes. Most couldn’t. They’re too far removed from their Graced ancestors.”

  Elle stared at him.

  “Think of it this way.” Clay ran a hand over his hair. “You know dog breeds, how some of the most ‘pure’ breeds have lots of problems, like kidney disease and lung troubles? That’s because of the inbreeding that was done to get them that way. A lot of vampires did the same thing, although there are stronger families than those in Pinton. This city is just one of the worst examples of vampire-kind.”

  “That kind of makes sense,” she admitted. “So, I’m going to die at four thousand?”

  “Probably not. Chosen vampires are different to born. They effectively stop aging the day they’re changed. I don’t know why, but it might be because the vamp blood mixes with Non blood and it becomes something similar to the old-fashioned vamps. Born vampires age, but at a dramatically slower rate than humans. Although, your life-expectancy might be tied to your Chooser’s.”

  She seemed to accept that. “Why aren’t there more of you arou
nd? Old ones, I mean.”

  Clay shrugged, but he felt a little hollow thinking about it. “There used to be. But we got hunted down. There was a huge war. Back in the day, the Nons thought we were abnormal and killed us because they were afraid. The Graceds killed us in revenge—a lot of older weres and vampires used to kidnap Graceds and breed with them, to keep the races going. Before that though, the weres had banded together for safety; we built our own cities. The vampires bred internally and quickly; hence their problems. Then vampires and weres fought over territories. Once things settled down, we let in the Nons that were left, and by then, they were used to us. Some of our own kind hunted the older ones down because they feared them—feared people like me. They were scared of what we know and remember.”

  She was frowning again.

  “Remember, these things happened thousands of years ago. Long before Pinton was even a dot on a map.” And he had summarized the absolute crap out of thousands of years of history. But then, he couldn’t remember all the details; hadn’t wanted to.

  Elle scooted closer to him, tucking herself against his side, so he had to wrap an arm around her shoulders.

  “How did you stay sane?” she asked.

  Her question surprised him. “I spent a lot of time away from people,” he admitted. “I normally live for decades, centuries even, out in border towns or alone in the forest.”

  She looked considering. “I guess I’ll have to do that too, eventually.”

  Clay shrugged. “Maybe.”

  They were quiet. He tucked her closer.

  “So, why did you say I was your fiancée?”

  He ran a hand over her hair. “Because right now, you belong to the Kipling who Chose you. It was the only thing I could think of that would mean you still had someone around you could trust.”

  “Could have at least warned me.” She tapped her head.

  “That reminds me,” he said. Using his free hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box.

  “What is it?”

  He watched her peer curiously at the little container. He flipped the lid open and she hissed. “A ring?”