Graced

by Amanda Pillar

  “Maybe it’s the link,” Clay said.

  Elle propped herself up on her elbows. “Link?”

  “Between you and Kipling. There’s some sort of psychic link between Chooser and Chosen, same with werewolves. Prevents the Chosen from attacking their maker, what with the bloodlust and rage and all.”

  “Aren’t humans meant to want to be Chosen?”

  “Consent wasn’t part of the original goal, no.”

  “Kipling told me something about not being able to hurt him before he killed me,” Elle said. “Are you meant to feel each other’s pain?” She wasn’t that sore, and she’d given Kipling a bit of a beating.

  “Not normally, but you aren’t a normal case.” He went back to folding clothes.

  She lay back on the bed and shut her eyes. “I don’t see how any of this is going to help me get Emmie.”

  The mattress sighed as Clay sat down next to her. “It hasn’t quite gone to plan, has it?”

  She cracked one eyelid open and looked at him. “You think?”

  “We needed to get the king’s attention and support. I’m pretty sure he knows about Graceds and that he’d be happy to have you—a special case—watching over another special case, Emmie. With my backing. But now Greystoke and Kipling are involved? That isn’t so easy to predict.”

  “But will the king give me Emmie? Gran is rich and has ties with the Kiplings and Anton. I can’t say that they will help me get her away from Gran.”

  “What?” Clay looked surprised for a few seconds, but then he seemed thoughtful. “That shouldn’t surprise me, but it did.”

  “I never had anything confirmed; I’m not high enough in the family to be actually told anything. But Annabel White was engaged to Greystoke, unofficially. She was working on getting him to publicly announce it. Although from what I hear now,” she tapped her head, “everyone knows anyway.”

  Clay was frowning. “What purpose would that have served?”

  “Gran likes to have her fingers in all the pies. Greystoke’s family was rumored to be in financial difficulties, but they are well-respected. Lots of votes in the Counsel.”

  “This is getting overly complicated,” Clay said.

  “I have a feeling this is just the beginning.”

  Chapter 47

  Clay wasn’t sure that leaving Elle and Kipling in the same house—without him to supervise—was a great idea, but the king’s summons had been clear, albeit very prettily worded. Clay had translated: Get your butt to the palace or watch out.

  So he got his ass to the Crystal Palace.

  Rather than his court gear, he’d decided on his buckskins and a flowing white shirt. Show Johan that he wasn’t a civilized lapdog to do as he was bid. By the blood, he probably wouldn’t have gone at all if it wasn’t for Elle and the kid. Too many bitter memories about this place.

  The door guard had sniffed when Clay had announced himself, but had let him into the white marble foyer, and organized for a page to show him the way. The Crystal Palace’s entryway looked the same as it had the last time: gleaming walls, crimson rug running along the center of the foyer, crystal chandelier hanging low and heavy. And lots of priceless artifacts. Vases that had been ancient before the war sat in recessed niches; their bright colors preserved back when the technology had been available.

  The boy barely waited for Clay to acknowledge him before marching off in the direction of Johan. The page held his back so stiff that Clay was surprised the lad could walk so fast. Clay followed. He figured he was meant to. Leaving the foyer, they entered an ornate hall, the ceilings high and covered with frescoes of purple-eyed folk dancing in the skies, all edged in gold. Lowering his eyes, Clay thought that the page’s red livery draped him like a bloody hug. They soon turned down another hall, then another. They were all marbled, with either frescoed or glass ceilings and plush rugs lining the floors. Soon, the boy stopped outside a set of double doors, these covered in gilt etchings. The boy knocked on a door with firm raps.

  “Come!” a voice called from behind it.

  The young lad opened one of the doors, and Clay wanted to offer help, since the lad struggled a little with the weight, but the stiff posture told him to leave well alone. Once Clay entered the room, the boy dragged the door shut, locking him in with the royal presence.

  “Clay,” the king acknowledged.

  Clay looked around the highly decorated suite. The dome-shaped room had walls covered in red and gold silks, with priceless metals and gems glittering on tables, chairs and tapestries. A huge rug covered the floor, the wealth of which could have fed Elle’s family for ten years or more.

  “Johan,” Clay said and forced a smile.

  He had liked Johan, thought he was a great kid and had enjoyed spending time with him as he grew up. It had been during one of Clay’s city periods, and since he was who he was, the old king had wanted Clay to stay in the palace. Old werewolves were better on side than not. Trust the dog you know was the saying.

  “I hadn’t expected to see you here again,” Johan said. The vampire king waved a hand at a set of small, delicate metal chairs. Johan sat down on one of the padded seats and crossed a leg at the knee.

  Clay followed the indication. He shrugged. “I received an invitation that I found rather interesting from a cit. I decided to check it out.”

  “What did they want?”

  Clay shrugged. “Something I wasn’t prepared to give.”

  The king studied him for a moment, and must have guessed that Clay wasn’t going to elaborate any further. “You really are engaged?”

  Raising an eyebrow, Clay said, “You believe that I’d announce something like that if I wasn’t?”

  Intense lavender eyes bored into him. “I always thought that you weren’t interested in marriage or commitment.”

  “I just never met the right person, until now.”

  Only part of that was a lie.

  Hurt flashed through the king’s eyes. “No one was ever good enough? But what did you pick? A servant?”

  Clay bit back a curse. He’d forgotten about Johan’s infatuation with him. It was why he’d left. Why he’d been forced to leave.

  “She’s actually a city guard. She was working as a servant to help her mother out financially.” That had been the lie they’d agreed on. Elle had eventually admitted she’d gone there to spy on Kipling. From what he’d seen of the vampire, he wouldn’t be surprised if the man had been targeting Graceds. Kipling was…cold. That was the best way to describe him.

  “A guard? Of my own city.” The king was shaking his head.

  “Yes. I’m sorry the idea offends you.”

  Johan flinched. “I know it shouldn’t. But I always took comfort in the thought that you never really wanted anyone, so not wanting me was okay.”

  “I told you then, and I’ll tell you now, I don’t swing that way.”

  Johan’s eyes hardened, became lavender flints. “You never even tried.”

  “I tried it,” Clay said. “Thousands of years ago. Wasn’t for me.” Most of the older weres and vamps swung both ways, but not Clay. He’d just never been able to get into guys. They had cocks. He had a cock. There only needed to be one cock.

  The king slumped back in his chair. “I never had a chance.”

  “No.” Clay couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. Again. Johan’s obsession is what had kept him away from this city—and why he’d kept an almost invisible profile when he’d traveled through the last few times. Elle had wound him up so tight he’d forgotten.

  “I want to punish your fiancée, but I can’t.”

  “Punish her?” Clay asked, raising an eyebrow. He wouldn’t put it past the child-Johan, but the adult had matured. He’d heard nothing but good things about the king, which was unusual for a vamp.

  Johan waved a ringed hand through the air. “She’s been Chosen, but not registered with the palace. That is a punishable crime.”

  “Not her fault,” Clay said. “Wintermere sai
d she was dead, gave her back to her family and they were going to cremate her.” He’d managed to piece it all together, finally, after listening to her rant and Kipling muse aloud. Then he’d gotten Dante and Elle to confirm it. The male vampire really was a bit odd, even for one of his kind.

  “But she’s with Kipling now?” Johan asked.

  “Right this minute? I’m not sure. But when I left, they were together.”

  “That has caused a lot of gossip. People assume that Kipling loved your fiancée and that’s why he Chose her. Which confuses the rumor that he tried to Choose Greystoke’s fiancée and killed her.”

  Clay shook his head and thought quickly. Kipling was a trouble magnet, that was for sure.

  “Kipling tried to Choose Greystoke’s fiancée, but she died. I think he thought that Elle would be happy to be Chosen, since she was going to be Bitten, and did it to her to prove he could.”

  “He didn’t get consent?” Johan spluttered.

  Clay decided no answer was the best solution. He couldn’t risk Kipling being executed for a more than justifiable reason, because it would destroy Elle, whether she knew it or not. Especially because of their…unusual…link.

  Johan frowned and asked, “Why haven’t you killed him, since he took the chance of children from you?”

  “It would have been exceedingly unlikely that Elle and I could have had children, even if she had been Bitten.”

  “But she was Graced,” the king said, puzzled.

  Clay swallowed. He’d always suspected that Johan knew about them—he was too astute to have not worked it out, and he had all those old records—but to have it confirmed so easily…

  “Graced?”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t know what they are. And if you didn’t before, you should now. Her eyes are remarkable. The only one of her kind. And she’s my subject. I want to see how she…evolves. But to return to my earlier comment: the chance of children was a possibility.”

  So Elle was an experiment to Johan. Clay wanted to hate that, but he couldn’t. Most rulers would have killed Elle rather than take the risk she could become more powerful. And the fact he knew about Graceds… Did he know what was going on in his city with Olive?

  He couldn’t.

  It was one thing to have an oddity like Elle occur…but to have the Graceds actively try to become immortal and stronger than vampires was something no vampire king could ignore.

  “I had thought about killing Kipling. But I can’t, because of the bond between him and Elle,” Clay admitted. “It’s…stronger than normal.”

  “Really?” Johan fingered his chin. “But then, I wouldn’t know what it is like anyway; it’s not like I can Choose whoever I want.”

  No, Johan had never Chosen anyone that Clay was aware of. He couldn’t. Favoritism. Nepotism. Angry courtiers as a result.

  Johan looked at him, something cunning glinting in his lavender eyes. “You’re worried if one dies, the other will, too.”

  Clay shifted on his chair. “It’s a possibility.”

  “So, what am I going to do about this situation, Clay? The aristos are going to be unhappy, just because they can be, and I am aware who Elle’s grandmother is.”

  “I’m sure you have ideas.”

  “I do, but I want to hear yours. After all, you seem to be involved in all of this.”

  And suddenly, Clay wondered if Johan had known he’d been here all along. Things had just gotten tricky.

  Again.

  Chapter 48

  Anton’s home was in chaos, utter chaos.

  He had gone to the palace to spend a day in the counsel chambers—so his father wouldn’t have to come to town—and he’d come home to this. This had been his fault, but he hadn’t known it would be a problem. He’d assumed Dante had known.

  When he’d been at the counsel chambers, he’d stopped by the hall of records, to add Elle’s name to his family’s register. It had seemed logical. Then he’d double-checked the reference, after the librarian had made the amendment, and had noticed that Dante had two sisters. And that his mother hadn’t been the Countess of Wintermere.

  So when he’d arrived home, he’d asked Dante where his other sister was, since he’d only ever heard mention of Mistique. Dante hadn’t known what Anton was talking about.

  Now, Anton’s mother was in a panic, saying that poor, poor Dante was beside himself with the news he had just heard: he had a twin sister that he’d never known about. Some foreign woman had sired Dante and taken his sibling away. And oh, she just knew Anton would be upset with having foreigners in the family, but he shouldn’t be because poor, dear Dante was just hysterical.

  Thankfully, Dante had known the countess wasn’t his mother. Some aristo children never knew they were the product of a breeding contract until they had to sign a legal document. “She’s the countess,” he had said. “She’s Misty’s mother and my stepmother, but she tends to drop by from time to time to lecture me on propriety before leaving for another world tour. Misty says it’s how she shows her love.” Dante hadn’t looked like he believed the latter statement, however.

  Like Anton cared that Dante had a foreign mother; he hadn’t married the mother. And Beatrice’s theory that Dante was upset was just pure idiocy. He’d never met anyone who was less prone to hysterics than Dante. And Dante looked no different to normal; Anton had studied Dante’s “normal” appearance quite thoroughly.

  Elle, it seemed, had decided that she didn’t quite hate Dante as much as before, because of the revelation, and so she was trying to “help him out” by cracking hugely inappropriate jokes that had Anton’s mother alternating between laughter and horror, which didn’t help the situation. He’d had to send Darla to her room, because her eyes welled with tears every time she even spotted Dante, and since she was sitting next to him in the drawing room, that was about every two seconds. She had been doing a rather remarkable imitation of a fountain, sounds and all.

  Dante was, just, well, Dante. “Hysterics” seemed to leave him calm.

  The only time he’d shown any expression was when Anton had sent Darla to her room.

  “Better for everyone if she goes and calms down,” Anton had said.

  But now he was sitting next to the vampire, because his mother had insisted that poor, dear Dante would need the support of his husband through such a trying time.

  “At least that means the countess is not my Chosen grandmama. Imagine the horror!” Elle shuddered dramatically at Dante. When had Elle ever met the countess? Another joke?

  “She never was,” Dante muttered.

  “No, but my mother is,” Anton said over Dante.

  “And it is so lovely to have a granddaughter.” Beatrice went over to Elle.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Dante said. The third thing he’d said since Anton had arrived home.

  Beatrice stopped her movement, her body bent halfway to give Elle a hug. Anton could see Elle sniffing the air between them.

  Dante leaped forward just as Elle moved. He snatched Beatrice away and deposited Anton’s blinking mother next to him. Dante then turned to Elle and tapped her on the nose with a finger. “Bad baby vampire.”

  Elle snarled.

  “Sorry,” Dante said to Beatrice and Anton. He grabbed Elle’s arm, although she didn’t seem to be diving across the room after Beatrice. “New vampires have trouble controlling their hunger.”

  Anton looked over at his mother, who had wide eyes and a hand clutched to her throat. She shook herself. “No, no. It is quite all right. It has been such a stressful afternoon. I forgot that Elle would be hungry.”

  Typical Mother, Anton thought, always taking the blame for everything.

  A deep voice rolled through the room then. “Why are you touching my fiancée?”

  Anton hung his head. Not him, too.

  Could the day get any worse?

  “Because she was trying to bite my mother-in-law’s neck,” Dante replied.

  The werewolf, Clay, stalked into th
e room. The expression on his unshaven face was not kind. In his buckskins and loose white shirt, he looked like sex on a stick. Angry sex on a stick.

  Anton felt Elle’s eyes flash to him, but then they moved to Beatrice. “She’s my grandma-in-law, too. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to try and bite you.”

  She hadn’t even flashed her teeth, Anton thought. But he was glad Dante had decided on prevention.

  “Quite all right, dear.” His mother’s hands were fluttering through the air.

  “You’re still touching my fiancée,” Clay said to Dante.

  “I don’t want to risk her losing control again.”

  Anton saw Elle look down at the pale hand gripping her arm and then back up at Dante. He towered over the tall woman. “How did you know I wanted to bite the countess?” she asked.

  Dante frowned. “I could feel it.”

  Anton blinked, and the next thing he knew, Clay was standing in Dante’s face. “Let her go or I’ll hurt you.”

  “Oh, I’m scared of the big bad wolf,” Dante taunted.

  “You should be.”

  “Be still my racing heart!” Dante placed a hand over his chest. Anton figured his husband was being sarcastic. Which was odd.

  Clay’s fist shot out, but Dante was gone. Standing on the other side of Elle, holding her other arm. Anton hadn’t even seen him move. Clay was staring at his fist with a frown on his face.

  “That was lucky,” Clay said and looked like he was going to try and punch Dante again.

  “Not in the Rose room!” Beatrice cried.

  Everyone turned to stare at Anton’s mother. “If you must degenerate into violence,” she raised her chin high, as if she scolded vampires and werewolves every other day, “do it outside.”

  Grumbling, Clay stalked to the door. Over his shoulder, he snapped to Dante and Elle, “Are you coming or not?”

  Anton saw Elle start to walk forward, only to stop and glare at the hand Dante was using to restrain her. “Hey, I don’t want to miss Clay kicking your ass. Let’s go.”