Graced

by Amanda Pillar

  Dante took a step closer to the bed and frowned down at him. “I am not a murderer.”

  Anton waved an arm through the dim light at him. “Whatever.”

  Where was that brandy?

  A second later, Dante’s face hovered over his own. Strange, how’d it get there?

  “Are you drunk?”

  Anton could feel Dante’s breath moving over him, almost like a caress. Not a caress, his mind slurred. Don’t think like that. Bad, bad, bad. Dante’s bad for you. Like a virus.

  “Maybe,” Anton replied.

  How was he meant to get more alcohol if he was lying down? Anton really hadn’t thought this situation through. He needed to get up. Propping himself on his elbows, he groaned when the room started to spin. He didn’t mind the sensation, but it was a bit exhausting, so he flopped back.

  Ah, he thought, this is how I ended up on the bed with no brandy.

  “There isn’t a maybe about it,” Dante said.

  It sounded like he was a bit…annoyed?

  “So?”

  Who cared if Dante was peeved, anyway. He deserved to be. He’s the one who took away Anton’s one true love.

  “She wasn’t your true love,” Dante snapped.

  “Who wasn’t?” Anton wasn’t sure he was following. He opened his eyes and turned his head to the right. The almost empty bottle of brandy stood on the bedside table, taunting him, cut crystal glinting mockingly. It thought it was safe.

  Dante sounded like he was gritting his teeth. “Annabel.”

  “Yeah, she was. Loved her.” Anton stretched an arm out to see if he could reach the glittering bottle. “Lots.”

  “She made you think that,” Dante said and took the bottle away.

  Anton groaned.

  “No more, you are well past three sheets to the wind. Any further away in the wind and you’d be blown all the way to Brahma.”

  As if he’d make it that far. Thousands of leagues away, it was, and he was too drunk to even stand. He thought over Dante’s phrasing and snickered.

  Dante appeared in his field of vision again. It was prettier than the top of the bed frame. “What?”

  “You said blown.”

  “What’s so funny about that?”

  Anton giggled. “Bllooowww.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He held his hand up in front of his mouth, and then poked his tongue into the side of his cheek, so it protruded.

  Dante turned a dull red. “Oh, that.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Anton demanded. He was rather fond of it himself.

  “It’s a bit embarrassing,” Dante said.

  Embarrassing wasn’t a word Anton normally used to describe a blowjob.

  “Why? Can’t get it up?”

  Dante seemed to go even redder, which for a vampire, was akin to a human’s full-body humiliation. “Not normally, no.”

  Anton’s head lolled back against his pillows. “Ahhh. Poor Dante.”

  He felt the mattress sag as Dante sat next to him. “How much did you drink, exactly?”

  “Dunno,” Anton said. “How much is left in the bottle?”

  “It’s almost gone.”

  He thought for a few moments. “More than that, then.”

  “Thought I said I didn’t want to be married to a drunk,” Dante muttered.

  Anton rolled his head to look at the vampire. Too pretty, blast him. “Didn’t want to be married to a murderer, either. But we all can’t have what we want, eh?”

  “I didn’t deliberately kill her.”

  “Fine. Didn’t want to be married to someone who doesn’t want sex.” Anton shut his eyes. He felt like he was flying.

  Something made him rattle. Anton squinted an eye open and realized Dante was shaking him. The vampire stopped and muttered something that sounded like “not dead.”

  “You said you didn’t want it either,” the vampire ground out.

  Anton rolled his eyes. Who wouldn’t want sex?

  “Must’ve lied.”

  “You want to have sex with me?” Dante sounded stunned.

  “Why not?” Anton looked Dante up and down with his one open eye.

  “You hate me.”

  He sighed. “Not so much, want to hate you more.” It was hard to hate someone so pretty. No, that was a lie. It was hard to hate someone who kept trying to be helpful, even when it wasn’t helpful at all. It was hard to see Dante try so, well, hard.

  “Why don’t you hate me as much?” Dante was frowning. Even that was pretty.

  Anton shut his eye. “Because you try to be nice.”

  “Well, yes. Doesn’t everyone?” He sounded bewildered.

  Probably was, Anton gathered. Dante wasn’t the sharpest stake in the woodpile at times.

  He folded his arms behind his head. Made the flying sensation dim a little. “Yeah, but you actually mean it.”

  “Anton,” Dante said.

  He cracked open one eye. The vampire was a little fuzzy.

  “Do you want to have sex now?” Dante seemed to swallow a lump in his throat.

  Thinking about it, Anton said, “No.”

  Dante seemed to slump in relief. “I would, if you wanted to.”

  “I don’t want pity sex,” Anton said, although, if he wasn’t so drunk and annoyed, he might have said yes. Shame on him.

  “It wouldn’t be pity sex,” Dante said slowly.

  Anton stared at him, then at the vampire’s groin. “Get back to me when you get an erection. Then we’ll talk.”

  Chapter 53

  “When are we going to do something?” Elle asked. She was sharpening one of her favorite knives, since her stake was already nicely pointy. The sound of the whetstone was soothing. By the blood, she missed Emmie. It was like a constant toothache.

  “When I work out what to do,” Clay snapped.

  She turned around in her window seat and faced him, one knee tucked under her other leg. The werewolf was standing next to the closet and was holding up a pair of socks.

  “What’s with the attitude?” she asked.

  “Things are getting much more complicated than I’d hoped they would.”

  Elle snorted. “Vampires are involved. Things always end up complicated.”

  When she’d been a guard, that had been the rule. A vampire caught causing a bar fight, the human was blamed if there was one involved. If no human was around, then the least aristo vampire was fined. And the excuses…always so many of those. Some days her job had been a real head fuck.

  “I was hoping to ask Johan to grant us custody of Emmie, but I don’t know if that’s possible anymore,” Clay said.

  Elle stood and walked over to the chest that she kept by the bed. She opened it and began looking for the whetstone’s leather case. It should have been on the top, but she had a tendency to throw things in and not look where they landed. “Why not?”

  “The meeting didn’t go so well,” Clay replied.

  Elle put the stone away and shut the lid of the chest. It had no decoration, was sharp corners and simple lines. Rather like her, she thought.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him. “How come?”

  Clay sat down next to her, hands clasped between his knees, shoulders slumped, socks now on his feet. “Johan doesn’t really believe we’re engaged.”

  Elle brought her knees up and hugged them to her chest. The topaz on her “engagement” ring winked in the light. It felt like a brand on her finger. “Why?”

  “Because I’ve never been married and he knows it.”

  She started twisting the ring. “Doesn’t think I’m special enough?”

  “No.”

  Elle tried not to feel offended. “What’s wrong with me?”

  “You aren’t him,” Clay said, staring at his hands.

  Elle stopped turning the ring. “Wait—what?”

  Clay sighed. “Johan had a bit of a crush on me when he was growing up. I thought he’d grown out of it.”

&nbs
p; “So he’s jealous of your fake fiancée?” Elle asked, eyebrows high on her forehead. The king had wanted Clay?

  Well, why not? She had wanted him and she’d been taught to hate weres from the cradle.

  “Well, he doesn’t believe that you’re my fiancée because I’ve never settled down. Why would I pick a guard when I could have had a king?”

  “But, you don’t like guys, right?” Elle certainly hoped not. She didn’t think she could cope with two sexes worth of competition. And she knew Anton—and now Johan—thought that Clay was hot. Who wouldn’t?

  “No. That doesn’t seem to matter to Johan, though. I never tried it with him, so how would I know?” Clay rolled his eyes.

  “Sounds like it was a fun meeting,” Elle said.

  “Oh yeah.”

  “So he won’t help us?” Elle asked.

  “I doubt it; but he might surprise me. He needs to get used to the idea that I do want to settle down. We might even have to get married first.” The latter he said with a wince.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “It is a fake engagement, Elle.” His voice was stern.

  “Wow. Really?”

  He tilted his head and looked at her. “If we marry, it’s for life.”

  “Ever heard of divorce?” Elle said.

  “It’d have to be for at least Emmie’s life. That’s over eighty years, minimum.”

  “Once we legally get her out of Pinton, there’s not much they can do. We can divorce then.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  Elle frowned. “Get divorced?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t follow; we wouldn’t really be married.”

  “I’ve never married because I don’t want to get a divorce. When I marry, it’s for life. And for me, that’s basically forever.” Clay looked uncomfortable.

  Elle gasped. “You’re a romantic!”

  “Shut up.”

  She burst into laughter.

  “What! It’s not funny.” Clay grabbed her and shook her.

  Elle laughed harder.

  “Stop!” He threw her back on the bed and pinned her down. “It’s not funny, okay? I want to get married and I want it to mean something.”

  Elle stared up at him, at his fierce yellow eyes that glowed like molten gold. He had stubble on his cheeks and his shaggy hair hung low, touching her face. He was yummy. Yummier than ever, really. Since she’d been Chosen, she’d noticed so much more about him. Like the fact that his teeth really were super white and straight, that his eyes were more gold than yellow, that his skin was really warm and he smelled great…much to her chagrin.

  “Sorry,” Elle said. “My parents were never married. In fact, Mother never got married. Neither did Gran. Wasn’t important to them; it was about breeding, not love.”

  Clay leaned back a little. “That’s how most aristos think. Wolves are a little different.”

  “Explain to me again why there aren’t many around Pinton?”

  Clay did an odd movement, which she gathered was a shrug. “We don’t love leeches, so it’s easier to just avoid them. We have different values, tend to live in packs.”

  “So you’re a lone wolf?” Elle asked with a grin.

  “Mostly.” Clay didn’t seem inclined to add any more than that.

  “Should we try and see if the baron’s father will help us?” Elle asked.

  Clay stared over her head at the pillow for a few seconds. “Could be worth a try.” Then he kissed her and she forgot what they were talking about, his tongue warm and firm in her mouth.

  Chapter 54

  Dante was feeling rather like someone had come and jabbed a stake in his stomach. Well, not the pain part, but the shocked and numb part. He’d been right. For the latter part of his adult life, he’d been convinced that there was something different about a small percentage of the humans that surrounded him. He’d been called crazy; he’d been labeled a freak by his own family.

  And he’d been right.

  But he couldn’t tell anyone. That was a kicker. Elle had cornered him after their conversation and had said that if he dared tell anyone anything, she’d gut him and let him watch his intestines being pulled out as far as they’d go. It wouldn’t kill him, so the bond should be fine.

  He believed her.

  And he had a sister. Another one. A twin. He wasn’t even ready to confront that new addendum to his life.

  So after his day of shocks, he’d gone to gloat to Anton, as much as he could, and found him drunk and sprawled on his bed. The human had been wearing a shirt and pants, but the shirt had been unbuttoned and had left an expanse of smooth, light brown skin exposed. Dante had confiscated Anton’s alcohol supply and had wanted to make sure his husband wouldn’t choke on his own vomit, but Anton had been feeling chatty. About sex, of all things.

  So now Dante was feeling something akin to embarrassment as well as shock, because Anton thought him a murderer and impotent. He wasn’t unable, he just wasn’t interested. Well, not normally. But all Anton’s talk of sex had gotten Dante thinking that it might not be such a bad thing after all.

  “What’s got you in a tizz?”

  Dante looked up from his worktable and saw that Elle was standing in front of him, watching him.

  “I’m not in a tizz,” Dante replied.

  Elle seemed to be examining his room. They were in the western part of the townhouse, in his study. Her strange eyes landed back on him. “For you, you’re in a tizz. It’s annoying.”

  Dante frowned. “Why? I was alone in my study.”

  “Yeah, but I could hear your thoughts squirreling around. It’s giving me a headache. So I thought I’d come and see what’s up, so you can shut up.”

  “You hate me, what would you care about what’s going on?”

  He watched as Elle seemed to scout around for a second, looking for a chair, before giving up and hoisting herself on the table. He frowned. Where had the other two chairs gone? Dante moved his hands out of the way.

  “I don’t hate you as much as I used to. Having you hot-wired into my skull is helping that.” She started swinging her legs.

  Wasn’t he becoming popular. Both Elle and Anton had managed to “hate him less.”

  “Maybe that’s why I feel so out of it lately,” Dante mused aloud.

  Elle’s legs stopped for a heartbeat or two. “What do you mean? The fact you’re feeling at all?”

  He thought about it. “Well, yeah.”

  Dante hadn’t really ever felt anything. Resentment, he guessed, for the relationship Misty had with his father. Annoyance at his sister, fear maybe for his own safety at the hands of an enraged parent. But that was about it and nothing particularly worth breaking into a sweat over. That had been the gamut of his emotional experience.

  Until after he’d Chosen Elle. Then he’d started to experience worry, insecurity, even a bit of happiness.

  Her legs started moving again. “Interesting. I’m not a Blue, so it shouldn’t work like that; me giving you emotions or the ability to feel. But, my mother is one. Maybe it was something latent in me.”

  He blinked at her unusual amount of candor. “It sounds like you stress the color. Is that how you refer to yourselves?”

  “Yeah. Blue, Green, Gray. Colors, not the abilities.”

  Dante frowned. “Do you consider yourselves human or different?”

  She was silent for a long time, so he thought she wasn’t going to answer. Turning back to his notes, he began reading them in the dim light.

  “We call ourselves Graceds.”

  Dante glanced up at her, shuffled some papers. “Why?”

  “Why do you call yourselves vampires?”

  He tilted his head in acknowledgment. Some words were so old their origins were lost. Some things just were.

  “So, what’s caused the tizz?”

  Sighing, Dante moved his notes out of the way. He guessed he didn’t really need them anymore. “Nothing.”

  “Now, now. No one l
ikes a liar.”

  “You lie all the time,” Dante said.

  Elle’s eyes went wide. “I don’t!”

  “Do so.” He leaned away from her on his chair, but not very far, since it didn’t have a back. “I have good hearing. I can hear you talking in your room even when I’m on the other side of the house.”

  Elle blinked. “Doesn’t that drive you mad?”

  “Well, yeah. I don’t like listening to people having sex or whispering or complaining about this, telling secrets about that. But I can’t help it.”

  “That sounds awfully familiar.” Elle tapped her skull, so he figured she was talking about her telepathy. “So what have you heard, exactly?” Elle asked.

  “I wasn’t listening in, not until after your revelation, otherwise I would have worked it all out a lot sooner.”

  “I’m surprised you hadn’t found out years ago.”

  Dante shrugged. “I didn’t tend to leave the estate because of my ‘difficulty.’”

  “As in your sociopathy?”

  “As in I can hear everything.”

  “Right. So what did you hear?”

  She was persistent, his Chosen. “That you have someone you want to get custody of and that you aren’t really engaged to the wolf. But you do like him, I know that.”

  Elle leaned forward, hands gripping the edge of the table. “You aren’t going to tell anyone, are you? Because the gutting threat stands for that, too.”

  “I was going to tell Anton, but I can avoid doing so, if you want,” Dante said. He rubbed his stomach absently.

  “Good. So, back to the original topic, why is your brain doing an imitation of a rat in a running wheel?”

  Dante felt like rolling his eyes. She was worse than Misty, since she could actually hear what he was thinking. “Can you turn it on and off?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “The telepathy.”

  “Kind of. Now answer my question.”

  “Why don’t you just look and see?” Dante snapped.

  She smiled, one corner of her mouth lifting higher than the other, but no sign of teeth. “More fun this way.”

  “Sure it is.”