Bjorn was staring down at the blade, a look of surprise etched across his face. “Who the blood are you?” he gasped.
Clay followed his stare. Dante stood inside the doorway, bodies littered around him. The man was a machine. Clay realized that it was Dante’s knife in Bjorn’s chest.
Dante smiled then, and it was one of the scariest things Clay had seen in a long time. The vampire nodded at Elle. “Her very pissed off daddy.”
Bjorn toppled over, the lock on Clay slipping, but not easing, which meant the Graced was still alive. But Clay couldn’t move anyway with the poison roaring through his limbs, turning them leaden.
Dante was about to step into the room, but he froze, eyes locking on Olive, who was lying on the floor near the far corner. Clay could see her Green eyes blazing even from this distance. Sweat dotted her brow.
Dante walked past Bjorn over to Elle. He picked her up and began dragging her toward her grandmother.
“Let her go!” Clay shouted, helpless.
“What are you…doing?” Elle gasped. She was trying to move her good arm, but nothing else. Had something not healed?
Dante’s face was strained. It was like he was trying to resist…
“Olive’s in his head!” Clay yelled.
Elle’s eyes closed and she seemed to go limp. Dante’s movements slowed.
Olive screamed, “No!”
Dante started moving again. Moaning, Elle’s eyes clenched tighter and the vampire’s movements slowed once more, but it wasn’t enough. Elle was almost at her gran.
Leaning down, Dante dropped Elle, mere feet from Olive. Elle was panting, her skin clammy, blood still oozing from the wound in her shoulder. Dante screamed. Forcing his sweat-drenched stare back to the vampire, Clay saw a stake jutting from between the man’s shoulder blades.
Elle was keening.
What the blood?
Eyes snapping back to her, Clay saw no stake, but she was arched, as if it had been slammed into her. Dante slumped to the ground next to her.
Bjorn. It had to be. There were no other Grays in the room and stakes just didn’t move on their own.
“You are an abomination.” Olive’s words reached his ears, even though they were softly spoken and directed at Elle.
A movement caught his attention then, something small, child-sized, running into the room, tracking blood across the carpet. “ELLE!”
Shit, Clay thought, it’s the kid. Emmie.
“Emmie?” Elle gasped, trying to lift her head. She stopped her movement, her head turning to stare at Olive. Clay felt his stomach drop even as his muscles clenched in pain and more sweat dripped over him.
Olive was hauling herself up, a stake clenched in a bony fist. The old woman pulled herself to her knees, and held the stake over Elle’s heart.
Emmie stopped running, skidding to a stop. “No!” the girl was screaming. “No!”
Olive snapped her eyes to her other granddaughter. “She has to die. She’s a threat to everything we are.”
His gut dropped and his vision almost went black. Elle could not die. She couldn’t. The pain around his chest intensified.
“No!” Emmie didn’t seem to hear her grandmother.
Blinking, his body fighting against the poison, Clay’s vision returned. He could see the child’s eyes locked on the stake, on where it was going to land. Without thinking, the little girl leaped forward, her skinny hand locking on her gran’s wrinkled one.
“I can make you let me go,” Olive growled, those wrinkled features maniacal.
“And I can stop your heart,” Emmie spat.
“Really? You can’t throw a ball, let alone do anything productive.”
The little girl’s face was set. “I can heal.”
“Emmie, no!” Elle yelled.
The little girl didn’t look at her sister, her eyes focused on the stake.
“Lies! I would have known if you had an ability. Any ability.”
Clay saw Emmie flick her gaze to her gran’s. Then those bright Teal orbs met his for a brief second. They were old beyond their years.
“You know nothing!” the girl yelled.
The stake began to fall. Clay’s heart was pounding, his fury at being trapped in his own body, unable to help, overpowering him. But the weapon stopped. Olive gave a gasp and then…she stopped breathing. Clay could hear her heart thud to a sudden stop, as if it had just been switched off.
The girl dropped her gran’s arm, and watched as the old woman toppled over, dead.
Elle was crying. “Emmie, baby, you shouldn’t have done it.”
The little girl dropped to her knees and Clay could see blood seeping up into the cloth of her gown. “She was going to kill you.”
“I know, but baby, you didn’t have to do it. I would have worked something out.” Elle lifted her good arm and Emmie reached down, hugging her sister. Elle let out a startled scream, her body bowing.
“Elle!” Clay shouted.
When Emmie moved away, Elle sat up, eyes wide, touching the shoulder where she’d been staked. Emmie looked…peaky.
Clay wanted to rub his eyes, but he couldn’t move his arms, so he blinked. Had Emmie just healed Elle?
Those Teal eyes swept the room. “Elle, I only have enough energy left to heal one more person. There are three injured ones here.”
Elle had tears trekking down her cheeks, but Clay wasn’t sure if it was from pain, shock or worry. “Which one is closest to death?”
He wanted to comfort her, but he couldn’t move. But he’d heal himself, he was sure.
Emmie quickly moved through the room, touching Dante, Bjorn and Clay.
“Bjorn.”
Hatred filled her voice as Elle said, “Leave him.”
Emmie said nothing, just looked at her sister. “Then it’s the werewolf or vampire.” Emmie started walking toward Clay.
Elle stared at him, and he could feel her reaching for his mind. “Wait! Clay, will you survive this? Can you heal?”
He nodded. It would take weeks, but yes, he could.
“Dante, then.”
“Is he the one who Chose you?” Emmie asked, staying where she was in the middle of the room, blood covering her feet and knees.
Elle nodded.
Emmie took a step closer to Clay.
“Emmie, if Dante dies, it might kill me.”
Without looking at him, her apparent need to save Clay gone with those words, Emmie turned on her heel and marched back to the vampire. “Pretty,” he thought he heard the girl mutter before she touched Dante. Then, with surprising strength, she ripped the stake from his back.
The vampire let out a loud groan.
Minutes later and panting, Emmie dropped her hands from him. “I can’t do any more. But he should heal the rest on his own.”
Elle stood and swept her sister into a hug. “Thank you.”
“I hate to break this up,” Clay said from his slump against the wall. “But, can someone pull out the dart? And what are we going to do now?”
Chapter 61
Dante watched as Anton wiped down Melissande’s forehead. The woman was lying still as death—her thrashing had quietened—in one of the spare rooms at Greystoke House. She was suffering withdrawal.
If Dante hadn’t experienced it himself, he would never have believed that someone could control another’s thoughts to the extent it would leave them like this. But he had. He’d had two people fighting for control of his mind, and he’d hated it. He knew that Elle had been trying to save herself—and him—but it didn’t make it any easier to accept.
Anton placed the sponge in a bowl that perched on a table next to the bed and turned, pausing when he saw Dante in the doorway. He walked to the door, shooing Dante out of the way, before softly closing the wooden panel.
“Shouldn’t you be resting?” Anton asked him.
Dante shook his head. “It healed up a day ago.”
Anton crossed his arms over his chest. “Let me see it.”
&
nbsp; It might have healed, but it was still a rough, puckered piece of scarring. “No.”
“I am going to check it tonight anyway.” Anton glared at him.
“Uh-huh.”
Anton had tried to tend Dante’s wounds, but Beatrice had constantly shoved him out of the way. No place for a man, she said, the sickroom. Little did she know how much time Anton spent with Melissande; he was probably the only person who truly understood what the poor woman was going through.
Or at least could begin to understand—she’d been controlled like a puppet for almost her whole life.
Elle had assured Dante that most Greens weren’t like her gran, that they weren’t that strong. But Dante didn’t like knowing there might be more Graceds out there who were like that. It was bloody scary.
“Has your sister left?” Anton asked him.
Dante nodded. He wondered why they were still standing in the hallway, but didn’t comment on it. Anton had been moody of late. Snapping at him, then being almost too nice…it was bizarre. Elle said it was because the human was worried. Which was silly. Dante should be the one worrying about Dante.
“Will she be returning?” Anton asked.
“Hopefully not anytime soon.” Misty had stayed during the initial stages of his recovery. When he’d been well enough to stand, she’d smacked him over the head and yelled at him for getting staked. To get her off his back, he’d told her about his “missing” twin sister. She’d then smacked him for not telling her as soon as he’d found out. At least he hadn’t been the only one kept in the dark about it. But it had given her something else to think about. He almost pitied his missing twin.
“Good,” Anton said.
Dante raised an eyebrow. “Good?”
“Your sister was scaring the staff and tormenting Clay.”
Dante gave a small half smile. Scaring them, having sex with them, it was all the same to his sister.
“She scares me half the time,” Dante admitted.
Anton shook his head. “I can see why.”
There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence. “Thank you for not staking me when I was weak,” Dante said.
“What?” Anton’s eyes almost bulged.
“I said—”
“I know what you said. But why would you say that? I’d never do that!”
Dante shrugged. “You hate me.”
“Not so much.” Anton was staring at him. He took a step closer, and Dante realized they were almost nose-to-nose.
“No?” Dante was confused.
Rolling his eyes, Anton closed the distance between them. His mouth settled over Dante’s and it was warm, spicy, like brandy.
And it was…nice.
As Anton’s tongue swept over his lips, causing Dante’s mouth to open, he worked out that it was better than nice.
*
Emmie was running through the garden at Greystoke House, laughing. She wore a new dress, this one a pretty blue color, and Darla was chasing her, carrying a bright pink ribbon in her hand. Elle watched them from the terrace above with a small smile on her face.
Part of her was worried, though.
Emmie had been able to kill with a touch. Her own grandmother. Sure, Emmie had hated Gran and the old bitch had been about to stake Elle, but what could Elle do? Something like that traumatized people, and Emmie was only seven.
She sensed and heard Clay walk up to her side. He tucked her in against himself, hand at her waist. He dropped his chin on her head. He was still shaky after his poisoning, but had rebounded quickly. Faster than he’d thought he would.
That the king had been furious when he’d heard about the incident was an understatement. Having the king lust after you had its benefits, Elle decided. Clay was apparently a “royal guest” and the attack had been taken as a personal affront to the crown.
And then there’d been the fact that Dante and Elle had been staked, albeit unsuccessfully. There’d been a massive uproar in aristo circles over it, according to Anton. So much so that Choosing anyone had been temporarily banned across the city—until emotions calmed, apparently.
In other words, until the perceived outbreak of anti-vampire sentiment had been quietly taken care of.
It meant that the Graced community was lying very low at the moment, so at least Elle didn’t have to fear another stake to the heart, for now.
And Elle’s mother…well, Melissande had basically handed Emmie to her. She had to “sort things out,” which Elle took to mean she had to come to terms with the fact that Gran had been controlling her most of her life.
Right now though, Melissande was in a bedroom upstairs physically withdrawing from the addiction of having her mind watched for years. Just like Anton had had to do when Annabel died. The baron had spent a lot of time helping Melissande through it, since he’d experienced it himself.
“She seems to be coping,” Clay said, waving his free hand at Emmie.
Elle nodded and wrapped an arm around his middle. “I don’t know for how long, though.”
Clay’s voice was warm and soothing against her. “We’ll help her. Once your mother improves, she can help her, too.”
“Everything’s changed, but everything’s almost the same,” Elle said softly.
“Tell me about it,” Clay said, almost conversationally. “How does it feel to be rich?”
Elle laughed, but it was a hollow sound. She’d inherited Gran’s fortune, since Melissande was incompetent at the moment and the king wasn’t sure she’d recover to his satisfaction. It was unnerving that King Jo had taken a personal interest in them. And that he clearly knew about Graceds. So much for Gran’s big secret. “Shitty.”
“Oh?”
“Gran’s main source of income was human flesh.”
Clay frowned. “Thought that was illegal?”
“Not dead human flesh. As in slaves. I knew she traded in them…but she’d deliberately bankrupt people or get them into compromising positions where she could sell them to vampires and weres.”
Elle may have thought of herself as Graced, rather than a Non, but she’d had plenty of them who were her friends. Gran would lend them money, and when they couldn’t pay her back, she’d send them to the estates at top dollar. No wonder she’d managed to get Elle into Kipling House.
Hearing a noise behind her, Elle turned her head and saw Dante standing in the doorway. He leaned casually against the frame. The bastard was healed and grinning. Wait, grinning?
“Did you get lucky, Daddy Vamp?” Elle asked with a snicker.
Dante’s grin widened. She’d never seen him so…normal.
“Maybe.”
Elle gagged.
“What are you two chatting about?” Clay asked. He’d gotten used to Elle and Dante talking mind-to-mind. They’d done it a lot during their recovery. She’d felt bad that he’d almost died trying to save her. She’d still smacked him though, but she’d been pissed off to learn that his sister had gotten in before her.
“Dante reckons he got lucky.”
“With who?” Anton asked. The man was standing behind Dante in the doorway, leaning heavily on his cane.
“His hand?” Elle suggested with a smirk.
Dante blushed.
Ewww.
“How’s your leg?” Dante asked Anton.
“Fine.”
“You’re leaning on your cane.”
“I need the bloody thing to walk.”
“Need a massage?”
“Not right now.”
“Later then,” Dante said and it sounded like a promise.
“You’re making me feel sick,” Elle said.
Anton grinned. By the blood, maybe Dante really had put out. Good for Anton. It was still gross though.
Emmie squealed and went running by the terrace, a laughing Darla still in pursuit.
“Found out something interesting yesterday,” Anton said, eyes following his sister and Emmie through the garden.
“Oh?” Elle asked. She didn’t pry, she d
idn’t want to.
“Mother was still upset about your missing twin sister, Dante. And she was convinced you wouldn’t heal properly until you found out where she was.”
One of Dante’s black eyebrows rose.
“I know. Anyway, to keep her happy, I went and checked out the counsel records, this time with a special request. Your sister’s name is Hannah Romanov. She’s never come back to the city, but I can probably track her now I have her surname. Your birth mother was Skarvan nobility.”
Dante didn’t say anything.
“Well, are you going to look for her?” Clay asked.
“I don’t know. Not now. Misty will want to know.”
She felt Dante’s complete lack of curiosity. He had his answers, and while he wanted to know more about Graceds, his need for knowledge had been temporarily quieted. But she knew him. He would need to learn more information from her about Graceds. And would one day track down his sister.
Laughter trilled through the garden, but it wasn’t Emmie’s. Darla must have caught Elle’s sister.
“Maybe Emmie needs a holiday,” Clay said.
“Where could we go, though?” Elle asked.
“We could visit my sister.”
“Didn’t you say she was dead?”
“Uh, no. I may have implied it, though.”
“Right.”
“Well, you’ll get to meet her if we go. I might even tell you about her.”
Elle narrowed her eyes at the wolf. “What’s there to know?”
“You’ll just have to wait and see.”
She humphed and turned back to the chase in the garden. It seemed Emmie had escaped Darla’s clutches.
“Plus,” Clay said, “I want her to meet my fiancée.”
“Pretend one, you mean,” Elle said privately.
“Not anymore.”
“Uhh, don’t you need me to agree to that?” Elle asked.
“So, will you agree to end the pretend engagement and start a real one?” Clay asked, his eyes twinkling down at her.
“Oh my, I think my heart is all aflutter.” Elle smirked. But it was. Clay really wanted to marry her? She looked up at him.
“The suspense is killing me.”
From the tightening grip around her waist, she guessed it might be. Warmth blossomed out from her heart, flooding her. Her sexy wolf wanted to marry her. “Why not? It isn’t every day a man almost dies trying to save your life.”
Graced Page 30