8. Chapter 8
8
Nelle
A brighter light fell all around me as I stepped inside the mansion. I shoved back against the chatter and music, bringing up the wall of white noise to help deal with the surrounding sounds. As I strode across the parquet flooring, I didn’t need to push past the Pellans. They quickly shifted aside when they saw Sage stalking ahead of me. I ignored my mother as she popped another tiny pill before waving out to me to come and talk with the Pellan’s father, and decided instead to find a fresh glass of wine, or something stronger.
Stronger, definitely.
My inadvertent gaze landed right on Evvie.
I came to an abrupt halt, drunk-swaying.
All the tension and spite and humiliation drained from me, replaced by dread.
Corné whispered into Evvie’s ear, his hand gripping her arm possessively. Whatever he said caused my sister’s smile to slip and the brightness in her eyes to fade.
What did he say to her?
I scrambled to listen in, but I was too late.
Evvie took the empty glass from Corné and walked away. I was about to follow her when I caught the arched look Corné gave his sister, Carola, his lips twisting into a sly smirk.
“What is it?” Graysen asked, stepping flush beside me. There wasn’t anything mocking in his tone, simply concern. Whatever happened out there on the patio between us, Graysen instantly forgot as soon as he witnessed my reaction to Corné.
Sadly—the horrible uncomfortable truth of my life—there was only one person I could talk to about this. Him.
My shoulders slumped with defeat as I turned to look up at him. “I don’t like him.”
He raised a brow, expectantly.
“When her smile falters,” I elaborated. “He likes it too much.”
With a quick wave of his fingers, Graysen requested a servant to approach with a whiskey and a tall glass of water. He handed me the water while saying, “The Pellans might even be worse than me.”
“That’s saying something,” I muttered before taking a mouthful of water, savoring the cool fresh liquid spilling down my throat.
“Isn’t it just?”
Handing my empty glass to another servant, Graysen took my arm, supporting me as he guided me away—my steps were still a little wobbly and drunk-woven—which I suppose was nice of him. I certainly deserved a bit of kindness after he’d toyed with me out there on the patio. I glanced upward. “You don’t like them either.”
“That’s a fucking understatement.”
“Why?” He’d found us a spot on the outskirts of the party where fewer people were milling, to a pretty settee with cushions patterned in flowers. I flopped down, kicking my feet out, blowing away a tendril of hair that had fallen across my eyes.
Sage settled on his haunches, his cool misty tail brushing up against my legs. The wraith-wolf kept a vigilant eye on Graysen, but for the moment, seemed to tolerate his presence without snarling or growling at the man.
“Come on.” I urged Graysen, nudging him with an elbow as he sat down beside me and hitched an ankle over a knee.
Glancing down at his large hands cradling his drink, his mouth pursed a little as if chewing over the words before he said them. He turned back to me with exaggerated slowness, his gaze stony and cold. “I mostly have a problem with just one of the Pellans. Though he’s learned everything from his father and brothers.”
“Who? Which one?” My gaze skimmed over the room at all the Pellans. There were four brothers in total. And what did he mean— Learned everything?
Graysen opened his mouth to reply, then frowned, clamping his lips tight, before giving a slight shake of his head, black hair ruffling with the motion. I wanted to press him to answer but Carola’s voice ensnared my attention. She was talking to her brother, both of them speaking in hushed tones, but that was nothing for someone like me.
“She seems so…va nilla,” Carola said.
I watched her as she stared at my sister making her way to the wet bar.
“I might break her of that, introduce her to new things,” Corné said dryly. “She might like it.”
Carola snorted. “Doubtful.” She swirled her glass of wine before taking a sip. Her sharp eyes returned to Evvie, pouring yet again another measure of scotch. “She’s not going to hold your interest for long.”
He sighed. “She bores me even now.”
I sat up straight, my heart thundered in my chest. He doesn’t like her?!
“I’m assuming you won’t give up your mistress, not even for a Wychthorn trophy.”
He snorted, rocking a little on his heels. “What do you think?”
A sick feeling, nothing to do with the alcohol, roiled inside my belly.
Graysen focused his gaze in the same direction. Disgust tightened his mouth. With his enhanced senses, he could overhear them as well as I, and by that foul expression on his face, he’d heard what the Pellans had whispered to one another.
I turned horrified eyes to him. “He has a mistress? ”
Graysen grunted his acknowledgment. Then gave me a suspicious look. “How do you know that?”
He was unaware my senses were highly attuned. “I… ah … I’ve heard the rumors.” I shifted uncomfortably on the settee, turning a dark glare on the Pellans as my hands balled into fists. “My father needs to stop this.”
“He won’t.”
I half-twisted back to Graysen, astounded. “He will once he hears what I’ve learned.” I went to move toward my father speaking with the elder Pellans, but Graysen’s hand on my arm prevented me.
“Wychthorn, your father couldn’t stop us claiming you—”
“That’s different.” My father couldn’t overturn The Horned Gods’ boon, but he could end this. “Corné… He doesn’t even like her.”
“That’s not stopped unions between Houses before.”
“But—”
His fingers squeezed my arm. It wasn’t hard; it was simply a reminder to listen before I lost myself to that smoldering fire that I usually directed at him. I wanted to burn Corné into ash. “Save your breath, Wychthorn. Your father desires this. Enough to promise your sister to those sick, arrogant fucks.”
“Why?” Why would he do that? He’d been careful with Evvie. Her introduction to our society, to all the potential suitors, had been calculating and deliberate. He’d sifted through all the possible House alignments…waiting, waiting …until he had to play his last card—Evvie .
“They’re on the verge of giving birth to something that will gain The Horned Gods’ favor.”
Birthing something— such an odd phrase. I wanted to ask further about it, but my heart was too worried for my sister. “It’s not right,” I whispered. Did Evvie know any of this? Did she know Corné had a mistress he had no intention of giving up? She couldn’t know it. If she did, she’d never marry him.
My chest twisted painfully.
Evvie had paused on her journey back to Corné to chat with his mother. She gave a small, shy smile in that way of hers that I knew she held hope that Corné’s mother would like her.
Evvie was the perfect Wychthorn princess. She’d do anything to please our father. She knew her place within our family. Annalise was married to House Reska. House Crowther had claimed me. Evvie was the only daughter left to our father with value and the potential to gain an advantage.
Graysen half-twisted around to face me better on the settee. He braced an elbow on its backrest. “Even the great Wychthorns can fall from grace and be replaced by another House if the Horned Gods will it. Your father will do everything he can to ensure that never happens.” Graysen’s next words murmured quietly, resonated like no other. They were a shard of glass piercing my heart. “Gift a kind-hearted princess to a monster. Clip a little bird’s wings.”
I didn’t know if the first related to Evvie or me or both of us. I looked back at him. There was something dark lurking in his gaze and something else I couldn’t quite place.
But he was right. So right, it hurt to hear it. Evvie would marry Corné, even knowing he had a mistress, even knowing he didn’t like her, even knowing what he would expect of her in bed—for our father, for our House. Time and hurt would wear her down and all that beauty and grace and kindness would fade.
“How bad will it be for Evvie to marry Corné?”
“Your sister, little bird, is marrying into a nest of vipers.”
Graysen reached over to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. I don’t know why it didn’t bother me. Perhaps that kiss, that first touch, had smashed the wall between us.
“But she’s doing it with her eyes wide open.” His gaze slid from mine over to my sister. He swallowed a mouthful of whiskey before turning back to give me a sly wink. “And that fact alone impresses the fuck out of me. Let’s hope she has enough fire burning inside to obliterate that fucking asshole before he breaks her. ”
And then I felt it—felt Him.
Sage reacted first. His large ears pricked forward as he cocked his head, listening.
The creature inside me uncoiled…then paused, still as death.
And all the fine hair on my body rose.
I shot to my feet, my heart in my throat.
Graysen followed suit, standing beside me a blink later. “What is it?”
Get rid of the alcohol in my blood, now!— I inwardly hissed. The power inside me obeyed, burning through the alcohol, and I instantly sobered.
“Little bird?” Graysen frowned, with urgency in his tone. Every inch of his tall, formidable figure was on edge and alert. One of his hands hovered near the pocket of his pants, where I was sure he’d stashed a blade.
Terror squeezed my chest.
A Horned God.
I felt him coming well before the smoky doors to our room opened. It was the distant rumble of thunder rippling over clouds swollen with moisture—immense power—a strumming sensation pulsing in time with footsteps drawing nearer. The lighting flickered, an almost imperceptible shimmer to the golden illumination spilling down from the chandelier.
The creature slithered, raking along my bones, recognizing what was coming—likeness singing to one another.
I practically shrieked —Hide! Hide! Hide!
It roiled and roared— NO!
NOW! Do it now before we’re discovered!
Snarling with displeasure, it withdrew, coiling like a snake in the pit of my stomach, bringing up a shield of magic to cloak itself.
“Shit,” Graysen hissed. His gaze had arrowed straight to the smoky doors a moment before they swung open and a man stepped into the room.
It stole my breath, the power radiating from him, encased in a tall, lean figure wrapped up in an exquisite bespoke pin-striped suit. Italian leather shoes. Debonair tie.
Beautiful.
He appeared blessed as a silvery light shimmered around his rich coppery-brown skin. And he was. But not by a glorious, benevolent god. He was kissed by darkness. By the shadowed world.
Master Sirro.
He was a Horned God and my father’s superior. This was the chain of command that linked the Houses to the upper echelon of the otherworldly collective we served.
Every single person lowered themselves with a graceful sweep to one knee. Everyone but the Wychthorns. We stood aloft in a sea of bended knees. Of reverently bowed heads.
If Master Sirro didn’t terrify me, I would have enjoyed seeing Graysen kneeling beside me in a reminder of his placement within the Houses. He might lord over me with our impending marriage, but at this moment, he was nothing. It grated on him. I could feel him seething that I should see him like this.
It was me he wanted kneeling at his feet.
“Master Sirro.” My father greeted the Horned God with a slight incline of the head. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”
“No. But I think you should have.” Master Sirro looked to be in his early thirties, but he was well over a thousand years old. There was an elegant sweep to the shape of his eyes, and his irises were a golden hue. Dark brown hair, a perfection of tousled locks, was pushed back from his brow. His glance took in my mother, my sister. “Marissa. Evelene.” Eyes, ancient and cunning, slid my way.
I inclined my head, grateful to avert my gaze from him down to my patent leather heels, to the cross of buckled straps over the bridge of my feet.
But Master Sirro was still staring at me when I dragged my gaze back up. His full lips curved into a sublime smile. “Nelle. I haven’t seen you in years.” His voice was rich and polished.
“Master Sirro,” I replied, trying to make my smile genuine. Failing dismally.
It only seemed to amuse him. He rubbed his fingers over his chin, brushing over his neatly trimmed beard. And still, he didn’t look away. His intense interest thrummed, keeping tempo with the rapid pulse of my heart.
I clenched my adamere beads in a tight fist. I wasn’t sure why he was staring at me like that—his interest drifting from my face to slither down my figure. There was nothing to see, only swathes of ivory cloth that swamped my body.
A snarl. Softly given, but every single person heard the noise rumbling from Graysen.
Master Sirro clicked his tongue—a tut-tutting sound—his gaze slicing to the crown of Graysen’s head, bowed in subjugation. “Rise,” he commanded.
Everyone stood. Graysen went to step in front of me, stopping as I latched a hand on his arm. “Don’t,” I whispered. “Don’t provoke him.”
His jaw ticked, dark eyes blazing with anger.
For me? Was this for me ?
But he did as I asked, moving right beside me. For once, his presence was welcome, and I let my pent-up breath hiss out.
“Please, enjoy yourselves. This is a celebration.” Master Sirro smiled, gesturing toward my sister and her fiancé. “Evelene, Corné,” he politely greeted.
My sister was breathtaking, but I felt Master Sirro’s interest sharpen and return to me.
The violent flare in his golden eyes was the only warning I had.
His power lashed out. A snap of the whip, that wrapped around my body with not strands of leather, but dark magic.
The gathering of families and the Heads of Upper Houses reared back.
It was a split. A divide across the room. My family, servants, and guests parted in a rush, as that power, a roiling mess of silver light and strands of magical filament, slashed from Master Sirro and arrowed straight to where I stood. Binding me. Trapping me. Thrusting me backward.
I hit the wall with an oomph that knocked the breath from my lungs.
A shriek—my mother.
“Nelle!” My sister surged for me—held back by my father.
And then Sage. We were bonded, he and I. He’d been raised with one instinctive role—to protect. He lunged. His powerful body, rippling with savage muscle and feral rage, bounded across the room, right for Master Sirro, for his throat.
“SAGE!” I screamed in terror.
But my wraith-wolf didn’t listen. He kept going for the Horned God.
He’d kill Sage!
I shrieked again, yelling for Sage to back down, and fought against the magic pinning me in place.
Master Sirro’s powers speared out—straight for Sage. The wolf shimmered, his misty shadowed form flowing through the magic with the ease of passing water.
The wolf sprung with a vicious roar that rattled my bones. Fangs bared, mouth yawning. Right for Master Sirro’s throat—
In that brief moment, a flare of surprise in golden eyes—
A black blur of unnatural speed—
Someone knocked Sage aside. The bulky wraith-wolf tumbled over and over and crashed against the opposite wall. The heavy collision knocked oil paintings; tipped a thin-legged antique table over; and a ceramic urn smashed on the wooden floor.
Graysen’s entire body pinned the wraith-wolf to the ground. He had his arms locked about Sage’s head, and his biceps strained to keep the beast down. The wraith-wolf growled and snapped and barked, writhing and fighting against Graysen’s strength.
“Sage, please,” I begged, “stop, now.”
He whined in protest as he gave in and fell limp beneath Graysen.
My father spun around. “Master Sirro—”
The Horned God raised a slender hand, stopping whatever it was my father wanted to say. Those eyes, a hue like a fine scotch, didn’t move from mine.
But I wrenched my gaze from his to my father. Every single inch of him was taut and filled with horror. He was terrified for me, but also for his family. If they discovered me, the Horned Gods would annihilate our entire House for hiding me instead of turning me in.
A squeeze.
A caress.
A stroke.
Lashes of dark magic wrapped around my figure, coiling tightly to compress my ribs and squeeze my lungs harshly, making it a struggle to breathe.
Master Sirro tasted me. Trying to sense me. I felt it like tiny paper-cuts flaying my flesh.
He tugged on the line of his power, and my hips swayed forward with the yank.
This time, Graysen’s snarl sliced through the room, loud and vicious.
Master Sirro’s eyebrows rose, and his mouth curled on one side in amusement.
If I hadn’t burnt myself out, my power would have responded and showed itself, delighted in severing those strands of magic Master Sirro bound around me. But it listened and kept itself wound into a tight knot in my gut, shielded and hidden.
Even so, Master Sirro still sensed something not quite right about me.
I shrunk into myself, and made my gaze go a little distant, a little vapid; giving him what I wanted him to see—
Just a girl, just a girl, just a girl, just a girl—
Fine lines creased around his eyes and his lips. He gave a brief murmur in his throat. Satisfied, but disappointed, there was nothing before him but a girl in a badly sized dress. He let me go. That power snapped back to him and he turned to face my father, dismissing me with the gesture.
Relief washed through me, and my limbs felt heavy and useless as if I’d spent the afternoon pushing through sludge. I crumbled, my knees buckling. I almost hit the floor when someone rushed across the room in a blur of unnatural speed.
Graysen caught me before my kneecaps struck the ground.
He stood behind me with his arms banded around my waist as I sucked in gusty breaths.
That had been close, far too close.
“Fucking hellsgate,” he hissed. Loose strands of my hair wafted in the air he expelled.
I let him support me, as I tried to get myself under control and stop the trembling in my hands. I blinked away the burning in my eyes.
“Easy, Wychthorn,” Graysen whispered, pulling me closer into his body.
“Thank you.” The words were more breath than a whisper. “For Sage. He would have killed him.”
I felt Graysen’s reply rumbling from his chest against my back. “Not so sure who would have walked away alive. Your wraith-wolf or Sirro.”
There was something possessive in the way he splayed his hands against my body, the way his strong fingers were curled around my waist. We were touching again, and it didn’t feel awful. It didn’t feel awful at all.
We couldn’t leave, but Graysen moved us as far away from Master Sirro as possible. Sage followed and placed himself in front of me. The Pellans’ gazes crawled all over me as they wondered what Master Sirro had sensed and wanted with me.
At least he’d found nothing. And that at the very least satisfied them, but they were still curious.
I pulled against Graysen’s embrace, and he let me go. His hands fell to his sides. I ignored the strange sense of loss that came with stepping away, instead focusing on ignoring the inquisitive glances from the Pellans.
“Want to tell me what the hells that was about?”
I didn’t turn to face Graysen, but I could feel the tension radiating from his body.
I rubbed my temple, taking a few steps forward. Shit, shit, shit— “I don’t know…”
He gave a gruff grunt. “The lies keep spilling from your lips tonight.”
I slowly straightened, my breath trapped hard in my throat.
What does he think he knows about me?
Master Sirro recaptured my attention. He moved deeper into the room with a graceful stride, feline in its motion. His companion followed, an elegant shadow sheathed in a simple black dress that clung to her figure, her chestnut hair unbound and shifting across her shoulder with every sway of her footsteps. She’d been with Master Sirro the last time he’d paid a visit to our House a few years ago. Beautiful, young, with a brilliant smile.
She turned —
I reared back, stumbling. I bumped into something hard and unmovable. Graysen’s hands snapped to my upper arms and steadied me.
“Breathe, little bird,” Graysen’s voice rumbled.
The woman… She’d once been beautiful. But I didn’t see that.
Her hair wasn’t a radiant sheen of chestnut. It was lank and dull and cut through with swathes of silver. Aged liver spots peppered her sallow skin. Despite the bright smile plastered upon her lips, a saggy face creased with wrinkles showed lines of sadness.
The otherworldly glow about Master Sirro, the strands of silver light—magical filament—was her life essence leached from her to him. It would have been ethereal if I hadn’t known what he was doing. Stealing her life, one heartbeat at a time. While he remained youthful and unchanged, immortal, she was dying.
“What do you see?”
My glance took in those gathered. There were a few appreciative glances at Master Sirro’s companion. “A beautiful woman.”
There was a smile in his voice when he replied. “Such pretty little lies.”
“What do you see?” I asked him instead.
“The same as you.” The words vibrating from his chest warmed my back, sending a spark of inflamed heat down my spine. “So… What do you see, Wychthorn?” His hold on my arms tightened and his fingers bit into my flesh with a reminder, to tell the truth.
“His Familiar,” I answered truthfully, “She’s old, sad, dying.”
“That she is.”
I turned a little to look up at him. “Why can’t everyone else see?”
“He’s woven a glamour over her. But we Crowthers have truesight, and we’re able to strip back even the deepest glamour of the Horned Gods.” He leaned down, his words whispering across my mouth and my lips tingled with pleasure at the sensation. “And now I know you do, too.”
The heat he inspired, doused.
Replaced by ice.
A chill crept through me.
I’d given myself away. It was nothing compared to the depth of what I truly was. But I didn’t like giving Crowther even a hint at my true nature.
Graysen straightened with almost reluctance. His gaze pulled over my shoulder and his mouth pressed into a firm line. My father was leading Master Sirro from the room with the Heads of Upper Houses following. “I have to go.” He glanced back at me, his expression darkening with his warning. “Don’t do anything stupid, Wychthorn.”
I blinked, slowly, slightly offended. “I have no idea what you’re implying.”
He rolled his eyes. “Sure you do. Just keep that fire and brimstone to yourself.”
I made a pffting noise. As if.
But he smiled, a sense of relief easing the tension from his shoulders. He jerked his chin in Evvie’s direction, who hastily headed straight for me. “Stick with your sister and stay out of trouble.”