Fated In Secrets (Nocturne Vampire Clan #2)

Chapter 10

10

BLAKE

H ouse Hawkmere was one of the clan’s oldest royal houses, steeped in history and violence, but Lord Romaric was proof decency still existed within our species, despite Tyrell’s wide-reaching corruption.

While I waited in the main hall I went back over my plan. Romaric would be wary of this meeting, of what I represented—a member of the Nocturne King’s inner circle, here to negotiate his halfhearted allegiance.

Vampires were known for their empty promises and games, after all.

I was here to prove that theory wrong.

Romaric strode toward me, eyes as sharp as the crease on his tailored pants, a dark cashmere sweater pushed up to the elbows. Over the past centuries, he’d done well for himself in shipping, oil and real estate, and had a reputation as a male who would rather talk hunting than court politics. Behind him, the walls of the Great Hall loomed in the flickering firelight, covered in paintings of the Hawkmere progeny, hundreds of them, going back four hundred years.

"Blake Marten," he drawled, offering me his hand. For someone over twice my age, his grip was an iron vise. "To what do I owe this visit? Don’t tell me my son has gotten into trouble? "

“Not at all, my lord. Zach is a valuable asset to the king.” Zachary Hawkmere was our sometimes-spy, keeping his eyes and ears out for any rumblings in town, but these days, Thorndale was the least of our concerns.

"I’ve come to ask your support, Lord Romaric," I said evenly, meeting his stare. I fully expected his reluctance—he wasn’t a man to throw his support behind just anyone, especially not when alliances meant life or death.

"Support," he echoed, ushering me to a pair of chairs by the fire. "You expect my house to back Riordan as king, yes?" He settled himself, fingers drumming on the arm of his chair. "Tell me, Blake, why should I pledge my fealty to a male I don’t believe is strong enough to hold onto the crown?"

I took a slow breath, my gaze shifting around the hall, taking in the staggering number of paintings. I didn’t have the luxury of a long negotiation or weeks of playing politics. We needed at least one house to swear allegiance tonight.

This house, to be exact, and the rest would fall in line.

“Riordan’s exactly what this realm needs. He has power, vision, and the ability to unite the kingdom.” I glanced again at the paintings. Hundreds of them, maybe more. “This isn’t about fealty—it’s about survival.”

“Survival,” he repeated with a hollow laugh. “And if Riordan’s reign crumbles under the weight of his enemies, what then? House Hawkmere would fall, right along with him.” He gestured around us. “I built this house from nothing but rock and willpower; I will not see my life’s work ruined because I took a leap of faith on a male who wasn’t ruthless enough to hold onto his own throne.”

He leaned forward, hawk eyes sharp, scrutinizing. “I’ve heard Riordan cannot control his magic. Is that true?”

Romaric’s words hit deeper than I’d expected, but magic wasn’t everything, and Romaric would never know how much Riordan had sacrificed to stop Tyrell.

“Strength is not only about control, Romaric,” I kept my voice steady, though my patience was shredding apart. “Tyrell is gone, now his magic is Riordan’s to wield, however he wishes. He can rebuild this clan into something magnificent. You could be part of that.”

“What makes you think I care?”

“Them.” I waved my hand at the painted faces staring down at us, the children of House Hawksmere. “Your strength comes from your family. Under Tyrell, you worked hard keeping them safe. Keeping them hidden. Sent many of them far, far away, to ensure they were out of reach of Tyrell and others like him. As a result, your family is fractured apart.”

I lowered my voice and held his stare, praying I’d read him correctly. “You could bring everyone home. Unite your house again, like Riordan wants to unite this clan.”

Romaric’s mouth twisted. “My family is my business. Your faith in your king does you credit, Blake, but it’s not enough to convince me to risk my entire house. I am no fool. If I am the first to swear fealty and Riordan falls, House Hawkmere will bear the brunt of his failure. We’ll become a symbol of blind allegiance.”

My jaw clenched. “House Hawkmere could be a symbol of strength. Joining first Riordan wouldn’t tarnish your reputation—unity would solidify it. We’re at a tipping point, Romaric. With your support, we can usher in a new era of stability.”

"And if he fails?" Romaric’s voice was cold, but his gaze wandered over my shoulder to the paintings. "Can Riordan make the hard choices? Choose the good of the entire clan over…” his eyes raked me up and down. “The life of a friend? This is war, Blake. Your enemies are organizing and their numbers far outweigh any allies you will roust to your cause.”

I let my own silence stretch before I spoke.

“Yes, joining forces with us has risks,” I admitted. “But if not Riordan, then who? Collum Lazarov?” It gave me a hint of satisfaction to see this powerful male blanch. “Imagine what his rule would be like, especially with Valaine at his side, then tell me Riordan isn’t worth taking a chance on.”

I leaned forward, the fire’s heat scorching the side of my face. “My friend will transform this clan. He might be untested, but that doesn’t make him unworthy. If anything, Riordan knows what it’s like to face challenges that could destroy him, and defy the odds.”

Romaric watched me carefully, his gaze unwavering. I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes, the calculations, the considerations. I was asking—Riordan was asking—him to lay everything on the line. His life, his reputation, his family would be in jeopardy .

“I serve the Nocturne King,” I continued, a dangerous edge in my tone. “As I served his brute of a father before him. I know what evil looks like, and I swear to you, Riordan is a good male. He is worthy of your loyalty. His cause is worth fighting for.”

Romaric’s gaze faltered, then he leaned back, his jaw grinding. “I don’t doubt your words, Blake. And you are right. My family is everything, and I have spent my life protecting them. I will continue to protect them until my dying breath. Which is why I cannot risk them all on a promise.”

Anger simmered close to the surface, but I pushed it down, speaking with measured intensity. “This isn’t just a promise, Romaric. It’s a chance for you to stand with a king who understands what it means to rise from ashes. With Riordan, you could shape the future of this realm. You want to protect your house, your legacy?” I waved my hand at the paintings. “This is how you protect them.”

Romaric’s face was unreadable, but something in his eyes shifted—a glimmer of uncertainty, perhaps, or maybe weariness. The longer the silence stretched on, whatever sliver of hope I’d felt when I’d come here vanished.

If we didn’t have House Hawkmere, we had nothing.

The other houses would never risk themselves, unless Romaric paved the way.

I’d been a fool to come alone. It would take more than a second-rate enforcer to convince someone like Romaric.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and measured. “I need to see strength, Blake. Not only in you, but in Riordan. When I look at him, I need to know he can protect what I hold dear, that he can lead not only with words, but with action.”

I nodded; glad I was sitting down when the surge of relief nearly took out my knees. “Riordan will prove himself. He’s not asking for blind faith—he’s asking for a chance to earn your trust.”

Romaric inclined his head. “Very well. I’ll give him that chance. But know this, Blake—if he falters, if he shows any sign of weakness that endangers my house, I will not hesitate to withdraw my support.”

I met his gaze, feeling the weight of his words, but nodded. “Fair enough.”

As I turned to leave, I couldn’t stop a glimmer of hope from rising. This wasn’t a complete victory, but it was a start. Now, the weight was on Riordan’s shoulders to prove that he could be the king we needed him to be .

And I would be there every step of the way, doing everything I could to make sure he succeeded.

The dark paneled walls of Markham Hall drank in what little moonlight filtered through the grimy windows, casting everything in perpetual dusk.

After the night we’d defeated Tyrell, I’d come here to protect Evangeline.

To escape the bloodlust pulsing through my veins.

For two weeks, I’d stayed as far away from her as I could. Every waking moment was pure torture, but I’d lose control if I got too close. And I couldn’t risk that—I wouldn’t risk her.

I paused in the doorway to what had once been our dining hall, staring out over the vast, decaying room. High vaulted arches framed the ceiling, their former elegance cloaked in cobwebs. The chandelier hung like a broken skeleton from the center, its crystals dull from neglect. Dust covered every surface, muting the colors, casting a pall over this home that had once been the center of my existence.

I missed my sister’s laughter.

My parent’s good-natured bickering.

I missed my old life even more poignantly in this grief-ridden manor that had once been so full of life. A wave of memories surged up, scenes from my childhood, but they were ghosts now, specters woven into dusty stone and wood.

I dragged a hand through my hair. Maybe coming back here had been a mistake. All this did was remind me of what I’d lost, the cost of serving Riordan, the cost of loving Evangeline.

But I had nowhere else to go.

A shattered mirror lay against the far wall, its broken shards reflecting fractured images of the room. I caught sight of myself in those fragments, my reflection warped and twisted by the slivered glass. Fitting. I was fractured too—a male torn between his duty to the king, my promise to protect Evangaline, and this unshakable, forbidden craving rooted deep inside me.

Wind whistling through a cracked window pulled me from my thoughts. I turned, heading deeper into the manor, my footsteps stirring up clouds of dust that swirled in the cold, stagnant air. I passed room after room, each one little more than a relic to the past, crumbling like my own self-control.

And now Evie haunted me, right along with the memories of the dead.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her—those stormy blue eyes, her heartbeats calling to me, the taste of her blood lingering on my lips. The want was so fast and vicious, I yearned to tear Markham down, to drown out the pain of her absence.

My mate . I rolled the words over and over on my tongue until they became as familiar as my own heartbeats. Evangeline was—in an impossible, unpredictable twist—the female fate had chosen for me, and I was sure some higher power was having a good, long laugh over the irony.

Slayer and vampire.

Enemies.

Lovers, torn apart yet again.

I sank down onto an old leather chair, the frame creaking beneath my weight. My fingers dug into the armrests. If I dropped my guard, I’d be at her side before I even knew it, drinking from her until there was nothing left and that was what I feared most—that the hunger would consume me completely.

That I might harm her…or worse.

I dropped my head into my hands, fingers pressing against my temples as wave after ravenous wave rocked me. I had to wrestle this addiction into submission. Hunger left me hollow, filled only with the need for her blood.

The only glimmer of hope in all of this was Romaric.

Somehow, I’d gotten through to him tonight.

Now Riordan had to prove he possessed the strength—and the ruthlessness—to command this clan.

I pushed myself to my feet, chair legs screeching against the floor. I had to do something—anything—to break this bloodlust. I could feed from someone else, one of the willing donors from the clan, but the mere thought of drinking from anyone except Evangeline…

I already knew I couldn’t take that leap, no matter how desperate.

Storming down the corridor, I kicked open the door to what had once been the estate’s reception hall, and braced myself against one of the wood-paneled walls, my hand clenching into a fist. How had I fallen so far? I had once been strong, disciplined, a weapon forged to serve. But with one taste, Evangeline had shattered all of that, leaving me vulnerable. I despised myself for letting myself fall, for the way my heart twisted every time I thought of her.

A growl escaped me, low and guttural, as my fist slammed into the wall. Once. Twice. Again. Dust and debris crumbled around my broken knuckles, the pain a small reprieve from the emptiness that filled me. I couldn’t have her. And she deserved more than a broken man consumed by darkness and blood.

But I didn’t know how much longer I could resist.

As I slumped against the wall, breathing hard, I allowed myself to imagine, for a moment, what it was like to hold her, to let myself drown in her light. A dangerous dream, but in this abandoned place filled with dead memories, dreams were all I had.