Chapter 35
35
EVANGELINE
E ven the ballroom was shrouded in maroon and gold, House Grave’s official colors draped in long banners and festoons across the walls, draped across the tables, threaded through the endless bouquets of dark red roses, their spicey scent slightly cloying, mixed in with the expensive perfume and everyone’s muddled up emotions.
The air was drenched in them. Sharp spite and sour hatred. The sweetness of lust and the icy bite of ravenous hunger.
Such an odd thing to smell—to taste—another person’s fears, jealousy, their…desires.
I was glad Blake had shielded my thoughts, because if he hadn’t, I would have been an open book to these creatures.
A haze of golden stardust hung heavy in the air, some sort of ceremonial magic hovering above our heads like stars, softening the harsh features and increasingly sharp laughter. I could feel the temperature rise, right along with the tension, and Blake squeezed my arm.
“This is where I leave you to stand up front with Rohr. Nash is right behind you, Evie. Stay where I can see you.”
Riordan loomed over everyone on a recently-constructed dais, complete with an ancient-looking throne. On a table beside him, a gleaming crown waited, worn gold shining dully, as if it were thousands of years old, a single dark red stone in the center.
A red diamond , Blake had told me, the biggest in the world. Absolutely priceless.
I studied Riordan’s face as Blake made his way toward his friend, mapping every detail of his expression, every shift in his posture, the haze of magic hanging around him. When he spotted me in the crowd, his expression shuttered, his face settling into severe lines lacking any shred of warmth.
Fine. He was still pissed . Maybe he had a right to be, but whatever happened tonight was far more important than me breaking into his safe and stealing a stupid book.
Riordan tracked Blake’s approach, a chill rolling off him, a coldness that even I sensed, twenty feet away. My knot of worry grew when he barely acknowledged Blake as he climbed the steps to stand beside him.
Not so much as a greeting or a handshake for his oldest friend, just that blank, detached expression and hint of red fire simmering in his eyes. Dark crimson magic swirled around him, the closest guests stepping back as they wove a web around them both. Part of me feared that soon, there’d be nothing left of the Riordan we knew.
A hush fell over the crowd, then, to my eternal surprise, Blake stepped forward, arms raised, “Welcome, Nocturne Clan members, royal houses, lords and ladies.” Every word was magically magnified as they washed across the room.
Is this what you’ve been doing these past two days?
It’s a long ass speech. I had to memorize the whole fucking thing. My lips quirked, but I put my hand over my heart, the bond warming beneath my fingers, as I sent a thought flying across the room .
I am so fucking proud of you , and up on the dais, Blake—my gruff, broody mate—blushed.
“We stand as one, old and young, pureblood and turned, bound by legacy and the essence that flows through our veins—a crimson river as eternal as the stars above.”
Blake had that look on his face.
Filled with so much hope and resolve my heart clenched. For his unshakable hope in his friend. For his undying faith in a dream.
Around me the crowd murmured, some whispering behind raised hands, sending sly, knowing glances at Blake, at Riordan, at me. I memorized their faces, marking them as enemies, refraining from checking my weapons. As much as I wanted to stab some of them, I wasn’t about to be the one to start shit tonight.
Riordan would really kill me, then.
“This night marks the dawn of a new reign that will breathe new life into our clan. A future that will take us into the new dawn and give rise to the greatest kingdom our kind has ever known.” Blake picked up the crown with a flourish and set it on Riordan’s head. Rohr didn’t flinch when the weight settled into place.
“I crown you King Riordan Ashwynd Graves, the third formally recognized king of the Nocturne Clan. As is our custom, his majesty has chosen a new clan motto.”
There were no cheers. No triumphant music. Just the murmur of forced approval and scattered applause from the assembly. Riordan’s allies showing how sparse his support was, while our enemies remained silent. I kept my senses sharp, the tension thickening like soup.
The silence stretched tighter as Blake picked up a scroll from the table and nodded to his friend. One wave of Riordan’s hand, and the motto painted itself in the air, shadowy, crimson letters, dripping black droplets of glittering magic to the floor below.
“Our word eternal, our honor binding, our strength unbroken.”
Everyone in the room repeated them back, a deep, throbbing hush of voices that seemed to give the words an extra boost of power. So far, everything seemed like it was going to plan and I felt a surge of tentative relief, but the expectant quiet that fell over the throng felt strangely stifling.
Blake stepped back, scroll clenched in his hand, his eyes catching mine. He, too, felt that thrum of pent-up bloodlust, as if the world was about to split apart. “Your majesty, you may address your subjects.”
Riordan never got the chance.
A bubble of air warped into view at the center of the hall, rippling like a pool of water disturbed by a stone. The next instant, a dozen dark-cloaked figures materialized out of the center, faces hidden, blades gleaming in their hands, different colored magic sparking at their fingertips.
But what materialized next was a nightmare.
A revenant—the biggest one I’d ever seen—lunged out of the swirling center, teeth gnashing, one swipe of its huge, clawed foot eviscerating the closest guest, his face surprised, then shocked, before the pain caught up as he spilled to the floor with a blood curdling scream.
Chaos erupted.
Apparently, vampires panicked as mindlessly as humans, knocking each other over, blindly rushing for the exits, only to end up tangled in a crush of legs and arms and bodies. The assailants moved in practiced unison, mercilessly cutting down the first cluster of guests they reached. Shrieks filled the hall as blood painted the walls .
I pulled my knife, crouched, ready to lunge into the crowd.
Don’t you fucking dare, Evie. Stay right there, I’m coming .
I glimpsed Blake, fighting his way through the crowd toward me. And that’s when it struck me. Not a single vampire—except for the assailants—were dematerializing, everyone was…running.
That’s why they’re panicking, I thought . They can’t escape, any more than I can right now.
Yes, so stay there until I reach you. Twenty seconds.
Ten guards materialized around Riordan, still towering on the dais, legs braced wide, crown on his head, dark eyes fixed on the threat, glowing not with fear or even surprise, but with eager anticipation.
The Knightsguard sprang into action at Nash’s shouted command, shielding injured guests behind them. They surged, meeting the assailants with deadly precision. Magic flashed, blades clashed, but our enemies moved with unnatural speed, their eyes empty of fear or hesitation.
I couldn’t see much through the crowd, but that utter blankness looked like mind control. The same kind Tyrell once wielded.
Blake was caught in the fighting now, his sword slashing as he parried with the attackers, and I lost my breath. Both at how beautifully he moved, and how much danger he was facing. My heart clenched when I saw him so exposed and vulnerable.
He didn’t have his magic. Did that mean he couldn’t heal?
Did that mean he could die ?
We’d traded away ten years of our lives, assuming we’d live…another fifty or a hundred years, but what if this was yet another trap, and everything ended tonight ?
Panic pushed me through the crowd toward my mate, stabbing at anyone who grabbed for me, shoving my way between straining bodies, dodging strikes of magic. Two minutes, maybe, since this all started, and where the fuck was Riordan and his big show of power?
Why was he letting this go on for so long?
Finally, in the center of the chaos, Riordan raised his hands.
The air pulsed with such heavy magic, a chill raced down my spine. Crimson darkness expanded—not a flicker of white fire to be seen—filling the room with a suffocating energy that leached into every corner of the hall. The floating candles dimmed as the shadows around Riordan grew, writhing like living things. The air grew soupier, harder to breathe.
And then the king unleashed himself.
A wave of molten rage exploded from him, sweeping across the hall like devouring fire. The attackers were thrown back, their bodies crushed against the walls with bone-breaking force, the air crackling with the smell of freshly spilled blood and charred flesh. Every attacker fell, wounds hideous, smoke pouring from their mouths, their eyes.
I’d seen Riordan’s magic before, but nothing like this—no mercy, no restraint.
This was raw power, unleashed with a cruelty that felt… unhinged.
Crystal vases exploded, chandeliers burst, mirrors shattered, sending a shower of razor-tipped shards pelting the crowd. For a moment, the overwhelming smell of blood sent me reeling, people slipping on the slickened floor, picking glass out of their arms, faces.
A few of the attackers fled, and crimson tipped shadows raced through the air and speared through them, cutting flesh and bone with unerring precision. This was too much.
Too much power for anyone person to have.
No wonder Riordan was losing control. No mortal could manage this much magic without it taking them over.
The revenant screamed as red-black magic raced over that thick, gray hide, then the thing thundered through the doors into the outer hall, chased by twenty Knightsguard as silence fell over the blood-soaked room.
Looming over us all, Riordan didn’t look mortal.
He was a god, arms spread, shadows spinning out in furls of black and red.
As one, injured or not, royal or commoner, every vampire in the room fell to their knees. The sound as they hit the floor was deafening, louder than applause…louder than a guillotine falling. And there, at the edge of the crowd, Malachi watched.
His face was as white as marble, lips clenched in an angry line, all his mocking foolishness gone. This was the face of an Ancient, graven in time, in patience, in cruelty. His mask was gone, every emotion written so clearly on his face, and besides the rage and the hatred was something worse…envy.
Malachi wanted the throne.
He noticed me staring, his lips slowly softening into that mocking smile, the mask that made everyone misjudge him so badly. Until it was too late and he’d already stabbed them in the heart.
Riordan’s power receded; his expression unreadable as he surveyed the bodies littered across the floor. His subjects, kneeling, heads bowed. The remaining Knightsguard frozen, Nash included, as if they couldn’t believe what they’d witnessed .
But it was the blankness in Riordan’s eyes that struck me hardest. He was detached, almost bored, as if spilling so much blood had been nothing more than a mild inconvenience. As if all this adulation was…expected.
And I realized, with a sick certainty, that Tyrell’s influence had taken root, and was spreading.
The room was dead silent. All I could hear was my own heartbeat, hammering in my chest.
“Get them out,” Riordan commanded coldly, waving a hand at the Knightsguard, who hurried to help shaken guests to their feet and usher them from the hall.
I turned, catching Blake’s eye, and I saw my own horror mirrored in his expression.
Then beyond him, I caught a glimpse of Malachi’s blond, braided hair, disappearing through a doorway.