Velvet Shadows (The Crimson Court #2)

Chapter 4

RAFE

Vampire blood leaves stubborn stains. Mrs Hawley will not thank me for them when she sets our clothes to launder and is forced to use all number of incantations to get my shirts white again.

There is much for her to do. The floor in the hallway from where I laid Camilla’s body is now soaked with crimson and the panes of the glasshouse are coated with my cousin’s innards. All to be attended to before we journey to court tomorrow evening.

In my chambers, the house is quiet, at least. It did not take long for me to grow weary of Charlotte’s complaints at having to take Miss Ellington as her pledge. Like me, she had her sights set on Miss Fairfax. And Charlotte does not take inconveniences with any level of grace or dignity.

Her caterwauling was enough to have me wish Nate was still pacing the drawing room and giving us the distraction of speculating about his connection with Miss Sterling.

Whatever there is that dwells between them, Grandmother will have found it out. Like Juliette, she sees everything.

And if there is something between Seraphina and my brother, Grandmother would be duty bound to report it to the Court. She would not relish seeing my brother executed, but she knows the law. Slaying another vampire outside of an agreed duel or round in the Tournament is a matter punishable by death.

How Nate will survive the trial, I do not know. But it has been done before. Valeria herself killed her own husband and faced no consequences for it. Perhaps she will sway her fellow matriarchs to vote in her favour.

For all her faults, she will not want to lose Nate. He has been an obedient servant to her over the years and with Ambrose dead and Benjamin facing the same fate, her dynasty and position on the Court are both at risk.

Of course, she has other children: her daughter Eleanor with four further grandchildren who live on the continent, and disgraced Uncle Isaac who brought shame upon the family name by single-siring two vampires. He avoided death, too, but that was no thanks to Valeria — she was after blood for the shame he brought upon the family by daring to give his two children the Blackwood family name when they were no more than gutterfangs. He fled for Europe just days before his trial at court. Valeria would rather the Blackwood name die than let Isaac or his children have anything to do with it.

If Benjamin has any sense, he will seek Isaac or Aunt Eleanor out. Assuming he survives, of course. With any luck, he is bleeding out from the injuries he sustained during our confrontation, or is about to be slain by the hunter that wanders the night. There is a chance he will recover, but if he does, my promise to disembowel him if he dare set foot at Nighthaven again will ring in his ears and he will not come here.

I stare into the flames burning in the grate, a glass of whiskey dangling between my fingers. It is a warm evening, and the fire is unnecessary, but there is something to be said for staring into the heart of a flame and hearing the hiss and crackle as it devours the logs in its path.

It does not soothe my rage, but stokes it. All the fury I feel towards Benjamin for what he did has nowhere to go.

I lift back my glass and knock back the amber liquid. My fists twitch with the memory of his flesh splitting beneath them. It took a few blows with both of us hissing and snarling at each other before he snapped out of his madness and cowered before me like a whimpering dog.

I roared in his face, telling him to face me. But it only made him crumble further.

And now, amongst Camilla’s screams that echo in my ears — the ones that pulled me across the estate to the sight of my brother drenched in her blood, pulling her from the lake — I have Benjamin’s sobbing, too. His snivelled, choked pleas as he begged me to end his life, to put him out of his misery.

Standing, I hurl my glass into the fireplace and watch it explode into a million fractals as it hits the stone surround.

Charlotte will be after Benjamin’s head too, if only for the fact he lives whilst her beloved Ambrose was decimated. And she will be a threat to Nate, of course. I wonder if he has considered it — how our cousin will choose to make him suffer for the pain she feels at losing her brother. For she will make him suffer, there is no doubt about it. And she will not be so crass as to drive a stake into Nate’s heart when his back is turned.

If there is one thing Charlotte Beaumont is good at, it is revenge.

With my glass smashed, I pick up the decanter and swig directly from it, wiping my mouth as the whiskey spills over my lips and down my chin. I so enjoyed drowning my sorrows in drink when I was human. The fact it takes considerably more effort to remotely feel the effects now is one of the worst things about this otherwise thrilling existence.

And on any other day, I am thrilled by the life I lead. I will need to remind myself of that fact if this distemper lingers.

Damn Benjamin.

I am back in the armchair by the fire, pouring whiskey down my throat in a steady stream, when there is a knock at the door. My fangs lengthen as I catch the sweet scent of the human whose knuckles have rapped against the wood.

I only need to look at the door for it to open and for Miss Fairfax to step into my dim-lit chambers. She is in a fresh linen nightgown with a thick robe tied around her waist, but there is a deep cut that retreats from her forehead into her hairline. It is not bleeding, but it has not yet healed, either.

And then there is the look in her eyes — the same spark of defiance I saw in Mayfair. One look from Elizabeth was enough to leave me relishing the thought of corrupting the vicar’s daughter. But the more I have seen of her spirit since she has been at Nighthaven, I feel quite certain she would enjoy rebelling against her father just as much as I would enjoy offering a helping hand in her steady descent to hell. It is a spark that even Ambrose failed to extinguish during their time together. Even after tonight.

“Come in, Miss Fairfax.” I feel a pang of sympathy at the way she looks around the room as if she expects Ambrose’s ghost to appear from the shadows — but I push it away, gesturing for her to sit in the chair across from me. When she has perched on the edge, I offer her a drink.

“This an improvement on the basement,” Lizzie croaks.

I chuckle, handing her the glass and feeling her long, slender fingers brush against mine as she takes it. “Yes, even my family did not relish stepping foot in Ambrose’s dungeon.” I sink back into my chair, studying her. “I am sorry that you suffered at his hand.”

Lizzie stares at where the glass rests in her lap.

There is much she will have endured, I am sure. Nate has taken away the memories of the worst parts of tonight — Ambrose’s attack of her and his explosive demise — but there will have been horrors before tonight that are surely etched into her brain.

“You are not sad he is gone?” Lizzie lifts her emerald eyes up and they bore into mine. “He was your cousin.”

I shrug. “The Beaumonts and Blackwoods have never exactly seen eye-to-eye. Ambrose was bound to overstep the mark. He has danced a thin line for many centuries now.”

Lizzie takes a swig of whiskey and winces as it hits her throat. “Yet you all allowed it. None of you intervened until it was almost too late.”

“I disagreed with almost everything my cousin ever did, but when it came to the pledging, he was free to do with you as he wished. You were his life source.”

“A pawn in a game,” she says quietly. “And now I am yours.” A flush of colour spreads up her neck, across her cheeks.

“It is a misconception that I play games.” I try to keep my voice low and gentle, as unthreatening as it is possible to be when I am a predator of the night and my prey is sitting pink and blushing before me, just as Camilla once did. “I am quite straightforward.”

She arches an eyebrow. “If that is so, then I ask that you tell me what your demands are of me, so that I might be best prepared.”

“Demands?”

“Ambrose made it clear what was required from my time in his service.” She stares up at me with that same sparkling defiance that makes my pulse speed up.

“I have no demands, Miss Fairfax. I simply ask that you allow me to feed when I am hungry.”

Her brow creases for a moment before she schools her face back to indifference. The look alone is enough to near flaw me. I know it well — the mask of someone burying an entire world of pain in the hope it cannot hurt them anymore.

In my experience, it merely poisons you from the inside out instead.

“You will not face undue suffering with me. I am not so cruel. And you are under my protection now, for whatever that is worth.”

Lizzie lets out a small, wry laugh as she stares back into the dregs of whiskey swirling at the bottom of her glass. “Forgive me, but I think little of your promise of protection. You did not save Camilla, and you gave me a stake that I could not use. What was that if not another game?”

I lean back in my chair; the decanter swinging in my hand as it lolls over the armrest. “I failed Camilla,” I say simply. “But I will not fail you. And the stake protected you in the end. Nate used it against Ambrose. He saved you.”

“It may have been kinder to let me die, all things considered.”

I roll my eyes. “Please, not you too. I have had quite enough of those I share a house with surrendering to the beyond for one evening.”

One corner of Lizzie’s mouth tweaks upwards, then falls again. “Camilla always spoke fondly of you. But it is not lost on me that I am only here because she is not. If she had not died and Benjamin had not fled, I would be serving Lady Charlotte.”

“Yes. She fought vehemently for you. You have Juliette to thank for this arrangement. And I assure you that no matter what you think of me, I am the lesser of the two evils.”

Lizzie sinks back in the chair. It is built for vampires of my size and stature, and it dwarfs her as she presses her back against the cushions, then tucks her legs beneath her. “What happens now? For the rest of your Season?”

“We leave for court tomorrow at dusk. The journey is long, but we will make it before the dawn.”

“Why are we leaving?”

“My grandmother arrived tonight when the hunt was over. She is duty bound to report Ambrose’s death at my brother’s hand to the Court. He will face trial. And then, regardless of the outcome, our family will stay at court and prepare for the Tournament.”

“Lord Nathaniel’s actions are considered a crime?”

“Yes. Taking another vampire’s life is against our laws. If the Court is not satisfied with Nate’s justification for his actions, then he will be executed.”

Lizzie frowns and I study the lines of her face, the fullness of her lips, her bright green eyes, and the angry scar on her brow where the gash meets her scalp. It is a singular wound, and she looks otherwise unscathed. If she were a young lady of a more delicate constitution, like Camilla, she would not have survived the night.

But finding someone like Lizzie was the reason I cast the invitations into London’s underbelly — to find those with spirit and gumption who would not faint at the first sight of a bloom. Those who could endure. She and Seraphina have lived up to that expectation admirably.

“And what will you require from us when we are there?”

“Beyond access to your veins, I cannot say. Taking humans into the Crimson Court is unusual. It has not happened for centuries. My family and I, assuming Nathaniel still has his head, will be expected to socialise and make connections. It is not so different from your human Season in that regard.”

“There are considerably fewer deaths during our Season,” Lizzie shoots back.

“Where humans go wrong, in my opinion.” I smirk. “But there is little to fear from what is to come. There will be more order. The matriarchs will be watching. Few will dare to put a foot wrong.”

“Unless hunters reek their havoc again.”

“Hunters are not so foolish as to attempt an infiltration at court. Their efforts would result in certain death.”

“It seems that is a risk they are willing to take if their attack here at Nighthaven is anything to go by.”

I lean over to refill Lizzie’s glass, then take another long swig from the decanter. “It comes with the territory, yes. But there are thirteen matriarchs who serve on the Court. They are from the most powerful vampire families, and each is more brutal and terrifying than the next.” I shudder, thinking of them all — the heads of noble lines that are as ancient as the world itself. “Even the most brazen hunter would realise such a mission would be futile. It is why they choose other targets.”

“Like those in London, you mean?”

“You know about the gutterfangs?”

Lizzie’s eyes fall to her lap. “From Agnes. Benjamin was concerned for them because of their connection with the Vosslers.”

I shake my head. “The knowledge and secrets my family holds never fail to amaze me. I am beginning to think I should harbour some of my own.”

“Lies are hard to keep track of.” She looks up at me. “That’s what my father always told me. Not to mention it’s a sin.”

“I do so enjoy sinning. Perhaps I shall stop being a gossip and become more mysterious once we reach our destination.”

There is the smallest of smiles on Lizzie’s lips that this time doesn’t immediately fade. I like that I’ve put it there.

“Will we meet the other matriarchs?” She asks.

“Oh, certainly. They will be an ever-watching presence.”

“And what are they like?” Lizzie tilts her head. “I imagine a table of elderly women, but having met Valeria…”

I laugh, shaking my head. “They are not old crones, no, but there is little you can tell about a vampire by simply looking at them. Our youthful faces mean nothing.”

“I do not care about their looks.” She stares at me. “What I meant to ask is whether they are all as powerful as your grandmother? As ruthless?”

It is my turn to frown, my forehead knitting together. “You have seen nothing of what my grandmother is capable of.”

“No, but I have spent the duration of my stay here with Ambrose. He delighted in telling me enough to ensure I will not find myself alone with her if it can be helped.”

I swill the whiskey around the decanter, watching it roll over the grooves in the cut crystal. “Yes, she is quite formidable, my grandmother. Ambitious. Powerful. Unyielding.”

“And what are her ambitions?” When I frown again, Lizzie continues, “There must be a reason we are being forced to endure this. What is it?”

“What are any Society mamas’ aims each Season?” I chuckle. “We are not so different.”

“So the Duchess truly only seeks wealth and status for your family? Nothing more?”

“She looks to longevity, of course. It is why she is so particular about our marrying into reputable families and siring only the most worthy. Her aim in Mayfair was to make connections with human families who would provide the most delectable to join our ranks.”

Lizzie’s eyes shoot up to meet mine. A faint flicker of panic passes through them. “To join you? Not just sustain you?”

“The continuation of our family lines is of the utmost importance. After marriage, talk will quickly turn to siring?—”

“But it is all a fallacy. Your blood lines?—”

I cut Lizzie off with a warning glare. “Blackwood and Ravenscroft blood flows through my veins. There is no human blood left in me save the nectar I take from the veins of others.”

Lizzie blinks up at me, as if she has a thousand questions, but settles on, “How can that be?”

“We are drained. Before the last drop leaves us, when the veil has descended, we are fed the blood of two vampires to revive us. Then our fates are sealed.”

“That is all it takes?” Lizzie’s mouth falls open a little and my fingers twitch to lean over and tug at her thick bottom lip — to bruise it with my thumb and run my fangs over her neck.

“Yes.”

“And it is not possible with one vampire alone?”

“It is possible, but it is akin to birthing a babe out of wedlock.”

“Common then, and covered up at all costs?”

I laugh. “Exactly.”

“I imagine the temptations are the same. The instincts you have to suppress?” Her eyes glint in the firelight, that bright, impossible green now streaked with gold and copper. “No wonder you are all so angry all the time.”

“What does a vicar’s daughter know of such things?”

“I may be a daughter of the Church, but here I am, a servant to the damned, am I not? I have seen enough under this roof to ensure my place in fiery hell, I am quite sure.”

“Be careful, Miss Fairfax. Dancing with the devil suits you.”

Lizzie’s cheeks flush an even deeper shade of pink at my words, but she doesn’t look away. “Perhaps it does,” she murmurs, her voice low. “I was always a grave disappointment to my father. I have never been much drawn to the light.”

I lean over my knees, steepling my fingers. The scent of her skin and the rush of her blood beneath the surface is enough to set my fangs itching. It takes every ounce of my self-control not to fly to her and cover her body with mine as I sink my fangs into the delicate curve of her neck.

“The light is vastly overrated in my experience. Until you cannot walk in it, of course.”

For a long, charged moment, our eyes remain locked together. My hunger stirs like a beast in my chest. It would be easy to push further, to use my powers to bend her to my will and claim what I crave, but I hold back. I want Lizzie to come to me willingly, to surrender herself not out of compulsion, but choice. For her to be overcome with desperation for me. To see her come undone at the promise of my fangs at her neck.

I clear my throat. “You will have your own bedchamber here tonight. I will do my best not to disturb you after the events you have endured this evening.”

She nods, but eyes me warily — as if she can’t quite believe I will not drag her under my jaws and take what I need. “You do not need to feed and regain your strength?”

“It is more important that you regain yours after what you have endured. There is quite the collection in the basement, should I get hungry.”

Lizzie sets her empty glass aside and rises on slightly unsteady legs, avoiding eye contact as she walks away.

I think of the bottles and vials gathering dust down in the cellar; the collection of blood blends from as many humans as Ambrose could hold beneath his knife.

Lizzie’s will be down there. Eddie’s too. For the first time, the thought of it sends a chill into my bones.

Lizzie looks over her shoulder, golden curls falling in her face as she turns. “I would rather you drank from me directly than sample from that which was not willingly given.”

I simply offer a short, succinct nod in return, watching her every small movement as she walks away.

Just before she slips out, she pauses, glancing back at me again. “Goodnight, my lord,” she says softly.

“Goodnight, Miss Fairfax.”