Chapter Thirty-Three
Ambrose lunges for Claude without a word.
That’s all I can see before both vampires move too fast for me to follow, a blur of motion in the center of a completely still crowd.
It is eerily silent, both the fight and the crowd; I fear everyone can hear the frantic drum of my heartbeat, my shaky breaths as I cling to Benjamin’s arm.
Dark blood splatters against the stark white floor, and I press a hand to my mouth to stifle my gasp, but the fight is such rapid chaos that I can’t even tell who’s bleeding.
I tear my eyes off it to look at Sebastian, whose face is unreadable as his eyes flicker over the duel, and then at Benjamin, who gives me a grim, tight-lipped smile.
“They’re closely matched,” he murmurs. Someone nearby hisses in disapproval of the noise, and he says nothing more but squeezes my hand. I cannot tell whether or not I should be reassured.
Then all at once there’s a stir in the crowd.
A group on the edge of the room scatters, and a half second later a body thumps against the wall there and slumps to the floor.
My heart surges—Ambrose. A moment later Claude is standing over him.
His shirt is torn, and he’s bleeding from a half dozen bite wounds across his neck and torso, but he’s still standing and Ambrose isn’t.
Yet his shoulders are trembling, with exhaustion or emotion, as he stares down at his sire. “Yield,” he says.
“No,” Sebastian says, barely more than a breath. “Finish it, Claude—”
Ambrose tilts his head back, long hair falling away from his face. His bloodstained lips curl back.
Claude lunges for him. But Ambrose speaks first.
“Don’t move,” he rasps.
Claude goes still. One hand is still outstretched, his grasping fingers a mere inch from Ambrose’s neck. Ambrose pushes it aside and stands on shaky legs.
A murmur ripples through the crowd, along with low hisses of outrage. Ambrose glances sidelong at the watching court and bares his fangs, but he doesn’t step away from Claude.
“He is my fledgling,” he says, loud enough to be heard above the clamor. He circles around the still-frozen Claude, his steps measured and his expression calculating. “And it is my duel, which I have not yet lost.”
The vampires watching are shifting, their disapproval palpable. But nobody steps in to stop this. I lunge forward to do it myself, but Benjamin catches me around the waist and pulls me back, shaking his head.
“I’m sorry, you can’t interfere,” he says. “They’ll kill you.” And then, slightly louder, “Nor can you, Sebastian. Unless you wish to incite another court war.”
Sebastian hisses under his breath, his fangs out and his eyes locked on Ambrose. But he doesn’t move.
“Kneel,” Ambrose says, and Claude’s knees hit the floor with a crack that seems to echo in the silent room. His hands sit limp on his thighs, his head tilted down so dark curls obscure his eyes.
Ambrose seizes a fistful of Claude’s hair and pulls his head back, exposing the pale column of his neck.
“All of this could have been avoided,” he murmurs, looking down at Claude with palpable distaste, “if you had only done as I said.” He strokes one fingertip down Claude’s cheekbone, almost tenderly, before his hand wraps around his neck.
Benjamin pulls me closer. “Look away,” he murmurs.
But I refuse. Push him away. Continue to watch, even as tears start to fill my eyes.
This can’t be happening. It can’t be the way it ends. But if it is, the least I can do is watch.
And as Ambrose’s fingers tighten and start to pull, I can’t keep quiet. I don’t care that the room is silent enough to hear a pin drop, that everyone else is merely standing by and watching as though this is some sick form of entertainment.
“Fight him!” I cry. I strain against Benjamin’s arms again, heedless that heads around the room are turning to look at me.
Ambrose turns too, his lips curving into a horrible grin as he sees my emotions spill over.
I don’t know if this counts as interfering with the duel, and at this moment, I don’t care.
I just want Claude to have a fair chance. “Fight him!” I know he can. He has to.
Through the blur of my tears, I see Claude’s fingers twitch.
Ambrose turns back to him, catching the movement out of the corner of his eye. And suddenly, Claude is on his feet, twisting out of Ambrose’s grip as his fist swings to deliver a swift jab to Ambrose’s sternum.
Ambrose staggers back, eyes wide with shock and fury. Claude tackles him to the ground, wraps both hands around his neck.
Vampires don’t need to breathe, but when I see Ambrose’s lips move without sound, I realize his purpose: they still need air to speak. Ambrose struggles against his grip, but Claude keeps him pinned with his full weight.
A drop of blood splatters against Ambrose’s shocked face. Another. My stomach drops but Claude lifts his head, and as I see the red trailing down from his eyes, I realize he’s not wounded. He’s weeping.
The room is silent, so I know he’ll hear when I whisper his name, a single word containing all of my sympathy and all of my pleading and all of my love.
Claude shuts his eyes. Then, with a shout, he tears Ambrose’s head off.
As Claude releases him, Ambrose’s head thunks against the tile. His eyes stare at nothing.
I stand frozen, mouth hanging open, shocked at both the sudden violence and that this is real.
It’s over. Ambrose is gone. And Claude…
Claude tries to rise once and falls back onto one knee, his hand clutching at his chest. I strain to break free from the cage of Benjamin’s arm, terrified that there is some wound there I cannot see, but Benjamin murmurs reassurance into my ear, and after a moment to gather himself, Claude manages to stand.
He turns to the crowd, searching until he finds my tear-streaked face.
Then, absurdly, he bows. And, just as absurdly, there is a scattering of applause from the watching vampires.
Benjamin and Sebastian don’t join in. Neither do I. I’m too busy sobbing in relief, held up only by Benjamin’s grip.
“Victory to Lord Claude de Vulpe,” calls the observing vampire, which feels unnecessary. But then nothing else matters, because Benjamin releases me and I run across the room to throw myself into Claude’s arms.
He stumbles back a step before hugging me back, and I loosen my grip, reminding myself that he’s wounded.
“You’re hurt,” I say, frantic. “Should I…?”
“I’m fine.” He pulls me closer, and I can feel him trembling, from exhaustion or adrenaline or both. “Don’t you dare let go.”
I swallow hard and clutch him closer, glad for the excuse to cling to him. “What happens now?”
Claude smiles at me, and then turns to slowly survey the Vulpe Court.
My stomach twists as I realize that they’re all staring at us.
We’re surrounded by a sea of still faces.
It’s difficult to read their expressions; most of them seem shocked by what’s just occurred.
That includes the man who was acting as witness to the duel.
He seems to have dropped Ambrose’s coat at some point; it lies in a velvet heap at his feet.
He clears his throat as Claude’s gaze falls on him, and steps forward. “Congratulations on your victory, Lord Claude,” he says. “It was… well-fought.”
“Why, thank you.” Claude’s smile is sharp, his eyes narrowed.
“As for the matter of your valentine interfering…”
The man—Henry—turns his sharp gaze on me. My stomach drops. Claude’s grip on my shoulders tightens.
“What interference?” Claude asks icily when I find myself unable to respond.
“We all heard her yell for you,” Henry says. “She clearly snapped you out of Lord Ambrose’s command—”
Claude releases me to take a step closer to the other vampire. “If you doubt my ability to win a duel without so-called interference, you are welcome to challenge me yourself.”
Henry stares at him. Claude stares back.
Only the former flinches when there’s movement nearby. A vampire steps away from the crowd, watching the conversation. It takes me a moment to place her as the painter whose exhibit we visited.
Claude casts her a wary look, shifting his stance as if to hide me behind him.
His shoulders brace like he’s preparing to face the whole of the Vulpe Court.
And maybe he is, I realize with a burst of terror.
How many of them were in Ambrose’s palm?
I vividly recall how Elizabeth was reluctant to even speak to Claude at her exhibition.
But the painter—Elizabeth—lifts her chin and fixes her glare on Henry. “Lord Ambrose is gone,” she says. “And there is no one left to enforce his threats. I think you’ll find that many of us are not eager to be pressed down under someone’s heel again, Lord Henry.”
The rest of the room is silent. But when I glance around again, I’m shocked to see that a number of other vampires have stepped forward from the crowd, standing in a small half circle behind Elizabeth, and Claude, and myself, in silent support.
Claude turns to look, too. The shock is plain on his face, and then his features crumple in relief. I reach forward to squeeze his shoulder, silently conveying the same thing these other Vulpe members are saying: You’re not alone anymore.
“I suppose,” Henry says, “your valentine’s actions do not, strictly speaking, go against the letter of the law. And—” He clears his throat. “It’s rather a moot point. I’m willing to overlook it.”
“How generous,” Claude says, the word ending in a hiss around his extended fangs. “And while I am here… I would like to bring up a change to my valentine contract. The removal of a certain clause.”
Henry smiles wanly. I’m certain he would be sweating, if vampires could sweat. “Ah, yes, we can certainly begin discussing it, but I’m afraid it won’t be possible on such short notice, or without Miss Nora’s representative…”
“Lord Benjamin?” I call, and he peels away from the crowd to come to our side. I blink innocently at Henry, smiling. “I believe this gentleman had a question for you.”
“And we have plenty of time to discuss whatever needs be discussed,” Claude says, his hand resting on my lower back. “But quite frankly, sir, I do not intend to leave this building until my valentine and I are free from that godforsaken clause in our contract.”