Chapter 15 #2
“Gentlemen, you see Haven here is my newest project,” Henri says as he runs his white gloved hand along my arm that links us.
“She used to live in the poorest part of the city. Sickening, really. But I felt like a rare and delicate flower such as she deserved much better than what she had been given.” That same hand travels across my shoulder, and a finger traces the line of my jaw before lifting my chin.
“I took her in as my own and gave her everything she could ever want.”
The urge to snap my teeth at that finger is overwhelming, so I set my jaw instead.
The shorter man in long black robes mutters something in Spanish, which receives a disapproving look from the lord with reddish hair and strange colored eyes. Instead of chastising the other, the red-haired man says, “You have become a saint, Henri.”
Henri waves that idea away, but a grin escapes. “It’s a small good deed. Besides, I think she has given me a great deal in return.”
I jerk my arm, unable to stand his touch on me any longer. To my surprise, he lets me go.
“Still, sometimes she can be extremely ungrateful.” He throws his head back and laughs so loudly, it soars above the swell of the music. The others join in.
As a servant approaches Henri with a tray of glasses and a wine bottle in a bucket of ice, I shrink away from the group.
I can’t take any more of their judgmental eyes or the laughter at my expense.
As I backpedal away, I watch Henri take the bottle and pop the cork with little effort.
He doesn’t turn as he pours glasses for himself and the three men, still chuckling.
My chest clenches as I casually stride across the dance floor, my eyes locked with Avrum’s. I want to run to him, but it’ll be too conspicuous.
“How are you?” he asks, when I finally reach him.
“He speaks about me as if I am a work of charity,” I grunt and glance over my shoulder. The vampires are too wrapped up in their jokes and merriment to notice I’m gone. Or care. “To them, I’m helpless creature that he saved from a fated death.”
Avrum shakes his head.
“I don’t know about you, but I am ready to leave. No, I need to leave. Lysander—” When I glance around Avrum, I notice the blond vampire leaning against one of the frosted windows, guarded closely by Keagan. That’s not good.
Avrum leans closer to me, his voice lowering to just a feathery whisper. “Lysander is being closely watched. He won’t be much help to us now.”
I can’t stop the fear tumbling inside me. Why do our chances feel like they’re already unraveling? “Emma is supposed to be waiting for me at the back door soon. I have to meet her there.”
When he glances Henri’s way again, he quickly says, “Smile.”
“What?”
He chuckles a bit, but it sounds false and too mechanical. “Keep smiling. We have to look like we are enjoying ourselves to not cause suspicion. Now, smile.”
Smiling is the last thing I want to do at the moment, but I stretch my lips and let out a short giggle to sell their ruse. It sounds a bit insane to my own ears, but hopefully it’s enough to convince the others.
“Do you have your sword?” Avrum mouths to me. “Malcolm hasn’t arrived yet, but Henri assures us it will be soon. I want you out of here before he comes. I think he may be the biggest threat to us, and I cannot risk—”
The ballroom doors swing open then, cutting him off abruptly. I jerk back and collide with Avrum with my heart hammering against my ribs.
A boy stands there, a child. He can’t have more than twelve years to him, but his pale skin glows unnaturally. His eyes shine. Although young and small, it’s clear this boy isn’t human at all. Not anymore.
A child vampire? What a cruel and horrifying thing to do someone so young.
He glides past me without a glance, his black eyes focused on Henri, and Henri alone.
When I glance at Avrum, his face matches my own in disbelief and revulsion. Is this the vampire we’ve been waiting for? Is this Malcolm?
“Is it…?” I start to ask, but his quick shake of his head stops me.
“Not him, but close to him.”
As I look over to the boy as he crosses the room, what I see has acid turning in my gut.
Vicious scars crawl up the boy’s boney shoulder to his neck.
They shine red, blue, and purple, the pattern reminding me of wild ivy vines from the way they cross and interlace over each other.
It’s clear it’s been done on purpose. Someone’s scarred this child. Branded him.
“How did this boy get in here?” Henri demands. The Spanish man laughs, as if he knows something the others do not, and from the twitch of Henri’s lips it’s obvious he isn’t amused.
When Keagan hurries to stop he boy, he easily zigzags of his reach and strides over to Henri. He doesn’t bow when he approaches, which only seems to enrage Henri more, but when Keagan reaches to seize him, Henri holds up a hand to stop him.
“Who are you?” Henri cuts him with a piercing glare. The boy doesn’t answer, but when Henri sees the jagged marks on his shoulder, he straightens immediately, realizing the child is connected to Malcolm. “Where is your master?”
Instead of responding, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a sealed letter. With a growl, Henri snatches it from him, rips the paper in one quick swipe, and reads.
Avrum touches my hand.
As Henri’s eyes flicker across the words, his face drains of all emotion. Slowly, he lowers it and stares at the young man in front of him.
“He’s not coming?” he mutters, his hands shaking. The boy nods, turns quickly, and walks out, pushing past the guards. Henri doesn’t even look up, no longer concerned about him. “He’s not coming.”
“Who’s not coming, Henri?” the Viking-looking guest asks.
The trembling of his hands grows, traveling up his arms and down his spine until his entire frame is convulsing with anger. His eyes flash fully black, his thin lips curl back to expose pointed teeth, and blue veins pop out of his translucent skin as the rage builds and builds.
“He’s not coming.” His voice rises until he’s shouting it. The band stops playing their music, and his fury booms against the sudden silence. “He’s not coming! He’s not coming!”
Keagan tries to move closer, but Henri whirls on him, grabbing him by the arms and tossing him across the room as if he was no heavier than the letter he had ripped open. His skull slams against the marble wall with an audible crack, and he collapses, blood pooling within seconds.
I yelp as Avrum spins me around and seizes me roughly by the arms. His wide, panic-filled eyes have my pulse racing in an instant.
“Go!” He pushes me toward the doors. “You need to go now!”
I don’t hesitate. There’s a crash and more frantic shouting, but I don’t dare turn around.
I rush through the ballroom doors as fast as I can, terror driving me now.
Emma stands at the end of the hall, waiting for me, with the satchel over her shoulder.
Booms and crashes sound behind me. Glass shatters, and she waves for me to hurry up, holding the door to the courtyard open.
I take a second to reach into my skirts and pull out the sword. Just in case. It feels strange in my hand, but I hold on tight. I just pray I won’t have to use it.
Avrum
I’m frozen, watching Haven disappear through the doors. Lysander is already by my side, saying something in French that sounds very much like a curse.
“After the loss of Lady Caroline Beatrum, Henri’s new focus became getting revenge on Malcolm the Divine. It seems it still hasn’t left him,” he says.
Henri continues to shout and grab anything within his reach to hurl across the room. Plates crash against the marble. Tapestries are ripped from their poles.
He’s completely lost his mind.
The room stands still around him, unsure how to react to his deranged outbursts. We all watch in silent horror, except for Alessandro, who’s bent over, holding his stomach, and laughing so hard that only a wheezes escape.
I don’t know how he could think this is funny. To me, it’s absolutely horrifying. Henri’s come undone. Or is this another part of the monster who’s been hiding underneath the mask of perfection all along? The one I’d never seen before?
Lysander tsks while shaking his head. “At least Alessandro seems to be enjoying himself,” he says.
With one swipe of Henri’s arm across the head table, more wineglasses and dinnerware shatter all over the floor. Food flies across the room.
“We have to get to Haven,” I tell Lysander, and start to head for the doors. He stays close behind.
“And we need to hurry. Keagan is waking.”
He’s right. At that moment, Keagan rises from the floor, his bashed skull reforming as it heals rapidly.
Suddenly, Henri whips around in a circling, searching for something but not finding it. When his black eyes fall on me, he stops hollering, his face transforming again. Then he says the one word that makes my heart stop beating.
“Haven!”
“We have to go,” Lysander rushes, grabbing my arm and tugging me toward the doors. “Now!”
Everyone’s gazes search the room for the woman in lace and pearls, including Henri, but she’s nowhere to be found.
Throwing his head back, Henri roars. “Find her! Bring her to me!”
Keagan stumbles past us, his sword out of its sheath.
Pulling out my own weapon, I hurry after him, with Lysander on my heels. The ballroom doors clatter shut behind us.
We can’t let him get to Haven. If he does, all his lost.
Lysander must be thinking the same thing because he leaps in front of Keagan, blocking the hallway where Haven’s scent is the strongest, and forcing him to halt.
“Something tells me you aren’t following me to find the bitch and bring her back,” he snarls, his lips translucent from the loss of blood. He glances at me and my sword.
“Leave her be, Keagan,” I say, hoping my rank as Henri’s second will be enough to stop any further struggle between them. “We will find Haven and bring her back to Henri.”