11. CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
R owan and Casimir stepped into the Black Raven Inn, grateful for its proximity to the Reaper’s castle. Despite the warm ambiance created by the crackling hearth, there was an undeniable chill between them that even the inviting inn couldn’t thaw.
“Something on your mind?” Casimir’s voice cut through the tense silence.
“It might be better if we keep our thoughts to ourselves for the time being.” Rowan could feel the weight of his gaze, heavy with things unsaid, but she refused to meet his eyes for fear of getting lost in their depths.
As they made their way through the crowded interior, Rowan instantly noticed a commanding presence. A towering man with auburn hair loomed by the fireplace, emanating an effortless confidence that seemed to captivate those around him. He wore a fitted doublet made from a rich, deep burgundy satin, with decorative pearl buttons. It was perfectly tailored to his broad frame and exuded wealth without being ostentatious. When his piercing amber eyes locked onto hers, a rush of air escaped her lungs.
“It appears we have some fresh blood,” the man announced with a charming smile, his eyes following her every move with unmistakable attraction.
“Count de Beaumont,” Casimir acknowledged with a curt nod, bristling like a wolf scenting a rival.
“Blackwood,” Count de Beaumont said, his voice as smooth as silk. “And who is this captivating beauty accompanying you?”
Rowan introduced herself, her voice calm despite the fluttering in her stomach .
“My, my, aren’t you enchanting.” He took her hand in his, gently brushing his lips across her knuckles. The contact was brief, but it burned like a brand imprinted upon her skin.
Casimir positioned himself fractionally closer to Rowan. “Watch yourself, Marcus,” he warned, his voice low and lethal.
Marcus’s casual smile never left his noble features. “I’d much rather be watching your lovely companion.”
In that moment of distraction, an intoxicated patron accidentally stumbled into Rowan, jostling her roughly. The drink in the man’s hand sloshed dangerously, threatening to spill onto her dress. Before gravity could claim its prize, Marcus’s hand shot out with preternatural speed, steadying the mug and saving the beer from its fate.
“Reflexes.” Marcus winked. “Just one of the many perks.”
Rowan marveled at the fluidity of his movement—so swift it was nearly a blur. There was no denying the power that thrummed beneath his skin.
“Thank you,” she said, her heart leaping wildly in her chest. “Now I understand how you two are acquainted.”
“Think nothing of it.” Marcus’s gaze remained locked onto hers. “Yes, Blackwood and I have known each other for quite some time. The circles we move in are small for those as well-seasoned as we are,” he added with a self-satisfied smirk.
“Let’s find a table,” Casimir interjected curtly.
Rowan’s tone was icy as she waved a hand dismissively. “You go ahead. I’m perfectly content right here.”
Casimir gruffly walked away, and Rowan turned her attention back to Marcus.
“Well-seasoned?” she said, with a lighthearted sarcasm that belied the shivers erupting all over her skin. “Is that what we’re calling ancient these days?”
Marcus let out a deep, rumbling laugh. “‘Ancient’ is such a harsh term. I prefer ‘experienced.’” His voice dripped with innuendo.
Heat rose to Rowan’s cheeks as a blush betrayed her otherwise composed exterior. She let out a nervous giggle that seemed too loud in the muted hum of the inn. Marcus’s gaze followed the sound, lingering on her lips with unabashed interest.
“Experienced,” she said, trying to regain some semblance of control over the conversation and her own racing pulse. “I suppose that does have a better ring to it.” She deftly changed topics. “Did I hear Casimir call you a count? Does that mean you’re related to King Bertram? ”
“That’s correct.” Marcus leaned in to speak more discreetly. “And yes, King Bertram and I are related, albeit distantly. He’s my cousin, several generations removed.” He seemed to assess her reaction before adding, “However, I’ve been estranged from my relations ever since they allied with the Brotherhood over two centuries ago.”
“Why did the royal family align with them?” Rowan’s voice dropped to a whisper as she anxiously fidgeted with her hands. “I was brought up to believe that the original thirteen members of the Brotherhood were living prophets, able to channel the voice of the Exalted Ones.”
Marcus chuckled, but there was a bitter edge to it as he took a long sip from his mug. “My relations have always had a knack for disguising their greed as divine will and providence.” He folded his arms, causing his doublet to strain across his broad shoulders. “The truth is far less . . . spiritual. King Richard sat on the throne during the Crusade. He was an ambitious man, power-hungry and ruthless. When the Brotherhood approached him, promising to secure his rule and expand his kingdom, he saw an opportunity to amass even more land, power, and wealth.” His gaze hardened. “The Brotherhood was nothing more than a tool to subjugate the people.”
“That’s horrifying.” Rowan’s stomach dropped. The Brotherhood’s teachings had always rung false to her ears, but the truth was even more shocking than she could have ever imagined.
“Indeed.” Marcus inclined his head.
“And what about you?” Rowan narrowed her eyes slightly. “What role do you play in all this?”
“Rest assured, I don’t support their agenda. Hence the reason for my estrangement.”
“That’s good to hear. So, do you consider yourself a rebel count, then?” She lifted a questioning brow.
Marcus chuckled again. “I suppose you could say that.”
“Surely others must know the truth. Why doesn’t anyone do anything about it?”
He sighed heavily, his amber eyes darkening. “The Brotherhood is surprisingly talented at suppressing resistance through fear,” he said simply. “Fear of retribution, fear of change . . . fear of the unknown.”
“But isn’t living in this nightmare worse?” Rowan challenged.
“For some, perhaps.” He shrugged. “But for others, the devil they know is better than the one they don’t. ”
She shook her head slightly. “I think I’d rather take my chances. The truth needs to come out.”
“If you’re curious to learn more about the truth, my castle library houses an entire collection of banned books that the Brotherhood’s ‘purging fires’ missed.” His lips curled into a sly smile. ”Should you wish, I’d be honored to give you a personal viewing.”
Rowan blinked, surprised at the directness of his invitation. His breath caressed her cheek, causing tingling sensations to dance across her skin. “Are you inviting me to your castle?”
Marcus leaned back slightly, allowing his hungry gaze to flicker over her face. “Whenever it pleases you, and for as long as you’re willing to stay.”
Rowan was intrigued by his offer. “I’ll think about it.”
Marcus seemed pleased with her response and gave a small nod. “Take all the time you need.” He cleared his throat before continuing, his expression betraying his curiosity. “I hope I’m not being too forward, but I have to ask—what’s the nature of your relationship with Casimir?”
She took a moment to collect her thoughts before replying. “To give you the full answer, I’d have to share a painful story that I’d rather not revisit.” Her hands grew clammy, and she hastily rubbed them against the fabric of her dress.
“I understand.” He reached out to gently place a large hand on top of her shoulder. His eyes were filled with compassion and understanding, so Rowan opened up a little further.
“To put it briefly, he protected me from a vicious assault, and I’ll forever be indebted to him for his bravery.” As she recalled how they’d first met, her resentment toward Casimir began to fade.
“Fascinating.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Is it really?”
“Don’t get me wrong—Casimir has always had a hero complex, at least for as long as I’ve known him. But I’ve never seen him form a strong attachment with a mortal beyond the initial act of saving them. He’s always been a bit of a lone wolf.”
Rowan let out a bitter laugh, trying to sound light and nonchalant. “Ha! I doubt he sees me as anything more than a nuisance. I would hardly call that a strong attachment.”
Marcus stepped closer, his face mere inches from hers. His voice lowered to a whisper. “If you were mine, I would cherish you like the goddess you are. You would want for nothing. I would worship every inch of your delectable body with my tongue until you scream my name in pleasure. ”
Rowan’s cheeks flamed, and she rubbed her hands down her already smooth dress before letting out another high-pitched giggle. She was enjoying the confidence boost Marcus was giving her after her feelings had been so recently stomped on. But she also felt completely out of her depth.
From across the room, Casimir watched the others’ conversation with a stoic expression that disguised the storm brewing within him. Each flirtatious remark from Marcus, each subtle shift of Rowan’s body toward the other vampire, tightened the coil of possessiveness inside him.
He sipped his whiskey, the burn of the liquid doing little to tame the fire of jealousy building within him. Marcus’s laugh, a sound that seemed designed to charm and disarm, bounced around the room, drawing a smile from Rowan.
Casimir’s hand tightened around his goblet, his knuckles turning white. The glass fractured, a spiderweb of cracks creeping across the surface before it shattered in his hand, shards falling to the floor with a delicate tinkling. He was so lost in his anger that he didn’t feel the cuts on his hand.
The inn’s patrons turned their heads at the sound, but Casimir’s attention was solely fixed on Rowan. The count continued to ensnare her with his aristocratic accent and entrancing gaze. Pushing off from the bar, Casimir moved toward them, his approach announced by a low, primal growl that rumbled from his chest.
Rowan tensed, feeling the shift in the air as Casimir neared. Marcus turned to greet him with a raised eyebrow and a lazy smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Have you come to join our little chat?” he drawled, feigning nonchalance.
You’ve crossed the line, Marcus.” Casimir glowered, focusing on the other vampire with an almost feral intensity. “She’s under my protection.”
Marcus moved forward, power radiating off him as he met Casimir’s unrelenting glare. The amusement vanished from his expression, causing an instinctual warning to flare within Rowan. The two vampires were locked in a silent battle for dominance. The air seemed to crackle with electricity .
It was both thrilling and flattering to have two breathtaking men vying for her attention, but the ownership in Casimir’s voice made her furious. She refused to be treated like anyone’s possession. Especially after what he’d just done with Vivian.
“Enough.” Rowan’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and clear. Both men turned to her, surprise etching their features. “I’m not a bone for dogs to snarl over. And I won’t be treated like one.”
“I don’t think of you that way—” Casimir began, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand, blazing with anger.
“Save it. I’m my own person, capable of making my own decisions.”
“It’s not safe for you to—”
“Stop.” She was practically trembling with fury now. “How dare you assume that you have the right to control my choices? If we are to continue this . . .” She waved her hands wildly in the air between them. “This partnership , then it will be as equals, not as master and servant. But with the way you’ve been acting, Casimir, you’re doing an excellent job of driving me away from you.”
Her words cast a dark shadow over the room. Casimir stared at her, his eyes wide with shock. Marcus, on the other hand, looked more intrigued than ever.
“I’m leaving.” Rowan stormed off to secure rooms for the night.