Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A s the sleek, black sedan crept up a gravel driveway on Monday afternoon, Ronin couldn’t help thinking that the estate’s moniker had been spot on.
Cathedral of Bones, indeed.
Three tapered white turrets pierced the surrounding pines like skeletal fingers, intercut with long, thin windows.
The sedan crunched to a halt beside a stone fountain with a statue of a coiled, striking serpent in the center. To the right was an arched entranceway of towering double doors, above which shone a stained-glass window depicting the High God of Death and Destruction himself.
Stygios glowered down from a throne of writhing serpents, his forked tongue poked out over long, sharp fangs. Nyctima twined through his feet, and the yellow glass of his eyes gleamed, cutting through the overcast haze.
Ronin stepped out of the sedan, a chill wind rustling through his hair. He glanced up toward the far left turret, spying a humanoid-shaped shadow watching their arrival from the window. Ronin shivered as he rounded the trunk to retrieve their bags.
“No need, sir.” A dark-haired human servant bustled down to the car. “The bags will be brought to your room.” He gestured up the stairs, where a regal-looking woman with a tight gray chignon waited. “Mistress Klovia will give you a brief tour of the main house. We hope your stay with us is empowering.”
An odd thing to say, Ronin thought. He inspected the man, searching for any sign of the spells Mattias had assumed the human staff were under. The man looked well-cared for, not sickly or tired. Though there did seem to be a lack of vitality in his eyes.
Mireille took Ronin’s proffered arm, her face carefully neutral as her gaze climbed the ossified towers and stained-glass window.
Mistress Klovia stepped forward to greet them and the white stone doors behind her groaned open, seemingly of their own accord. “Welcome to the Otto estate.” Her voice was low and deep, no hint of a smile as she swept an arm across the threshold. “After you.”
As Mireille and Ronin were swallowed into the gaping maw, his wolf shuddered. This place reeks.
Ronin sniffed the air, smelling nothing but the heady, floral notes of the massive bouquet of pale blue roses sitting atop a round table in the entryway.
Of what? Ronin asked. Roses?
No , his wolf whined.
Death.
Mistress Klovia swept ahead of Mireille and Ronin, her low-heeled shoes clacking on the checkered marble floors. “The first floor contains rooms for social gatherings. You may feel free to use the parlors during your stay. However, there is a strict midnight curfew.”
Ronin glanced into the rooms they passed, each with soaring ceilings and purposefully arranged couches, chairs, and tables around which groups of Fae were gathered. Bubbling laughter and excited conversations echoed, the walls a veritable gallery of paintings and artistic photographs, plus several maps of the continent and its various territories.
In the third room, a line of beautiful humans stood against one wall, the women in gauzy dresses and the men shirtless above linen pants. Beside them, a stack of Delirium bottles glistened atop a black credenza. Ronin’s mouth watered.
The drive to the estate had taken several hours, and he hadn’t had a drop of the substance since before he’d left his apartment this morning.
He paused at the parlor entrance as a Deathstalker female wearing a low-cut turquoise bodysuit approached the humans, stopping before a chiseled blond who didn’t look a day over twenty-five. The man inclined his head, following the Deathstalker to a red settee where she arranged herself in his lap. She sniffed his neck, coasting her sharp purple fingernails down his chest, and he released a groan of such euphoric ecstasy that Ronin’s wolf yipped.
The warm cinnamon scent of the young man’s lust wafted into the hallway as the Deathstalker female began sucking down lungfuls.
Mistress Klovia spoke up. “Refreshments are available here in the northeast parlor, should you require a snack before the opening reception this evening.”
The young man’s groans increased in volume and frequency, and just as he was about to achieve a very obvious climax, the Deathstalker sank her fangs into his throat, and he crumpled into a pile beneath her.
The female stood, wiping a drop of blood from her lip, then winked a serpentine eye at Ronin. Beside him, Mireille went rigid. He’d never seen her take a drop of Delirium; didn’t know what her stance was on fresh emotion feedings either. But given the tension in her body, he guessed she didn’t indulge.
“Please don’t be shy,” Mistress Klovia said. “Master Otto ordered a fresh shipment from the colonies specifically for his honored guests. There’s plenty to go around.” She turned and snapped at another servant, a bulky man standing sentry in the hallway, who hustled into the parlor to clean up the discarded meal. He grasped the blond’s feet and hauled him through a hidden door in the wall before the blood leaking from the bite marks could stain the carpet.
Ronin swallowed. He hadn’t had much contact with humans, not since that bloody battle on the fields of Aethalia. And maybe his sister’s constant defense of the species had started to sink its claws into him after all, because he felt a pang of horror at such a wasteful, pitiful death.
Still, it didn’t take away the unrelenting pull of those bottles of Delirium. His wolf paced and howled within him, just as desperate for a taste as Ronin.
Mireille placed a hand on his chest, and the beast calmed. “Shall we continue on?” She gazed up at him, a question in her silver eyes.
“Y-yes, of course,” he coughed, tearing his gaze away from the room as a Beastrunner male entered and began inspecting the feast against the wall.
“This way.” Mistress Klovia led them up a marble staircase, then paused at the top. “The guest rooms are here in the east wing.”
“What’s in the west wing?” Ronin couldn’t help asking.
“Those are Master Otto’s personal suites. And off-limits to guests.”
Mireille squeezed Ronin’s arm.
Mistress Klovia led them down a hallway lined with black lacquered doors, then stopped at the final one. “Your suite for the duration of your stay. Place your palm against the pad and the room will recognize you. It will open for you and only you while you’re here with us.”
Mireille flattened a palm against the pad, and Ronin did the same. The door swung inward and before they crossed into the room, Mistress Klovia spoke up again. “The opening reception will be held in the greenhouse at seven o’clock. Take the front staircase, then double back. The entrance to the gardens is through the windowed doors and the greenhouse is just to the right. You can’t miss it. The first performance will be held tomorrow morning at sunrise in the gardens.”
“Performance?” Mireille asked.
“You’re in for quite a treat,” Mistress Klovia said, no emotion gracing her slack features. “Master Otto has arranged for a very special guest to sing for you all. Subsequent events will be announced as the week progresses. Breakfast will be delivered to your room promptly at six o’clock. Other than the mandatory performances and dinners, you’re free to roam the estate grounds. The galleries are located just west of the gardens. They are quite legendary and very few have had the privilege of touring them. We hope you will have a chance while you’re here. Have an empowering stay, Mistress Valette, Master Matakos.”
Mistress Klovia offered a subtle nod, then slid down the hall as Ronin and Mireille slipped into their room.
Ronin took a moment to survey the spacious and well-appointed suite, whistling in awe as he approached a wall of windows overlooking the gardens.
Gardens was a generous word this time of year in Kheimos, as there was little greenery poking through the white. But Ronin did spy a rather elaborate hedge maze, topped with fluffy clumps of snow, plus several ice sculptures ringing a flagstone patio. Beyond the gardens, a dense forest of evergreens spanned the entirety of the back yard.
Ronin turned back into the room. A large bed with a white oak frame dominated one half, a fur throw artfully tossed on the end. Opposite the bed, flames danced in the woodless fireplace. Two black leather armchairs with matching ottomans were arranged in front of the mantel and a low marble table between them held—what else—a vase of pale blue roses.
Mireille crossed into the bathroom, an elegant space with a glass-walled shower and a large soaking tub.
A knock sounded at the door, and Ronin opened it. A human servant dropped their bags inside with a bow, then left again.
“Well,” Mireille said, walking to the bed and running a hand along the fur throw, “this is all a bit more luxurious than I expected.”
Ronin snorted. “From a billionaire? What did you think we were gonna walk into? Otto sacrificing virgins in the foyer?”
Mireille huffed a laugh. “Something like that. Mistress Klovia seemed a bit…odd. She didn’t even flinch when that human was killed right in front of her.”
“She seemed just as addled as Mattias warned us they’d be. Brazen of Otto to showcase non-consensual feedings like that.”
“I don’t think he’s particularly concerned about abiding by the Empire’s laws. Besides, trafficking humans is rampant throughout the continent. If Emperor Erabis were actually serious about upholding that stipulation of the Accords, he’d do something about it.” She chewed her lower lip, as if hesitant to ask her next question. “Have you ever…fed from a human?”
“Not like that. Though it was unavoidable during the war. Those battlefields were awash in human fear and anger. Once you get a taste, it’s hard not to crave more. The Delirium helps.” Saying the name of the drink out loud made Ronin desperate to get his hands on one. “Have you?”
Mireille shook her head. “I barely had any contact with other Fae while I was growing up, let alone humans. I tried Delirium once, but hated the way it made me feel. So out of control of my mind and body.” She shuddered. “I don’t know how you stomach the stuff.”
As if I have a fucking choice.
He didn’t throw that at her.
He glanced at the clock on the mantel. “We’ve got about an hour until the party starts. I’m going to go back downstairs and scope out those parlors while you get ready.”
Mireille surveyed him, silver eyes narrowed. As if she could tell the real reason he wanted— needed —to go down there.
But she didn’t say a word as Ronin left the room to feed his addiction.