Chapter 3 #2
Hating when he used a logical argument, Emma reached for the thermos.
Food and rest. If she couldn’t have the latter, the former would have to do.
Silence lapsed between them again, and this time she let it be.
Every mile closer to New York brought her that much closer to the unknown—maybe even her death.
Adrian pulled in front of their destination around a quarter to eleven. Five levels of gorgeous limestone mansion stretched above them. The building was located in prime real estate a block away from Central Park.
Emma clenched and relaxed her hands over and over, staring straight ahead. “What happens now?”
“We let the attendant park our vehicle and we head inside to change. The council is all about pomp and ceremony, so they won’t expect us to meet them until we’re presentable.”
“Presentable. Black tie, right?”
“It’s what they prefer, yes.”
A stroke of intuition and a few tips from Angie had led to Emma packing her best evening dress. She hoped it would be enough. She followed Adrian’s lead and left the car without their bags to head inside the magnificent residence.
“Our things?”
“Will be brought to us by the staff,” he whispered as they approached the doorman. The mortal let them inside without question.
The foyer struck her as beautiful but cold, lacking the lived-in warmth of Belleridge. Another attendant led them upstairs and separated them into adjacent rooms. This, he told her, was also typical and nothing to be alarmed over.
Just the same, she quaked after her shower and stood for several minutes in front of the steamy bathroom mirror, terrified of what was to come. What good was her best dress if they only intended to stake her inside it?
When she’d finished applying a flawless layer of makeup and had wound her hair into an intricate chignon, she pulled on a body-hugging, strapless gown sewn from black silk and champagne-colored lace. After stepping into her heels, she met her assigned counsel in the hall.
Adrian wore a tux, and it took her a moment to fully catch her breath after the sight of him stole it away. The perfect fit. The perfect everything. With his tailored suit and dark auburn hair slicked back from his face, he looked like an actor auditioning for the role of the next James Bond.
Of course, she had always been smitten with Adrian from the first time she saw him despite his aloof demeanor toward anyone below him in rank.
She didn’t know his height, but she was sure he had to be at least six feet and four inches, because in her heels he still towered above her.
Then there were those huge shoulders, so wide above his broad chest and trim waist.
There were no hints of softness in his face aside from the long, cinnamon lashes framing his silver eyes.
The rest of his features could have been carved from granite, or maybe even chiseled by an artist shaping marble.
He was such a genuinely gorgeous man she’d sometimes wondered how many female vampires threw themselves at him and failed to accomplish what she’d done without any effort.
Feeling sexier by the moment, Emma dragged all her confidence to the surface. Now was her time to shine in front of the Council of Elders.
“About time,” Adrian muttered.
And he doused her arousal with cold water in under five seconds. Nice. A new record for him.
Then he offered an arm like an old-fashioned gentleman.
Her interest surged anew, on the precipice between irritation and wanting to whisper to him that she hadn’t worn panties.
Damn him. She erred on the side of caution and went with the former, putting on a stoic game face as he escorted her down to the second floor and into the council chambers.
Like much of the rest of the manor, it resembled a museum exhibit, with priceless works of art displayed on the wood-paneled walls. Famous oil paintings hung beside beautiful watercolors, and marble busts occupied illuminated pedestals.
An ornate chandelier hung in the center of the room. The bulbs had been crafted to resemble flames, each one appearing handmade from blown glass in swirling shades of gold and orange. Emma would bet her life that the crystals hanging from the frame were real diamonds.
Her heels clicked over the marble floor, and her head swam from a sudden rush of anxiety. She’d never faced the council, not once in sixty years of vampiric life.
Nine beings of timeless elegance observed their entrance. Vampires older than her—older than Adrian—assessed her with cold and calculating eyes.
Judging eyes.
Each of them sat on a throne, a line of them positioned on a high dais covered in a scarlet rug. Rumors claimed they had chosen red because it didn’t show the blood of the vampires executed in their court.
Emma suppressed a shudder, warmed only by Adrian’s presence, and stepped forward to dip into a low curtsy. He bowed beside her.
In photographs, the nine appeared to be a distinguished collection of old-world vampire nobility.
In person, they were terrifying, with pale eyes in varying shades across the spectrum, from glacial blue to liquid silver so fair she hardly saw any color at all.
They numbered four women and five men of differing ethnicity, some white as linen, others brown-skinned and touched by gold.
Like their choice of a New York home, the nine exuded wealth, wearing sophisticated evening dresses and tuxedos. They sparkled with precious jewels of varying colors, gemstones decorating their ears, fingers, and throats.
One of them, an enormous, muscled fellow who resembled every depiction of a Greco-Roman soldier she’d ever seen in movies or art, sat in the middle of the group.
Julius. Some of the rumors floating around their society claimed he was Caesar himself, not dead but remade after his murder.
He carried a Roman gladius and a terrifying reputation for using it on vampires found guilty in their court.
Her heart didn’t just slam in her chest—it tried to burst through and leave.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the council, I present to you Adept Emmaleigh Whittaker of Dartmouth. It is with great honor that she and I accept your invitation,” Adrian said.
Invitation? She’d been ordered, but if he wanted to spin it that way, she wasn’t going to argue.
Adrian squeezed her hand before releasing her and taking a single step back. Did he hear her thoughts or did he—no, if he could hear her thoughts, he would have told her. He would have owned up to that, because if Adrian Kennedy was anything, he was honest.
“Do you know why you are here, child?” the brunette woman to Julius’s left spoke first. Emma recognized Chancellor Clarice at once from descriptions. The Florentine woman was known for her generosity and kindness, as well as her jealousy toward anyone who looked too long at her husband.
“My departure from Rosenhaven is in question, Chancellor,” Emma replied.
“Indeed, but we are also curious about the attack against you.”
The cruel, hard gaze of Chancellor Aasiyah, once the bride of an Egyptian pharaoh, settled on Emma without warmth or kindness. “These issues seem to occur frequently around you, Adept Whittaker.”
“I’m not quite sure I follow.” Emmaleigh clenched her fists at her sides. “I would hardly say three odd events in my six decades is a frequent trend.”
Following Adrian’s advice, Emma raised her chin and stared defiantly at the crotchety old vampire without blinking. She had to show strength and persevere through their inquiries.
An enormous black man stroked his dark goatee.
“Perhaps it is not the quantity but the profound significance of these occurrences,” Chancellor Mordecai murmured, his voice as deep as the noise created by two tumbling boulders.
“How strange that you, as a newborn neophyte, were able to control your thirst and discover an elder within hours of your turning.”
“Even stranger the circumstances of her request to leave Rosenhaven,” Chancellor Julius said. “How peculiar that, a year later, the entire coven should be condemned.”
“I had nothing to do with that.”
“What made you request the transfer?” Clarice asked.
“Rosenhaven wasn’t the same place it used to be. I wasn’t comfortable there,” Emma replied.
“You’ll have to elaborate. Why were you uncomfortable? What did Margot do prior to corrupting the coven? Were you aware of her strange schemes?” Aasiyah asked.
“No!” Emma shouted it at first, then heat and blood rushed to her cheeks.
Still, she refused to lower her eyes, and repeated in a gentler voice, “No, I did not realize what she meant to do, but I was afraid of her and…” She had no choice.
She’d have to confess the truth to them about the odd gift that had followed her for the past sixty years.
“I had a bad feeling, a sense that told me to leave, to get out.”
“A hunch,” rumbled one of the quieter vampires. She searched the recesses of her memory for the blond giant’s name. Berengar. His enormous fists looked like they struck harder than Thor’s hammer, and his piercing stare made her uncomfortable. He undressed her with his eyes and made her skin crawl.
Emma resisted the urge to rub her palms against her dress. “It’s more than that. It’s a deep, gut-churning feeling I get sometimes, warning me of something bad coming. I experienced it the day Francis passed the coven to Margot, and again right before the hunters attacked me last night.”
The council members exchanged quiet glances and silent nods, intuitive looks alluding to a mental conversation she and Adrian weren’t privileged to hear.
“I believe your sire has passed a great talent to you, Emmaleigh,” Clarice said, matronly and warm, her voice the gentlest of the powerful nine. “The gift of precognition and foresight.”