She snorted, lining her perfume bottles up in order of size. ‘Stop being so melodramatic. She’ll be fine.’
‘Lyla, she needs Fabian like she needs air. He stops her going mad in this place. By all means, get Fabian. But if you snatch him away from her, who is going to win her around to turning? You are putting the whole Kingdom at risk. Remember that.’
She froze for a moment, before straightening up and turning to face me.
‘You say that, Kaspar James Vladimir Eztli Varn.’ I scowled at her use of my full name. ‘But what about what you are doing? What about how you risk everything? You’re heir, but you’re the one who brought her here. You’re the one who tries to force himself on her. And Fabian will kill her with his bloody kindness. If he’d never invited her to the ball, she never would have been attacked. You two are the ones putting her in danger and if anything happens to her, you know what Michael Lee will do.’ She raised her hand to her neck and made a slicing motion.
I rolled my eyes at her melodrama. ‘Come on, like he will have enough men to actually get to us.’
She had turned back to her desk, downing the rest of her customary vodka and blood. ‘With slayers? Rogues?’
I shook it off. ‘This isn’t the point. The point is you’re not going to humiliate me or Violet by telling anyone that I took her blood. Neither are you going to stop Fabian from going near her.’
‘Aren’t I?’ she challenged.
I folded my arms carefully across my chest. ‘You could if you wanted, but if you do, I will tell father that you lost your virginity to a rogue when you were fourteen. Seem fair?’
She gasped as her mouth fell open, her eyes tingeing pink ‘How do you know that?’
‘Met the guy. Now do we have a deal, darling big sister?’ Grudgingly, she held out her hand and shook mine, the anger clear in her strong grip.
I left, feeling like a hypocrite the whole time. Because in truth, I was sure I was just as angry about the pair of them kissing as Lyla was. At least my sister can put a finger on why.
THIRTY-SIX
Violet
The temperature had noticeably dropped in the month after Ilta’s death. In fact, as far as being kidnapped by vampires goes, things were pretty normal. Lyla apologized (I don’t know what Kaspar had said, but it must have been good) and dropped her threat. Fabian cooled off and didn’t try anything again, although it was still awkward to be around him as I tried to figure out what on Earth I had felt whilst kissing him. And Kaspar? Kaspar stayed away.
I changed into a pair of trousers and a jumper, knowing after the experience of the last few nights that sealing myself between the many layers of sheets on the bed didn’t provide much warmth.
With a groan, I dragged the curtains across the windows, shutting out the worsening weather – the whole mansion smelt damp and I was sure it was going to rain. Again. Never known a year like it, I thought. We haven’t had a single hot spell, and now it’s basically winter.
I curled beneath the sheets, keeping as still as I could so the air would form its own warm blanket around me. Why can’t they just light the fires? Or get bloody central heating? But neither the warmth nor the cold could shelter me from the approaching dream.
The stench of death drifted through the air, not even disguised by the rotting damp in the valley that night. His feet sank into the ground with an unsatisfying squelch, soaking the hem of his cloak. Not that he cared. He had more pressing matters to attend to, such as how the damp masked every scent. Why could the hunters not pick a dry night?
Tonight, he was a true rogue. A feral smile appeared as he held onto that thread of thought. It was so liberating. Unrestrained by laws, morals and commitments, free to hunt when one liked, free to associate with whom one liked, free to enter Varnley and Romania; there were many, many benefits of relinquishing civility.
But something always held him back. To lose one’s civility was to lose one’s dignity. Many of the rogues still remaining in the country had taken to the forest of Varnley, seeking the seclusion and isolation it brought, as well as the obvious advantage of the bustling hunting ground of London being less than an hour’s run away. But to live amongst the animals, as an animal was, well, drastic.
He paused as something caught his gaze, this evening as sharp as a knife from the fresh blood he had just allowed himself to indulge upon. Perhaps a few hundred yards in front of him was a dark shadow, three in fact, hovering about the border to the estate. Throwing the hood of his cloak about his dripping hair, he continued on with caution.
As he approached, he could hear hushed whispers, so softly spoken he could only make out every other sentence.
‘Giles, remember we need the rogues … if you want any chance of cocking a leg over this Lee bitch, then you’ll shut up!’
His lips curled below his fangs in disgust at their crudeness, but he didn’t lose focus, tugging his hood tighter, ensuring his face was cast into shadow and reached into an inner pocket, producing a letter sealed with the rogues’ wax stamp.
‘Good evening, my friends.’ Startled, the three slayers reached into their own coats and he caught a glimpse of something silver and glinting. He rolled his eyes. ‘Put your stakes away, I am no foe.’
‘Then state your name and business, vampire,’ the middle man demanded, stepping forward until he teetered on the border. He did not withdraw his hand from his coat.
‘My name is of no consequence. My business is why you are standing here; I was sent in place of Finnian and Aleix, as they are indisposed.’ Yes, he indisposed of them yesterday, especially once he learned of this meeting they had planned. He walked forward, careful to keep his gaze averted slightly downward so his hood would not slip and handed the slayer the seal. The slayer allowed his gaze to flick downwards, before it bounced back up and then down again. Seeming satisfied, he placed the letter into his pocket, his hand withdrawing from his long coat.
‘Why has this meeting been requested, rogue? We have nothing of importance to share.’
He backed away a few spaces, allowing his elbow to rest on a nearby tree. He had little concern that they could overpower him, but he certainly didn’t want a premature fight breaking out.
‘Quite sure about that, slayer?’
‘Of course we are sure!’
The second man stepped forward, his accent considerably thicker than the accent of the first man. ‘Romania is a long way from Varnley, no? And yet we have come all this way to hear you ask for information we do not have.’