Chapter Six
That certainly hadn’t gone as planned. Friedrich stared out his study window as the sun slipped beyond the horizon, burnishing the white-washed landscape in a fiery haze. He’d intended to put Miss Snow at ease with tea in his mother’s parlor, lure her with refinement and refreshments into trusting him, so she might trust him with the truth about her involvement with the Black Lily. Then she’d gone and said she’d wanted his bite out of feminine curiosity. Whether it was a lie mattered not. She’d conjured the image of her body pliant and pleasured beneath his own and that was enough to call his beast to the forefront.
It had shocked him as much as her. Well, perhaps not as much as it did her. But the uncontrollable urge to claim her on the spot, press her against the wall, hike up her skirts, and impale her with cock and fangs was maddening and torturous.
Fortunately for them both, she’d put him out of his misery and succumbed to his kiss. If one could call it that. Her pliant body bending into his had calmed the beast from ripping through his chest to take what it thought was rightfully his.
He twisted his signet ring in agitation, a nervous tic, fearing that the brutal madness and bloodlust that had controlled his grandfather had finally caught up to him and might be taking hold. He couldn’t expose her to the darkness that flowed in his blood, the violence of the vampire that dwelled in his lineage. Like his sickening excuse for an uncle. He willed away the image of him feeding his two huntsmen with the blood madness right here in his castle.
Friedrich wanted Brennalyn Snow. But he needed to keep his distance for now, to get his primal urges under control. For there was something about the black-haired beauty that stirred his blood to a fever pitch.
As he watched the carriage return from delivering her home, a cold bitterness bloomed in his gut for the dark nature he’d inherited. Mikhail trotted behind on his mount then maneuvered ahead as they neared the palace gates.
“I have a letter for you.”
He turned to find Grant striding toward him, a grave expression marking his brow. Grant had been gone for three days on his errand to the southern tip of the dukedom to meet the courier of the Black Lily.
“From Marius?”
Grant gave a tight nod.
Friedrich noted the letter stamped with the family’s imperial V in black wax. They didn’t use names in their missives anymore in case they were intercepted. The imperial seal was the only tell that it was truly Marius. Other than the fact that he knew his bold hand. He wasted no time in breaking the seal and opening the letter. It began without the proper greeting, as expected.
The efforts of recruiting were highly successful. The Black Lily grows by the day. Thank you for sending the replenishment of supplies. We are trying not to use our cache of gold for trade since we need it for weaponry. Your contribution hasn’t gone unappreciated. I promise you. Preparations are being made to return to the mainland soon.
Disturbing news about Kellswater and the others. I heard firsthand from our mutual friend that this may bode ill for us all. Send word as soon as you have a location for those disappearing. You know where.
Regarding the other matter, we haven’t heard of a northern faction working independently for us, though my wife is more than pleased to hear that others are rising to the cause. If you discover who is behind the propaganda, this White Lily, ask him to print more for distribution to the east and west. If we are to defeat the crown and unite a new kingdom, we need more than foot soldiers and warriors. His words inspire. Inspiration sways hearts. Courageous hearts win wars.
Till we meet again, dear friend. Blood of my blood.
There was a stamp of the flourishing symbol of the Black Lily at the bottom rather than a signature of his name.
Friedrich’s heart clenched at the intimacy of the letter toward the end. He and Marius had been friends as well as kin. But not overly close. It wasn’t until this egregious business with Marius’s mother, Queen Morgrid, began that Friedrich understood he had to make a choice. Stand with the crown—the queen and his uncle Dominik, who reminded him too much of his father and grandfather—or commit treason by joining his exiled uncle, the former Prince of Varis.
The bloody trail of carnage his father and grandfather had left behind still haunted him. Yes, he was vampire. But that didn’t mean he must be a monster. His people were in his care. To brutalize and enslave them, subjects who depended upon him for protection and security, would transform him into what he hated most—a man like those he was sired from.
And while it would be safer if he’d abandoned Winter Hill and joined the Black Lily at the training camp of Cutters Cove, just as Marius had implored him to do, he could give them better intelligence regarding their enemy if he remained in place. Though more dangerous, he still believed his role as the seemingly loyal duke of Winter Hill was vital to the cause. For now.
He scanned the letter once more then stepped over to the fire and tossed it onto a burning log, watching as the sides curled in with flame.
“Do they know of the White Lily then?” asked Grant.
“No. They haven’t heard of him. But they urge us to seek his identity. His talents would be helpful for more than the north.” He rubbed his chin in thought. “Not only that, but my uncle has his damned huntsmen on the loose. We must find the White Lily before they do. Captain Mikhail has his men scouting the area should any of these huntsmen show up here.”
The steady stride of footsteps drawing closer made them both stop abruptly. Grant put some formal distance between them as no one in the castle knew, except perhaps the butler who’d been in the household for ages, that Grant was more than a servant.
Mikhail entered with a tight bow. “She is safely home, Your Grace. Is there anything else you might need for the evening?”
Grant and Mikhail exchanged wary glances. Friedrich realized he hadn’t apprised Grant of bringing Mikhail into his confidence.
“Mikhail, you know my valet, Grant.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Grant, Mikhail is more than captain of my guard. When you were gone, we learned of our mutual dislike for the current dealings of the crown.”
“I see,” said Grant, nodding to the man with more respect.
And that was all that needed to be said aloud.
“Mikhail, you said you are originally from the east, did you not?”
“Aye. From Korinth. As are many of the Bloodguard.”
Friedrich smiled. He’d done as much digging as he could on Brennalyn Snow. After Grant’s report of her local life, he’d investigated with his manager Henley, who’d hired her, finding only that she was from Korinth, had no family to speak of, and had impeccable references for the position of schoolteacher.
“I wonder if you might have contacts to discover Miss Snow’s history. My manager seems to have a blank page beyond her time here in Terrington. And little else other than a few basics.”
“Of course, Your Grace. Do you suspect something amiss?” The captain’s brow bunched together, as if he couldn’t believe anything ill of the lovely schoolteacher. Who would? But he needed more information than she was apparently willing to give.
Grant snorted. “If anything is amiss, it’s with His Grace’s interest in the dark-haired beauty.”
“Shut up, Grant.”
Mikhail’s face paled. If he didn’t know Grant was more than his valet before, he did now. No servant would speak with such insolence to the duke. And it wasn’t in Friedrich’s nature to be so curt with the servants.
“Ignore him,” said Friedrich with a wave of the hand. “But I do want to know where she came from. What of her father? Anything you can discover. She didn’t simply spring out of the ground,” he said, turning toward the window as light snowflakes began to fall.
Though, when her sweet face and form came to mind, he thought she could easily have been born of another world. Like a moon faerie of palest skin and reddest lips, seducing him with a flicker of her dark eyes, summoning him to his own death if she so beckoned. He scoffed, for if she crooked her finger and led him off a cliff, he was quite sure he would willingly follow.
Did he have the blood madness? No. Sanguine furorem urged vampires to maim and kill with the boiling of the disease through their veins. Like those huntsmen killed their fellow sailor, the lure of the blood more than they could withstand. Friedrich didn’t want to harm a hair on her head or put a scratch on her skin. Perhaps he wasn’t being entirely truthful with himself. He did want to mark her skin. With his fangs and his teeth, he wanted to make her fair skin pink and flushed with his attentions. But only in pleasure.
He should stay far, far away from Miss Brennalyn Snow. She was dangerous to his sanity and perhaps his well-being. He’d never been called to a woman’s body, to her blood, as he was to her. It would be better to return to more frivolous delights—a sweet peach of a maiden from town who didn’t set his skin on fire when she walked into a room.
But it was far too late for that.
The Terrington ball couldn’t come soon enough.