Chapter Eleven
Slamming the door to the basement, Brenna untied her work apron and set it on the kitchen table where Izzy and Denny were sketching pictures of their house.
“No, Denny. The window goes on the wight side. But you made a pwetty sun.”
“Right side. And pretty.” Brenna enunciated clearly for her.
She didn’t correct Izzy all the time since she didn’t want the sweet girl to have a complex over her speech impediment. So she corrected her gently when all of the children weren’t around. Helena and Beatrice went to fetch lamb and vegetables for the week. The boys went along to help carry supplies back, but also because Brenna gave them extra coin for Ms. Tinsel’s Sweet Shoppe. As usual, Izzy and Denny opted to stay at home close to her.
“Would you two like a slice of apple spice cake? Looks like there’s just enough for the three of us.”
Denny grinned, bobbing his head up and down. He had a weakness for sweets like she did. She’d given the boys a list of sweets to buy, including her favorite, cinnamon sticks.
“Yes, please,” said Izzy, still intent on her drawing, swinging her legs under the table.
Brenna washed her hands, rubbing at the new black smudge still on her thumb, unable to wipe it clean. After cutting the last wedge of cake into three pieces, she watched Brenna and Denny in silence as they finished their drawings. Brenna was leaning back against the sideboard eating her cake when the sound of hooves on the road pulled her attention to the window.
She barely had time to register that it was the large, black stallion Ramiel before its rider dismounted and strode up the walk, his expression blazing with anger. A second later, he was pounding on her door.
Izzy jumped. Denny’s wide eyes shot up in fear. Izzy wasn’t a skittish child, but she was sensitive. Denny was a fearful one. Though no one knew what had happened to his parents, it was evident that it had been traumatic. Brenna’s anger flared when he pounded again. What did the man mean by waltzing up and banging on her door, scaring little Izzy and Denny.
She flung open the door and opened her mouth to let him have a piece of her mind, but he gripped her by the waist and roughly set her aside. She gasped as he marched across the kitchen, not acknowledging her or the children, opened the basement door, and bounded down the steps.
“Oh, dear God.”
She ran after him, knowing it was far too late by the time she set foot on the bottom stair. He stood with both hands on hips, staring down menacingly at her printing press as if it were a viper coiled to strike and he must find a way to dispatch it without being mortally wounded. He scanned the neat stacks of leaflets lining her shelf on the wall, bundled in black ribbons by Helena. When he turned, his dark countenance was lined with black fury. Her breath caught in her throat.
“Woman,” he said so low and cool, a shiver of dread zinged up her spine. “I don’t even know where to start.”
There was no point in denying her traitorous behavior. Would he toss her in his dungeon after what they’d shared in his carriage the night before?
What was she thinking? Their amorous liaison was nothing more than a vampire duke taking what he wanted, feeding for his own pleasure while he tossed up her skirts for extra entertainment. Though that extra entertainment had been the most thrilling sexual experience of her life.
Straightening her posture, she cleared her throat and took the final step down, facing him with all the confidence she could muster.
“How did you discover this?”
He reached inside his long-tailed coat, pulled out a book, then tossed it on top of her fresh printing of leaflets lain out to dry. She needn’t inch closer to read the title, for she easily recognized her father’s brown leather and gilt binding on her book The Perils of Class Society by B. R. Snow.
“Tell me,” he grated, his rage a whip lashing the air. “Tell me that you are not the author of this infamous, dangerous, treasonous, and banned book.”
With calm and poise, one hand gripping the wrist of her other demurely in front of her, she replied, “I cannot. For I am the author of this book.”
He reached for his inside pocket and jerked out a soiled, crumbled leaflet, closed the space between them, and yanked her hand into his, slapping it into her palm. “So I can presume you are the author of this as well.”
With shaking hands, she held and recognized the leaflet she’d circulated last month. The lower quarter had been stained dark purple. She swallowed hard, fairly sure she knew what that stain was. Blood.
“Where did this come from?”
“It was on the girl at the town ball last night, the one whose throat was ripped out because of it.”
“What?” She was truly alarmed now.
“Yes, Miss Snow. The king has sent out vampire huntsmen infected with sanguine furorem in search of the White Lily of the north, the servant to the Black Lily.” He gripped her by her upper arms, demanding her full attention. He had it. “They are after you.” His voice rose like a tidal wave, gaining speed and volume as it thundered toward shore. “To maim and kill with bloody violence, including anyone who might be close to you.”
“Oh, no!” The children. She jerked a glance upstairs. “Please,” she begged urgently. “Can we talk outside, away from the children? Izzy and Denny are already so frightened of everything.”
His death-glare softened and his hard grip loosened, but only from a raging boil to a tempestuous simmer. “Upstairs. Get your cloak. You have one minute.”
She nodded. When he let her go, she rushed upstairs, her whole body shaking. Just as she thought, Izzy and Denny gawked with round eyes as she swept through like her world wasn’t crumbling around her.
“Nothing to worry about, darlings. The duke and I have some business regarding the school to tend to.”
She flitted on through to her room to grab her cloak on the chair where she’d tossed it last night. She stood before the mirror to cinch the loop of the clasp over the button, her fingers trembling uncontrollably. She caught sight of the single puncture mark Friedrich had left behind. She wore her hair down this morning to hide it from the children, though Helena eyed her curiously. She never wore her hair down. The budding young woman knew something was amiss.
The arrogant vampire had left the wound unhealed on purpose, wanting the world to see she’d been marked. She remembered how thoroughly he’d licked her, releasing the healing serum from his saliva. So there was no mistake he’d only healed one of his deep puncture wounds intentionally. The swollen mark was a glaring reminder to anyone who saw it that she’d been with the duke.
But whatever was building between them was past now. He knew her secret, and it was plain that he was furious to have an ally of the resistance in his midst, much less a potential lover. Perhaps he was even angrier because he’d wanted to bed her. Until today. She pulled the lightweight dagger from under her mattress and slipped it from its sheath. The thin line of gold embedded along the sharp blade glinted in the morning light. Sliding it into the pocket of her skirt, she lifted her head high and prepared for the most dangerous encounter of her life with a strong, powerful, enraged vampire duke.
She heard Izzy’s voice—sweet and jovial—as she made her way to the front of the house. What she found nearly knocked her to the floor.
Friedrich sat at the table drawing, Izzy and Denny hovering close on either side of him.
“That’s wemawkable,” said Izzy, using one of her big words and batting her black lashes up at him. The five-year-old was smitten, for heaven’s sake.
“It’s all about studying the lines and form well enough to be able to recreate it,” he was saying.
They were both riveted. It irritated Brenna to no end that he’d successfully wound both of them around his finger in a matter of minutes, the man who planned to imprison her for treason in short order.
“I am ready for our walk, Your Grace.”
He didn’t look up, finishing one last line before setting the charcoal utensil down and standing. “Now, you two try.”
They both instantly set to work on clean parchment.
“I won’t be but a few minutes.”
“All wight,” said Izzy, her blonde head bent over her new work.
The duke was at her side, coiling his fingers around her wrist and dragging her out the door. He may have appeared more docile sitting at her dining room table and wooing the children into his good graces, but she was wrong if she’d thought his ire had diminished.
“Toward the woods,” he commanded.
They took a left outside the front gate, heading toward the tree line behind the house, the edge of Quaking Wood.
“I hope you don’t plan to murder me in the woods.” Her tone was flippant, but her heart was not.
He scoffed. “No. I have other plans for you.”
That only made her pulse pound faster as she chanced a glance up at him. The stern scowl was still fixed, but he unwound his fierce grip, lifted her hand, and placed it through the crook of his arm as if they were merely taking a leisurely stroll.
“Where are your gloves?”
“I forgot them.”
Her surprise visitor had knocked her slightly off-center. Gloves were the least of her worries at the moment.
He enveloped her hand with his own atop his sleeve, his heat radiating into her. She tucked the other into the pocket of her skirt, gripping the hilt of the dagger within, wondering if she’d need to use it.
Their feet crunched in soft hushes on the snow, the wind barely a whisper. The silver-white, rough-barked aspens rose up in slender lines, creating an otherworldly view for travelers of this lane onto Ferriday. The creaking of the trees sounded as if they spoke to each other in the vast stillness.
Friedrich veered her off the path onto unpacked snow. Her feet and ankles were well-protected by her high boots, but she wasn’t so sure it was the snow she needed to fear at the moment. Unable to delay the confrontation anymore, she pulled her arm from his and whirled to face him.
“No need to keep me in suspense, Your Grace,” she clipped out on a huff. “What are your intentions?”
Expression grave, his brow rose as if she’d asked him a humorous question, though he didn’t smile. “My intentions?”
“Yes. For me. What do you intend to do? Turn me in to your uncle? Or the Glass Tower? It’s obvious you despise anyone in league with the revolution or the Black Lily. I want to know what you plan to do with me.”
“You don’t know the first thing about what or who I despise.”
Confused, she started to ask another question, then he was there, his chest pressed against hers, his large hand enveloping her nape under her fall of hair, his other arm beneath her cloak and gripping her hand inside the pocket still wrapped around the hilt.
“What do you plan to do with that dagger, kitten?” His hot breath was white in the cold air.
How did his voice sound so seductive when he was shaking with fury?
“Defend myself,” she replied with strength, despite the fact he had her in a tight, merciless grip.
She was a small human woman. He was a large vampire man. There was no way she could overpower him, but she’d never give up without a fight.
“Defend yourself. Against me?”
“Yes.”
“I am not your enemy, Miss Snow.”
She let out a bitter laugh. “Aren’t you?” She struggled briefly to get out of his arms, proving her point when he held her hard.
“In all that time you were snooping around my castle asking Sylvia questions, you never came to the correct conclusion.”
Her mouth fell ajar. He’d known all along. Of course he did. What a fool she was. “And what conclusion is that?”
“That I’m an ally of the Black Lily. Not an enemy.”
“Ha! You expect me to believe that? The Duke of Winter Hill, nephew to the most notorious, brutal vampire across the land, grandson of King Grindal and Queen Morgrid who enslave us all under their tyrannical rule.”
His blue eyes burned so bright, she knew without a shadow of doubt that she was in the arms of a creature touched with powerful, dreadful magic. He could crush her easily. Snuff out her life in a blink if he so chose. And the way his face hardened at her words, she was afraid he might do just that.
He tumbled her to the ground, manacling her wrists above her head, her back pressed to the cold snow, her front encased by the searing heat of him.
When he spoke, his voice was deep and soft, the same tone he used in seduction, but with a bitter edge. Like a razor slicing so thin and fine you didn’t feel the pain till the fatal cut started to bleed.
“Listen to me, Brennalyn Snow. You know nothing of where I come from. Or who I am. Nothing.”
His lips hovered close, in a brutal line. She feared he meant to bite not kiss her, and not the kind of bite from last night that induced her into languorous ecstasy. The kind that brought pain and death.
“Yes. I am the nephew of the cruel King Dominik, much to my own loathing. Yes, my mother was the unfortunate daughter of the king and queen of Varis. Even worse, she was married to that fucking bastard that was my father. Do not fault me for my birth, Miss Snow. It speaks of discrimination and prejudice that is unbecoming of you.”
“I didn’t mean. I—”
His mouth was on hers, a ruthless, hard kiss, punishing her for all the wrongs in her head. And somehow, she welcomed his vicious attack, his tongue invading her mouth with heat and aggression and seductive violence. She moaned and tried to move her hands, wanting to grab him and pull him closer, not to get away. He tightened his hold on her wrists and pressed his body harder, letting her know every part of him was ready for invasion of her body. Heaven help her, she was ready to toss up her skirts right then and let him take her.
She whimpered when one of his sharpened fangs pricked her tongue. He eased up on the pressure of her mouth, sucking her tongue more gently. Breaking the kiss, his breaths ragged like hers, he spoke with unbelievable calm.
“I am a close nephew of the former Prince Marius who fled with the peasant woman and resistance leader of the Black Lily. They now build their army for the war that is to come. And I am helping them in their cause. Your cause. My cause.”
She couldn’t find the words as she reeled from his painful, crushing kiss and the sincere confession of this life-threatening secret.
“My kitten is speechless.” For the first time since he’d stormed into her home, his mouth ticked up on one side into a half smile. “That is something new.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I wasn’t sure you weren’t working for my uncle. He’s set spies on me before. That’s why I got rid of my Legionnaires. They were crawling with men he paid to watch me.”
“But why? Why would he suspect you?”
“We can talk of that later.” He swept a gentle, airy kiss across her lips, a slow sweep of his tongue. Then he lifted onto his feet, pulling her with him. “Right now, we have other problems.”
“The huntsmen,” she whispered, staring back in the direction of the house.
“Yes, the huntsmen. I’m going to send my guard to your house within the hour. Pack whatever you aim to keep and leave it at the door. The children as well. I’ll send the Bloodguard to fetch them in secret. You are all going to live with me at Winter Hill.”
“What?”
“But first, we must burn your house and make a show of it for the people of Terrington.”
“Burn my house! Are you out of your mind?”
He cupped her face, bringing her close, speaking softly as if to a child. “Hear me now, Brennalyn. The only reason I didn’t know you were the White Lily before today is because I foolishly thought the smell of ink and parchment on you was because you were a schoolteacher. When I read your lofty manifesto in that damned book declaring to the world that the vampire empire was a flawed dictatorship, I recognized the similar turn of phrase and writing that you put in your White Lily leaflets. We have many things to discuss. For now, just understand that those huntsmen have the scent of you, lingering and faint, but it is on those leaflets. Vampires infected with sanguine furorem, which the queen is purposefully infecting, have acute senses, especially smell. They are essentially bloodhounds, seeking your scent across the land. They will find the trail, which will lead them to that house with the printing press in the basement. You and your orphans are in dire danger.”
She closed her eyes, the tears that had welled during his long speech spilled down her cheeks. She’d fought her cause, thinking it was only her life that she risked. If something happened to the children because of her, she’d be lost.
“Shhh.” He swept the tears away with his thumbs and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. “You are fortunate it was me who discovered your secret first. I will protect you. And your children.”
She opened her eyes, seeing the sincerity of his promise. She’d vowed never to trust another man again with anything close to her heart. And yet she couldn’t help but nod and sigh with relief that he was willing to take her in along with seven children that were not his own. Elliott would never have done such a thing.
With a deep breath, she said, “First, we must burn my house.”
His smile was soft and a little sad. “That’s my girl.”