Revelations, page 2
I had to see Edmond, and Ysanne was the only person who could give me that.
“I told Edmond I would take care of you,” Ludovic said, still watching me.
“You can’t stop me from going to Ysanne.”
He could, but that didn’t stop me saying it. And it didn’t stop him from replying: “I know.”
Turning my back on the two vampires, I walked off to find Ysanne.
I had no idea what I’d do when I did, but I couldn’t leave Edmond like this.
He’d saved me. Now I would save him.
Chapter two
Edmond
Edmond Dantès leaned his head on the stone wall behind him, Renie’s words playing in an endless, savage loop through his mind.
The Belle Morte cells, hidden away so donors and most staff didn’t even know they existed, were a far cry from the luxury of the rest of the mansion. They were stark stone rooms, almost medieval in their austerity, with no furniture and no amenities—nothing to break up the solid stone except for iron rings driven deep into the walls.
Edmond had been in worse prisons—the days he’d spent in the Conciergerie during the French Revolution were among the bleakest of his life—but the Belle Morte cells held one horror that the Conciergerie had not.
He was shackled with silver.
Silver manacles and chains bound his wrists to the rings in the walls, the metal burning through skin and flesh. Blood formed small puddles on either side of his body, and the slightest movement was agony.
He had no idea how long he’d be here.
The door opened and Ysanne walked in. To anyone else, she would have looked like she normally did—the icy Lady of Belle Morte. But Edmond knew her. He could see the way she moved, a little slower than normal, the way she held herself a little too rigidly, and the shadows in her eyes.
The click of her high heels echoed around the stone walls, fading to silence when she paused in front of him.
“Oh, mon garçon d’hiver,” she said quietly. “This isn’t what I wanted for you.”
“I don’t blame you,” Edmond said.
Ysanne took off her shoes and knelt in front of him, her hands folded in her lap. For a long moment neither of them said a word.
“Renie called herself a monster,” said Edmond. “After everything, she still sees us that way. I often thought about how hard it would be to watch her walk out of Belle Morte and never come back. I faced the awful reality of watching her die out there in the snow. But I never thought she’d turn on me.”
“Stop it,” said Ysanne firmly. “Renie is not Charlotte. This is not the same situation.”
Hundreds of years ago, Edmond had confessed his vampire nature to another woman he’d loved. Charlotte’s response had been to declare him a monster and gather a mob to kill him. Her betrayal had left a deep scar on Edmond’s heart.
Ysanne tilted her head slightly, so her blond hair slipped over one shoulder. “I do know how it feels,” she said. “A long time ago, a woman I deeply cared for turned on me in the same way when she found out what I was. But I do not believe that Renie sees you as a monster.”
Edmond managed a half smile that turned into a hiss of pain as his shackled wrists moved slightly. “I never thought I’d see the day that you defended her.”
“I’m not. I’m advising you to let go of the past.”
“What happens to Renie now?”
Ysanne considered it. “I don’t know. That depends on what happens when the Council gets here.”
Edmond tried not to think about the fact that turning Renie illegally wasn’t his only transgression: he’d helped Ysanne hide June, and had helped cover up June’s murder along with Isabeau and, later on, Ludovic. The Council would expect answers from all of them.
“The vampires who attacked the house—they must have been working for Etienne,” he said.
Ysanne’s lips thinned. “That seems the most likely assumption.”
“But why? What was he trying to achieve?”
Ysanne said nothing, her eyes pensive.
Edmond shifted, instinctively reaching for his old friend, then squeezed his eyes shut as a wave of agony rolled over him. Anyone else might not have been able to face what they had done to him, but Ysanne watched every second, without flinching, without apologizing. He knew that it hurt her to know that she was the cause of his suffering, but she wouldn’t shy away from it. She wouldn’t pretend it wasn’t happening.
“For a long time you said that you’d never give your heart to anyone again,” Ysanne said. “What changed? Why is Renie so special?”
“Over the last ten years, more donors have come into Belle Morte than I can remember, and they’ve always treated me the same way: They look at me with awe, wanting to be with me just because I’m a vampire. They try to tempt their way into my bed in the hopes that I will make them immortal. They see me as a novelty, some unattainable prize they want to claim.”
“But not Renie,” Ysanne guessed.
“From the moment she arrived, she refused to be starstruck by me. She was the first human girl in a very long time to treat me like an ordinary person rather than a trophy, and I wasn’t prepared for that.”
Renie had exploded into his life like a wrecking ball, all temper and beauty and defiance, cracking the wall that he’d spent so long building around himself, and his old, wounded heart had started to feel again.
He’d never wanted to fall in love again, but that’s what this was.
He loved Renie.
Much as he’d tried to fight it, he’d given her his heart, one small piece at a time. She owned it—owned every part of him.
And despite Ysanne’s reassurances, Edmond wasn’t convinced that Renie didn’t regret her decision—didn’t blame him for turning her. In his centuries-long life he’d seen and done and suffered so much, but the thought of losing Renie crushed him.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Isabeau?” he asked, trying to focus on something else.
He’d known that Ysanne and Isabeau had been a couple back in the ’60s, but not once in the ten years that they’d all lived in Belle Morte had Ysanne even hinted that she and Isabeau had rekindled their relationship.
Ysanne looked down at her hands. “I didn’t tell anyone.”
“You don’t normally keep things from me.”
“Like you kept Renie from me?”
Edmond shut his eyes against another wave of pain from the silver shackles. “That’s different,” he said. “Renie and I weren’t allowed to be together; we had to keep it secret.”
“A fair point,” Ysanne conceded. “Isabeau and I decided that our relationship should remain a secret because my priority will always be Belle Morte. The House must come first, no matter what, and I can’t be seen to have favorites.”
“Not even when it’s the woman you love?”
A pause.
“Not even then,” Ysanne said.
“It doesn’t have to be like this.”
Ysanne’s smile was small and a little sad. “Yes, it does. If I could get away with favoring the people most important to me, then you wouldn’t be locked up like this.”
“I knew there’d be a price for turning Renie, and I’d pay it a thousand times over.”
“You really love her, don’t you?” Ysanne said, her voice soft.
“More than anything.” Edmond flexed his fingers, feeling the awful burn of the silver chains. “Promise me you’ll keep her safe. Etienne is still out there. We have no idea what he wants, but he’s tried to kill her before, and there’s nothing to suggest he won’t try again.”
“I won’t let anything happen to her,” Ysanne said.
She climbed to her feet, smoothed out her skirt, and slipped her shoes back on. “I should go before the rest of the Council arrives. We have a lot to discuss.”
Edmond should be supporting Renie as she faced the Council; instead, he was stuck down here, chained and helpless. His hands ached with the urge to curl into fists, but that would only make the pain worse.
Ysanne softly kissed Edmond’s forehead, and then walked out of the cells and closed the door behind her, leaving him alone.
Resting his head on the wall again, Edmond closed his eyes and thought of Renie.
Renie
As I stalked out of the north wing, I almost ran into Tamara, a donor who’d arrived at Belle Morte at the same time as me. Her eyes widened, and I wondered how many people knew what had really happened out on the grounds a few nights ago. Knowing Ysanne, she would have kept as much of it under wraps as possible, so I could only imagine the rumors that were flying around.
Tamara’s heartbeat was a hammering noise in my ears, inviting my eyes to the shape of her throat, the veins beneath her skin. I was thirsty, I realized with a jolt of horror. I wanted to bite Tamara and drink her blood.
She shrank back, and I wondered what I looked like to her. Were my eyes shining red? Could she see my fangs? Her heart beat faster, the scent of her blood filling the air, tempting me.
I hurried past her. Would I always feel that temptation around a human, or would the urge to bite fade with time?
At the bottom of the staircase I paused, one hand clutching the banister. The last time I’d come down these stairs Belle Morte had been under attack, and I’d been rushing to the ballroom in a misguided attempt to protect Edmond. But here, in the vestibule, I’d found two bodies: a vampire I hadn’t known, and Abigail, one of the donors. Her blood had been mopped up and the parquet floor was as clean and polished as ever, but I could still see her lying there, her arm hanging from her body by a string of sinew, her eyes staring at the ceiling, frozen wide with shock and terror.
Hot on the heels of that memory came another: Aiden lying at the bottom of the steps in the west wing, his throat ripped open, the monster that had been my sister crouched over him.
Had anyone else died in the attack?
My mind went to Melissa. She’d been June’s friend, and she’d pushed for answers after she’d realized I hadn’t come here to be a donor, but I hadn’t been able to give them to her. She’d also been Aiden’s girlfriend. He’d gone to the west wing to find the truth, and June had killed him for it.
Was Melissa okay?
I looked back up the main staircase. Maybe I should go to her first.
Then I thought of Edmond again. I needed to know what was happening to him. Ysanne had the answers to everything—assuming she was willing to share them.
Her office was the likeliest place to find her, and when I got there, I walked in without knocking. It was empty. I stared around the small room, as cold and remote as Ysanne herself, all dark wallpaper and white carpet and polished black desk. The desk was empty but for a small wooden frame that I’d never seen before. I crept closer and picked it up. It was small enough to fit in the palm of my hand: a framed oil painting of a handsome man with dark hair and olive skin, smiling softly. The style of the artistry, the faded colors, and the battered frame all suggested that this painting was very old, and I quickly put it back down before I did something stupid like drop it.
The door opened behind me and I whipped around.
Ysanne’s eyes went from me to the painting and narrowed. “You shouldn’t be in here without my permission,” she said.
I’d been so angry when I’d left the north wing, but memories of the terrible night that had ended my human life had drained the rage out of me, leaving a bone-deep exhaustion.
“Why are you punishing Edmond for saving my life?” I said.
Ysanne walked across the room, her high heels noiseless in the thick carpet. She picked up the tiny painting, and I thought I glimpsed her thumb gently stroking the frame before she placed it in one of the desk drawers.
“I’m not. I’m punishing him for breaking the rules,” she said.
“Is that how you see the world? As nothing but rules to be upheld?
Isn’t there any room for compassion or humanity?”
“The turning of humans is a serious offense. When the Council created the donor system we agreed that turning new vampires would be an emergency-only situation.”
“It was an emergency. I was dying.”
Ysanne simply looked at me, as frustratingly blank as ever. “To vampires who have lived hundreds of years, and to the balance that exists between us and humans, the life of a single girl is not worth much.”
She placed her hands flat on the desktop and leaned forward. I knew firsthand how powerful those pale, delicate hands really were.
“Humans vastly outnumber vampires, and they could wipe us out if they wanted to. Edmond has broken one of our most important laws and he must be punished, both so the Council sees how seriously I am taking his transgression and so the human world realizes we are not ruled by our baser instincts.”
I wasn’t blind to the reality of this. Humans saw vampires as beautiful, mysterious, and immortal—somehow more than ordinary people. But if the human world caught a glimpse of the dangerous beast that lurked beneath the polished veneer, they might not be so enamored of vampires. And if human favor turned against them, the donor system could disintegrate and the Houses could collapse.
Vampires could be driven back into the shadows.
Even so—“There are exceptions to every rule,” I insisted.
“Perhaps,” Ysanne conceded. “But vampires are predators; we can smell weakness. If I am seen to be weak, allowing my vampires to walk all over me, then others may be tempted to challenge me as Lady of the House.” Her voice turned hard and cold. “I will not allow that to happen. It’s easy for you to walk in here with your self-righteous attitude and your childish view of the world, but there is far more at stake here than you and Edmond.”
My temper sparked but I shoved it back down. I pulled out one of the chairs and sat in front of the desk. Something that could have been surprise flickered in Ysanne’s eyes, then it was gone, quick as a blink. She’d probably expected me to start yelling.
“Explain to me what else is at stake. What did I miss while I was unconscious? Who attacked the mansion?” I hesitated because I didn’t want the answer to my next question, even though I needed to hear it. “How many people died?”
Ysanne regarded me for a moment before taking a seat herself.
“First, I need you to tell me exactly what happened with Etienne and June out in the gardens,” she said.
I cast my mind back to that awful night, when the life I’d known had ended.
“I was trying to stop June from hurting anyone else. Ludovic injured her with a sword and she fled the ballroom, so I went after her. I don’t know what I thought I’d do when I caught up with her, I wasn’t thinking clearly. But when I followed her outside, Etienne was waiting for me.”
That awful moment of betrayal sliced through me again, sharp as a blade, and I put a hand to my chest. The lack of a heartbeat still felt alien to me.
Ysanne quietly waited for me to continue.
“He told me that he was the one who’d killed June.” The words tasted sour.
“Was he also the one who released her the first time you went up to the west wing?”
“Yeah. He said it wasn’t personal, but he couldn’t let me interfere with June. He said he’d turned her because it was necessary, but that he hadn’t meant for her to become rabid, and that he was sorry but I had to die.”
“Anything else?”
I swallowed a knot in my throat. “The last thing he said was that a revolution was coming and the vampire world was going to change.
Does that mean anything to you?”
Ysanne didn’t answer. “In response to your earlier question, we lost three members of security and two members of staff.” She paused, her pale eyes boring into me. “Three other donors were killed: Aiden, Abigail, and Ranesh. You were the only one who was turned.”
I was relieved that Melissa wasn’t among the victims.
“Were there any vampire casualties?” I said.
“Two of Jemima’s entourage that she brought from Nox were killed, along with Rosa,” Ysanne replied.
Rosa had fed from me once, back when I was pretending to be just another donor, but we’d barely exchanged more than a sentence.
“There was also another casualty, from House Midnight,” Ysanne continued.
“Wait, what?” I frowned. “What was someone from Midnight doing here?”
“That’s the big question, and one that will need to be addressed once the Council arrives.”
There was something she wasn’t telling me.
“Who attacked Belle Morte?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” Ysanne’s expression never changed, but there was the faintest hint of frustration in her voice. Ysanne Moreau didn’t like not knowing things.
“But . . . I mean, what House were they from?”
“They weren’t.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Renie, you’re not the only new vampire that the Council is coming to investigate. The vampires that broke into Belle Morte were all newly turned.”
My brain couldn’t quite process that. I wasn’t a Vladdict, and I’d never kept up with all the vampires of the Houses in the UK or Ireland, so I’d simply assumed that the intruders had come from one of those.
“What happened to them?” I asked. Maybe if I had more of the pieces, I could fit them together in the confusion in my head.
“Thirteen were killed that night. The others . . . disappeared.”
“They ran away?”
Ysanne nodded.
“They must have realized what a massive mistake they’d made,” I said.
New vampires were vastly stronger than any human but they couldn’t match the strength of an older vampire. Whoever those vampires were, they’d been outmatched from the moment they’d broken into Belle Morte.
Ysanne tapped one polished nail against her lip, deeper in thought than I’d ever seen her.
“Why do you think these people attacked my house?” she asked.
