The Blood Bride (Blood Secrets) (5 page)

Those factions continued to categorise the vampires as little more than creatures of the devil, sent by him to destroy all that was good, and, as a result, each nest was vigilant in guarding their holdings. Naturally, this had encompassed the use of the witches, and those with the skills of warding, which she knew was the creation of magical barriers ensuring the safety of those within their confines.

In the early days, once they had made their presence known, whole families had been destroyed in fires and physical attacks. Over time, members had endured ostracism and ongoing vilification, on financial and legal entities owned and operated by them. Some nests had fallen, and members had endured harsh and unfair limitations as a result of their known interactions with vampires. Their homes had become sanctuaries from the continued and relentless abuses.

Many nestlings of more powerful families saw their position as a badge of honour. However, Hope couldn’t bring herself to feel the same level of satisfaction many had towards their social status.

It was a known fact that the annual requests for entries to the nests each year far outstripped the positions available, and it was rare for outsiders to be admitted, as each had limited resources. Many members came from families with years of service stretching over decades and some, as in the case of her family, centuries.

Added to that, few ever attained the position of changeling and vampire. The few that were agreed to by the Council were coveted, and every applicant carefully examined before decisions could be taken first by the house, then ratified by the Council members.

She sighed, hating the situation and depressed state of mind she found herself in as she continued down the hall lined with precious antiques and carpets. Everywhere, the scent of the heavy furniture oils and waxes permeated the air, and where previously she would have welcomed the scent, embracing the spirit of familiarity and comfort, now it smothered her. Her mind couldn’t free itself from the implied responsibilities and ties that wound tighter and tighter.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Hope brushed her hair back, took a deep breath and turned left. She headed for the dining salon at the end of the corridor where the heavy doors were closed, as expected. Hope reached a hand out to turn the door handle, when the sound of raised voices filtered through. The unexpected sounds held her still as the angry conversation flowed.

“She is to remain here. The Master was most clear about that.” She could hear her father, firm and satisfied, though muffled by the oak of the doors, and she waited to hear what more was said, even though her heart sank.

“She needs something to do. Otherwise she will dig. If she finds out, then not only she but the rest of the nest could be placed in danger too.” The anxiety in her brother’s voice concerned her—after all what did he know about her that she didn’t? “Your grandchild could be caught up in this, as well as Alexa.” The cadence changed, becoming angry. “If need be, we will move to the gated apartments so I can protect my family.” A loud sound, perhaps a chair being carelessly flung aside, resounded through the door, and she stepped back slightly. Her hair whipped around as she checked both sides, but no one saw her listening at the door. Hope heard steps and her heart rate increased, though thankfully they stopped and in that split second she made a decision. They couldn’t know that she had heard them. But where could she hide? Hope looked around, before the voices started again.

“Damn it, the Master said she must stay here. His word is law. You know that, David. I will discuss the possibility of moving to the apartments if need be, but it is done.”

Time to move
. With that single thought, she willed her feet to move, touching the cold floor with only the balls of her feet, all the while hoping for silence.

The rattle of china clattered through the air, and she slipped back silently, finding the library door open and heading within before almost shutting it, so that just a crack remained open while she sheltered behind it.

A crash came from the direction of the parlour and she winced, realising there was an incredible amount of force in the action. The overwhelming feeling of relief flowed through her. Whoever it was, they hadn’t seen or detected her.

Holding very still where she was sheltered, she spied her brother through the crack. He was tall and athletic. Good-looking, many would say, with dark hair and pale blue eyes. Today the only description that came to mind was angry as he stalked along the hall past the door. The jacket of his grey suit fluttered though there was no breeze in the early summer morning.

She waited.

Anxiety tied her stomach into knots, and her heart thumped wildly.

Hope waited a little longer, breathing as silently as possible, expecting to be caught spying on her own family, a new low she seemed to have sunk to. She castigated herself.

Silence reigned. Eventually, muscles held still started to loosen, and she breathed the first full breath since hearing her father’s angry voice. She moved towards the winged chair the Master, Xavier, had seated himself in last night, and lowered herself into the firm leather. Hope closed her eyes against the ever present sting of tears, which had rarely left her since returning home.

Was that her they discussed? What was the secret they were keeping, and why was it being kept from her? Thoughts raced around her brain, but she had nothing to hold onto. No scrap of information she could use to decode the conversation or derive clues from.

“Being back here is like being in a coffin.” The words were spoken from between clenched teeth. The house was both suffocating and strict, when she wanted to stretch her wings and live.

Tears spilt down her cheeks, burning a path where they dripped, and she dashed the moisture from aching eyes, blinking rapidly to ease the discomfort while she looked in pockets for a handkerchief. Dabbing at her face and blowing her nose gave some slight relief.

Until she knew what was going on, she needed to present herself as if nothing had changed and she had heard nothing, Hope reminded herself, while she rose and moved towards the door. Cracking it open a little wider, she peered out. No one was around. She quickly squeezed through the opening and headed down the hall back to the dining parlour. She knocked, then entered as her mother answered.

Her mother sat at the table with her father and unsurprisingly they were both beautifully attired as befitted their status in a nest. Her father’s black silk suit was immaculate and perfectly tailored as always, fitting him like a glove, teamed with a tasteful blue and white tie. Her mother wore a beautiful day gown of ecru silk and lace, her hair elegantly swept up into a chignon. Over the years, the blonde had become grey then white, but, as in all the years gone by, not a strand of hair sat out of place. A soft white hand raised her beautifully French manicured fingers, showing Hope the seat she was to occupy. Hope smiled, but it was met with a frown from her mother, and she took her place quietly, wondering what her current infraction was.

“Hope, my dear, I hope you are not planning on dressing in that manner today. We will be meeting with Mrs Atkins after breakfast to go through the weekly menus. Alexa will join us for lunch, and then the property managers and the interior decorator will be calling to discuss the new colour schemes for the redeveloped apartments. Eat something substantial, and then you need to change.” The cool words dashed any hope of appealing to her mother for help.

“But I thought I might complete my unpacking…” The words died in her throat, as her mother looked at her, the pale blue eyes her brother had inherited cold as they fell upon her, filled with disappointment.

“You have a position to uphold. It would be wrong if you were not available for the meetings and attired appropriately.” Her mother lifted an elegant teacup to her mouth and sipped before continuing. “Besides, I will send Lisi up to attend to the unpacking and the arrangement of your suite.” Her mother’s voice, carefully modulated nonetheless, held a note of censure and she found herself nodding as she always had. Hadn’t she expected this, though? The half conversation she had overheard indicated she had a place and a role to fill, whether she wanted to accept it or not. “Yes, Mother.”

The clatter of the cutlery at the end of the table drew her attention. “Good morning, Father.” Her words were spoken quietly as she glanced under long lashes at her father.

He nodded, draining the last of his morning tea from the exquisite pale pink and mauve teacup held in his hand. She knew it was an antique, carefully sourced to replace that which had been lost so many years ago. Everything they dined on, sat on or read usually was, she thought with unusual asperity. Sometimes she felt like her life was caught in a time warp. Ten she stopped, drawing herself upright. This wasn’t the time for self-pity or tantrums, she told herself firmly.

Her father rose after replacing the cup on the saucer. “Hope, I look forward to seeing you this evening. The Master has planned a dinner party for your return.” The dismissive words brought her up sharply once more. Yet another time when she was being directed with her life, instead of making her own decisions. She gripped her fingers together, the sting helping her to control her reaction.

With a sharp and incredibly formal bow, he left the room, while she accepted the unspoken rebuke, for her dress and lack of manners, she guessed.

Her stomach churned and boiled, driving away thoughts of food and hunger. Her life had become an empty shell, and that was unbearable. When she turned back to her mother, silently sitting at the table filling a teacup, the feeling of disempowerment grew.

Moments later, Lisi entered the room to ascertain what she wanted for her morning meal, and all Hope could do was mutely shake her head. This was not an auspicious way to start the rest of her life, she decided.

Chapter Two

The black trousers itched, and so did the jacket over the light camisole, as Hope idly listened to the drone of the housekeeper’s voice—the nasal tones teamed with a touch of some southern dialect—while discussions of main meals continued. Elaborate French creations were suggested and discarded, while Hope listened without any real interest, gradually allowing her mind to drift away.

It was too hot to be in a suit, but her mother had insisted she dress appropriately to her requirements, having even gone so far as to shadow her back to the suite and choose something befitting her status. So here she was, marking time, sweating away in a meeting she had no interest in. If the truth had been known, she’d rather have eaten something simple—bolognaise or even salads suited her for evening meals, and the same for lunch. As her mother had taken pains to explain while choosing her clothing, though, they had a reputation to uphold. She should be content that it reached into every aspect of her life. She also reminded Hope that this was the role she was brought up to fulfil.

Mrs Atkins had been with the family since the fire and those events that had changed Hope’s life so dramatically. Not that she remembered very much.

A flash here and there. Sounds and smells came at odd times, each capturing a frame like a camera and shining for an instant, before retreating from her memory.

Swinging her feet back and forth beneath the seat, she watched her mother’s lips move, fingers pointing to meal choices, while Hope considered the boredom that would be her life from this point on, if this meeting was any indication. Indeed, there really was no need for her to be here—the few suggestions she had made had been labelled inappropriate or unsuitable.

She could be going through her boxes upstairs in her suite, or looking for some sort of useful employment, not sitting here listening to the pros and cons of veal chasseur versus Parmesan risotto with green asparagus, Portobello mushrooms and truffle oil.

“What do you think, Hope? Should we consider the crème caramel?” Her mother watched her intently.
Damn,
maybe she had noticed her inattention. Pulling herself back to the matter at hand, she looked again at the sheet. Ah, they were discussing the dessert for the fundraiser to be held in the next couple of weeks, for those affected by Brethren attacks. The end of the meeting was in sight.

“Crème caramel is probably good for wide appeal.” Thinking fast had thankfully been a skill she had learned at college. She glanced at her mother, hoping it would work, but the tight white lines that appeared around her mother’s lips told her it hadn’t been fast enough.

“No, Mrs Atkins, I think we might go with the sorbet in strawberry, green apple and lime flavours. Cooling and refreshing. Much more appropriate than raspberry or pineapple, don’t you think?” Her mother’s words were once more cool.

“As you wish, madam.”

Hope watched as the woman quickly scribbled down the options on the page.

“Mrs Atkins, thank you for your time. We will meet again later in the week, unless there is something else you need?” The unspoken dismissal in her mother’s perfectly modulated voice made her realise she had wasted most of the meeting in the mindless absence of thought. She hoped her mother would not ask too many questions concerning the abortive meeting, otherwise there could be fireworks.

“No, madam. I believe this will be fine. I will send a copy of the completed menus to yourself and Miss Hope once I finish transcribing them. I will also arrange those applications to be handed over to you as they arrive.” She moved her ample bulk, scraping the chair back on the newly polished wood floor.