Chapter 3

The car glided down the drive of Crofton Hall. Black, sleek, and unexpected, it might have been intimidating if it weren’t for the tacky yet obvious bat embossed across the Mercedes bonnet ornament. It was too early for Ben to be awake enough to deal with the Vampire Council sending a car, the sun had still to set and he wasn’t completely recovered from the fourteen-shot virgin blood pina colada he’d had the night before. Robin’s fault—it was always Robin’s fault.

Charles had said they should be called within a few days, but he’d been thinking they’d send word and he’d be hightailing it across the country with Charles. Not that he’d be collected, nor that he’d be on his own, but Charles was still in London.

“Ben?”

He turned to see his sired sister. “Yes, Catlin.”

“Are you ready?”

He smiled, aiming for reassuring and charming. “I was sired ready.”

“It’s just really important and you’ve only been on the periphery of Council business up until now.”

He had to stop himself from baring his fangs. He knew the importance of the situation, he didn’t need reminding by one of his sired siblings who hadn’t made the grade. He would conduct himself as needed. “I do know. The Council has called and I will answer and take the family seat as Charles has decreed.”

“But, Ben?—”

“We can’t change it. I was as surprised as you that Charles had decided to step away already, but I’ve been the Dark Viscount of Crofton for the allotted minimum of five years, so we do as we must.”

He loved her dearly, but she couldn’t understand. She had proclaimed herself relieved not to have been assigned as Charles’s replacement despite her potential, as she was more capable than many gave her credit for, and she had supported him over Harry when the final choice had been made. That didn’t mean there weren’t rumours about whether the right Redbourn sibling had been chosen, but Charles had never mentioned Harry was ever in the running. There were days when he’d been asked to help on various Council working groups when he wished he’d not been so competent ensuring Harry looked the poorer choice.

“Were you expecting them to collect you today?” she asked.

“Not exactly.”

She worried her bottom lip. “What if?—”

“They were planning to call for a new meeting, and while they don’t usually collect the Council members by car, this isn’t an everyday event. It could be a sign of respect that I’m about to take my seat.” He didn’t believe it for a second, the Council were making a point, what exactly that point was he wasn’t sure, but he was happy to have the free ride.

He had hoped Marchent would’ve been able to have given him a heads up they were going ahead this evening, then he might not have hit the town so hard the night before, although Robin was heading back to LA, so it might not have changed the outcome. The Council proceedings were overseen by the Invigilators and Niall Niven had been a secretive bastard for the last four hundred years so he wasn’t about to change his habits any time soon.

Billins, the hall’s butler, floated in through the wood-panelling. Ben wished he’d at least make the effort to use the doors, even though doors had ceased to be of use since he’d been made discorporate in a fire in the 1820s. He left a residue that irked Karl to no end, but he was too set in his ways to change. Maybe it was down to him being preserved in his spiritual form in all his splendid finest, thanks to his mortal self having succumbed to smoke inhalation and not the flames. He’d failed to move on and Charles had kept him as head of staff even if Karl did most of the heavy lifting these days and the maids, who were in the main good-natured but giggly sprites, didn’t cause trouble with a demon, but a ghost had been a different matter.

“My lord,” Billins said in his low, rasping voice. “A car has arrived for you. The driver said you have until nightfall—he will wait.”

Ben checked the grandfather clock, the dial and face enchanted to tell the time left until sunset. He had less than an hour.

“Then I had better get ready.”

“Would you like Karl to pack you a bag, my lord?”

“Yes, let’s assume I’ll be gone a couple of days. There are events to mark the succession that can go over a number of nights that I’d be eager to participate in, so he’s to include my usual comforts. And he can lay out my special Armani and I will change directly.”

He wanted to look his best, one way or another he was going to be at the centre of the Vampire Council’s attention.

“Very good, my lord,” said Billins, and disappeared into thin air.

Catlin chewed the skin to the side of her perfectly manicured red thumbnail. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No.” He kissed her cheek. “You know I will do the family and our sire, and our Head of House proud—the Hewel line is secure with me.”

“I’ll let Harry know as well. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

His little brother had allies who had said he should have been the next dark earl, not Ben, ones who weren’t shy about vocalising the matter. “He probably already knows.”

“Ben, you can’t possibly think he won’t support you in this.”

They’d never been the closest of siblings, and that wouldn’t change any time soon. He laughed humourlessly as he left the room. “Put it this way,” he called back to Catlin. “I lock up the stakes when he’s home, and the vials of emergency holy water are in a safe box to which I, Karl, and Alex have the only keys.”

Ben headed to his rooms. Part of him wanted to make the Council wait but he knew better than to antagonise those with the power to cause him trouble. He knew his rights. Legally, he had been the earl-in-waiting for five years, the Council seat was his to take whether he wanted it now or not, and tonight should be a formality. But he also knew it was dangerous to make assumptions when it came to these bastards, and if he wanted things to go his way, then he needed to be prepared. That was why he’d put plans in place, all he could do was hope he’d been right.

Karl had left out his formalwear, the Council had exacting standards, but that was fine because so did he, and his tailor was one of the best this side of the French Revolution. He dressed, taking great care that everything was perfect, selecting the cufflinks Charles had given him when he was told he had been selected to be the next Dark Earl. They were custom-made from the finest platinum, and he would wear the Crofton earldom crest with pride.

His cape from this season’s Armani After Dark range was the perfect accompaniment. Pity only Billins was there to see the full impact as he descended the stairs.

“Your bag, my lord.” The leather holdall levitated a few inches off the ground along with two separate suit bags on either side. “Karl has ensured you have enough for a few days.”

“Thank you, Billins. I’ll summon Karl in the usual way if I sense an extended visit. Dealings with the Council have the reputation of never being concise or streamlined—best to be prepared for the long haul.”

He’d been happy to be kept on the edge of acceptance for five years, the rules governing the succession were strict and the Invigilators unbending. As Charles’s nominated successor, he was acknowledged as being important, but not important enough to attend the meetings of the main Council, and instead had been expected to help with some of the array of sub-committees and think tanks created by a bunch of under-employed, over-privileged immortals with nothing better to do. They’d not all been bad and he’d joined the odd strategy meeting on new ways to improve blood preservation or diversity and inclusion initiatives, as they’d not been too time-consuming and had allowed him to do more interesting things.

Now he would have no choice but to play nice with the main Council, but at least he was lucky the House of Hewel consisted of three families that could stand each other. More than that, he could trust Whetford and Marchent to have his back as he learnt the ropes if it came to it, unlike the House of Devereaux where the infighting was constant. Although that in itself could be used to his advantage.

The sun had set as he left the hall—he could tolerate some daylight unlike many of his fellow vampires, but it was safer not to take the risk. Without anyone getting out of the car, the boot lifted and his bags floated away and were stored safely. Next, the back door swung open and he took his seat.

He’d not expected the driver to acknowledge him so he wasn’t disappointed when he didn’t. His phone buzzed in his pocket, he fished it out, he would make use of it now while he could, as once inside the castle modern technology didn’t work—the wards and spells dampening the signal so even the most powerful warlocks would have trouble accessing the world in the modern way.

Marchent:I’ve been called, so has Whetford. Niven will also be present.

Crofton: Niall Niven will be present?

Marchent: Yes.

Niall was the head of the Invigilators, Senior Warlock and a man who made human Mafia bosses look like pussy cats; he was old, maybe as old as the four original Heads of House, and was not someone who could be crossed, bought or bargained with. Ben should have considered that angle more carefully.

Crofton: Should I be worried?

Marchent:I don’t think so, it would be worse if he wasn’t here because you are taking your seat and it would be a sign he didn’t think you were important enough to bother with. Are you travelling with Charles?

Crofton:No, they sent a car to the hall.

He’d been friends with Marcus Winter, the Duke of Marchent, for as long as he could remember. His memories before being turned weren’t the sharpest. Over a hundred years of friendship had seen the world evolving around them, yet in their microcosm nothing had changed, even after they had celebrated Marchent ascending to the dukedom when his sire had retired. Although Kieran Winters hadn’t sprung it on Marcus so, apart from Marcus being less available for their nights on the town due to Council business, the difference had barely registered.

Marchent:Keep your wits about you but don’t overthink this. All will be well you’ll see. Charles stepping down seems to have blindsided a couple of people and not everyone handles change well.

Crofton:I’m one of them.

Marchent:Ha! Twat.

If Marcus had been worried he’d have called not texted, and would have been the first to tell him if he had a concern about how things would play out. It was a good sign.

A bottle of a French 24 had been left for him, a favourite vintage. While he preferred his blood fresh, the bottled variety had its merits and the range the Council had to offer was wider than usually available at the clubs unless he put in a special request. He helped himself to a glass, it was tangy with an undercurrent that he was sure was more Parisian than Bordeaux.

He’d brought a few estate papers to work on, not wanting to waste time or to let his mind wander into unhelpful places, and he ploughed through them—even vampires had to make sure the admin was done. He’d cultivated his reputation, a vampire who indulged his pleasures as he wished, had no desire to find his so-called Eternal now or any time soon, and enjoyed the spoils his position afforded him. That did not mean he shirked his duty to the Crofton estate, he might have been at the beck and call of officials on the edges of the Vampire Council but he’d been helping with the business side of the earldom for decades.

The car entered the forest, an unmappable area that had been the home of the Council since its inception, the land gifted from the House of Langley, whereas the castle had been built from the funds of the other three houses, making everything fair. Ben had been here many times, at least twice a year since Charles had proclaimed him viscount five years ago, and he was already on the lookout for the faces in the trees that would mark the ever-changing entrance to the access road.

A shimmer passed over the car, like a sheer blanket being drawn across them, and the castle appeared ahead. He didn’t remember much of his childhood, but he did recollect he’d had a recurring dream about a castle, this castle, even though he had no memory of visiting before Charles had brought him here. When he’d mentioned it he’d received a knowing smile but no further explanation, and he was still none the wiser.

The drawbridge lowered as they approached, and torches burst into life, marking the path, shadows dancing across the stone walls of the castle. Ben didn’t understand the need for it, as far as he was concerned the use of spellwork was ridiculous when they ruled without magic, and it was just another arcane tradition that could have been done away with years ago. Maybe his reticence about joining the Council was because he was too modern. Although, while he had the utmost respect for tradition, that didn’t mean new ways weren’t valid, and surely a nice set of spotlights would be more economical.

They stopped in front of the entrance arch and the car door opened. He got out and wished he could still take a long steadying breath but instead he had to make do with drawing himself to his full height. He was Benjamin Redbourn, the Dark Viscount of Crofton, soon to be earl if Charles got his way, not some snivelling pup who could be cowed by party tricks and mouldering masonry.

A spectre of a young woman appeared before him. “Lord Crofton, you are awaited.”

Lady Lydia Swan, a casualty of a rather exciting ball who had refused to move on and as such the Council had offered her something to do. “Lady Swan, as beautiful as ever.”

“I will escort you to the Council Chamber, your first time I believe. Don’t worry, you’re safe with me.”

Ben suspected she’d been a lot of fun when she’d been alive, and he wasn’t averse to the idea of ghost sex, so if a little celebratory or comfort manifesting was on the cards for later, he wouldn’t say no.

She floated ahead and he swept along the stone passageways after her. He’d not been in this part of the castle before, his dealings hadn’t involved admission to the inner sanctum. There were several twists and turns designed to confuse before they stopped in front of a pair of sturdy wooden doors where the executive security team were positioned.

“Enjoy your meeting, my lord.” Lady Swan blew him a kiss and the doors opened.

Ben strode into the circular room. The twelve men and women, three representatives from each of the four houses, seated at the round table, turned to stare as he arrived. Charles was positioned between Marchent and Whetford, where Ben would soon be seated, sandwiched by the duke and viscount of the House of Hewel. The other families were represented, even the Dark Earl of MacLove was present. Ben had never met him in person, even when he’d been confirmed as viscount, and who, based on what Charles had told him, hadn’t attended for years. Perhaps this had not been his best idea after all… but it was too late to put the genie back in the lamp, and he’d need to stick to the plan.

The thirteenth attendee stepped out of the shadows. Niall Niven, dressed in a modern suit, the only nod to his position a silver pin on his lapel in the shape of a flowering iris. “Lord Crofton. Welcome, the Council has much to discuss.”

Another chair was brought out. Ben had expected Charles to move, as he was meant to be giving up his seat, but instead this was an additional chair placed away from the other members of his House. This was looking very promising.

“If you would be so kind to take this chair for now,” Niall said, and while he had said it nicely, it was a direct order.

Marchent stood. “The House of Hewel speaks as one and moves to welcome Lord Benjamin Redbourn as the 3rd Dark Earl of Crofton.”

Niall smiled, a crooked grimace rather than with any warmth. “Well, Your Grace, that is one of the many things to be discussed this evening.”