Chapter 27

Chapter 27

FEY

“ Y ou don’t have to do this,” Alastair said, looking down at Fey as they stood on the doorstep to his family home. The double doors loomed before them, made of wood so dark it was almost black.

In all her years serving the Crown, all her years of living in the Eternal City, Fey had never set foot in the Vampire district. Few ever had, outside of their own Faction. The Vampires were notoriously secluded, separating their district from the others with tall black iron gates.

She had heard stories of the deSanguine estate, of course—the place all Vampires who lived in the city called home. Every Witch in the realm had heard the stories. But seeing it was another matter entirely. And even the most outrageous stories fell woefully short of the real thing.

The Vampire district took up almost a full quarter of the city, nestled in the southeastern tip and bordering the river that separated the city from the second octant. The towering black mansion that housed the deSanguine family took up the vast majority of that space. Fey's entire neighborhood could have fit inside that building. And there were other mansions, scattered on the grounds, built in clusters. They must house the other Vampire families, Fey suspected .

"I mean it, Witchling. Especially with what an ass I’ve been tonight. We can turn around and go home right now.”

“I know, Alastair,” she answered, trying to keep the bite from her voice. He wasn’t off her shit list, not yet. “You’ve only mentioned that about a hundred times already.”

Alastair flinched and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I just mean that you shouldn’t feel obligated to have anything to do with my family. They’re my bullshit, not yours. Loving me doesn’t mean you have to put up with them.”

“And what about your brother?” Fey asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Alastair smirked. “My little brother is the only one I’m excited to introduce you to,” he said. “He’s the only one worth knowing out of all of them.”

Fey nodded. “I want to meet him, Alastair. He means a lot to you. I want to get to know that part of your life.” She sighed. “You said you wanted me— all of me. And I want to know all of you. Even the bad.”

“Okay.” Alastair let out a long breath. “Okay, then.”

Satisfied, Fey raised her hand to knock, but the door clicked before she’d even touched it, swinging inward, as though beckoning them inside.

The interior hall of the deSanguine manse was even more opulent than the palace. Fey’s eyes widened in wonder as she took it all in—the ornate patterned rugs, the heavy rosewood furniture. Paintings hung from every wall, nestled between lit candelabras that supplied the hallway’s only illumination. There was so much to look at, so much demanding her attention. It was overwhelming.

“Master Alastair,” came a clipped voice.

Fey jumped. A man stood just inside the door, head bowed, in a crisp black uniform lined in white. He was old, his skin paper thin and sagging with age. His voice was crisp, with just a hint of an accent Fey couldn’t place. An accent she was sure she’d never heard before in her life.

“And Mistress Fey,” the man continued. He kept his eyes down as he addressed them, as though speaking to their shins. “I will take your coats, if you wish? ”

Alastair was already shrugging off his suit jacket, the sleeves marred from Jasper’s claws, and handing it to the strange man, who took it and folded it over his arm in a swift practiced motion.

“I don’t have a coat,” Fey told the man. She didn’t get the sense he was a Vampire, but… she couldn’t place his Faction at all. He was… nothing. A husk.

“Of course,” the man said, inclining his head, addressing her feet instead. “Your bag, then?”

She didn’t have one of those, either. Suddenly, she wished she’d brought her blades, just to give him something to shut him up. Two steps inside, and she already felt out of place, already felt like an imposition in this crowded opulent space.

“She’s fine, Winston,” Alastair insisted. He placed a hand on Fey’s lower back, and instantly her body relaxed, just as it had at the club. It’s okay, that touch told her. We’re okay. And I’m yours. “Do you know where my brother is? We’re running a little late, and?—”

“No, you’re not running a little late,” came an amused voice from a doorway to their left. “You are running very late.”

Fey turned, watching as someone familiar walked into the room. Her heart skipped. Alastair stood with her, his hand pressed to the small of her back, and yet… Alastair walked into the hallway from that room. A near-perfect replica of the man she loved.

Behind her, Alastair—her Alastair—ran a hand through his hair.

“Fey, this is my little brother, Callum,” he said, gesturing to the man approaching them. “Callum, this is Fey.”

Little brother. That’s how Alastair had always referred to Callum. Somehow, Fey had forgotten that their Faction aged so differently. She had expected a kid, maybe a teenager.

Not the tall, elegant male who stepped forward to take her hand.

“Fey,” Callum said with a kind smile. He put her hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles. “It’s such a delight to meet you. I’m only sorry my brother hasn’t brought you to meet us sooner.”

They could be twins , Fey thought, as Callum rose to stand before her. They looked nearly identical.

Except… there were differences, weren’t there? Now that she looked closely. Now that he had stepped closer to the light .

Callum was shorter by a fraction of an inch. Slimmer, too, in the shoulders. And his hair was a softer shade of black, more of a dark brown, and worn in a different style, long in the front and cut shorter in the back. It fell around his face in soft waves.

Their eyes were where all similarities ended, though. Callum had the same golden eyes as his brother, but they were… soft and friendly. Kind. That anger, that barely restrained violence in Alastair’s eyes, was completely missing in his brother’s.

“You are even more beautiful than my brother said,” Callum told her, still holding her hand.

Fey couldn’t help the blush that rose to her cheeks, no more than she could help the smile she offered him in return.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were flirting with me, Callum,” she teased.

Hand still on the small of her back, Alastair laughed. “Don’t let his attention get to your head, Witchling. You’re not his type.”

“True,” Callum said, his eyes sparkling. “But who knows? Maybe I could always make an exception for the right woman.” He winked at her.

“Alright, back off,” Alastair warned him, stepping forward. Callum threw back his head and laughed, a sound so full of joy it brought a smile to Fey’s face immediately.

“Forgive me, Fey, I can’t help it,” Callum told her. He let go of her hand and took her elbow instead, guiding her down the hallway and away from the strange man that still stood there, holding Alastair’s jacket. “I’m a shameless flirt. Please, come and sit. Let me pour you a drink.”

He led them to a sitting room, with a long velvet green couch and matching armchairs. He didn’t let go of her until he brought her to the couch himself, guiding her to sit.

“Wine?” he asked, crossing the room to a small bar and pulling out a glass for her. “Or we have liquor, if you would prefer? I could mix you something—anything you’d like.”

“Wine is fine,” Fey told him, watching as Callum selected a bottle.

“Ah, this is a good one,” he told her, eyes skimming over the faded label. “Over five hundred years old. Grown over the mountains past the eighth octant.”

Fey laughed, not sure if he was teasing her or not. “There’s nothing past the eighth octant but wastelands,” she said.

“True,” Callum said, pouring a generous glass of wine from the bottle. “But five hundred years ago there was. And the grapes they grew there were delicious.”

Alastair joined him at the bar, smirking, and reached for a bottle of scotch. Callum’s hand shot out, rapping his brother on the knuckles.

“Oh no, none for you, yet,” Callum chided. “Father wants to talk to you. Before dinner.”

Alastair bared his fangs. Slapping Callum’s hand away, he grabbed the bottle and a glass and poured himself a drink, anyway.

“We don’t have anything to talk about,” Alastair said, filling his glass with whiskey.

“Don’t tell me that,” Callum shot back at him. He plucked the wineglasses from the bar and approached the couch, holding one out for Fey. “Tell him that.”

She took the wine from him with a smile, and Callum sat next to her, knees angled toward her, but with plenty of space between the two of them.

“Fuck. Fine,” Alastair said. He drank the whiskey in one go, setting the empty glass back on the bar. “Fey, I leave you in my brother’s capable hands. Callum? No more fucking flirting.”

Callum chuckled, holding his hand up in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t dream of it, brother.”

Alastair scowled at him, crossing the room so he could give Fey a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he murmured to her. The closeness of him, the feel of his lips on her skin, made her body purr like a contented cat. The memory of his touch earlier was still fresh on her skin.

Then he was gone, and it was just her and Callum, and the most delicious glass of wine Fey had ever tasted.

“What did he mean?” Fey asked, taking another sip of wine and glancing at Callum over the rim of her glass. “About me not being your type?”

It was a personal question, perhaps too personal for their first conversation together. But Callum answered it with a quick, genuine smile.

“Let’s just say you lack the prerequisite parts.” When she raised an eyebrow, he laughed. “I like men, Fey. And only men. Which makes me one of the few males in this realm I bet my brother feels comfortable leaving you alone with.”

An image of Jasper immediately jumped into Fey’s head, and she blushed, taking another sip of her wine to hide it. It might surprise Callum to learn just how comfortable his brother was with other men.

“So,” Callum said, leaning forward and taking her empty hand in his. It was a loving gesture and done so completely without artifice that it brought a warm feeling to her chest. “I’ve been absolutely dying to meet you, Fey. I want to know all about you. Please, tell me about yourself.”

Fey shrugged, looking down at the wine in her glass. “Not much to tell, really,” she told him.

Callum raised his eyebrows. “Oh?” he said in a sarcastic tone. “I can’t imagine that’s true, love. Aren’t you the same Witch who brought down the Crown? The same Witch your Faction is trying to make queen?”

Fey made a face at that, mouth twisting in disgust.

Callum cocked his head to the side, watching her face intently. “Oh, that’s certainly a reaction. Interesting. I take it you don’t appreciate those trying to make you queen?”

“I just think they’re wrong,” Fey told him. She took her hand from his and pushed her hair back behind her ear. “I don’t think the Goddess gave me these powers to be queen.”

“Oh? So why did she give you these powers?”

“To be her vengeance,” Fey said, unthinking.

Callum sat back, watching her. “Interesting,” he said again.

Fey shrugged. She hadn’t thought about it, since the thought had occurred to her earlier that day, but it felt true. She had been the Queen’s Blade, and was, in part, a sword delivered by the Goddess. She was destruction, not creation. And no one needed a destroyer on the throne.

“I just think I’m better at killing than I am at leading,” Fey told him, and it felt good to say it aloud, to be honest with someone she had barely met.

“I don’t doubt it,” Callum told her, and the way he said it didn’t make her feel like he was judging her at all.

“It’s funny,” Fey said with a smile. “The way Alastair talks about you… I didn’t expect…”

“Didn’t expect what?” Callum asked, smirking. “Didn’t expect me to be quite so handsome? So charming?”

Fey laughed. “No, I mean… you’re so similar, much more than I expected. But at the same time, you’re like night and day.”

Callum’s smile turned slightly sad. He looked down at the wineglass in his hand, swirling it. “I lack his brooding nature, I think you mean.”

“A little,” she admitted with a laugh.

Callum settled further back against the couch. “That’s Delilah’s doing. Our sister,” he added quickly, answering Fey’s question before she could even ask. “I was just a child when she died, but Alastair… she meant the world to him, you know? I think it broke a part of him when she died. And I don’t know if that’s something that he can ever heal from.”

“Alastair never talks about her,” Fey admitted.

“I don’t doubt it,” Callum said, running a hand through his hair. “He’s not exactly the paragon of an emotionally available male, my brother. He’s better at bottling it up until it eats away at him like a poison.”

“Tell me about it,” Fey said, rolling her eyes.

Callum laughed.

“But I’d love to hear about her,” she assured him.

“Where do I even begin? She was powerful, I’m sure he’s told you that at least. She would have been the first female head of this family if she was still here. The first female deSanguine. We’re traditionally patriarchal, as I’m sure you already know, but she broke the mold when she came into her power. There wasn’t a single Vampire from any of the families who would have even considered standing in her way. ”

The silence that followed his words was heavy. “What happened to her?” Fey asked, finally.

Callum sighed sadly. “She overdosed. She’d been… going down that path for a while. It caused a rift between the two of them—Alastair and Delilah, the first rift of what would be many. After she started using, he did everything he could to stop her. To help her.”

He took a long drink of his wine.

“She liked to get her blood from users and get high that way. Said it was like smoking cigarettes with a filter,” Callum said with a smirk. “We didn’t even know she’d started using on her own until after… Well. Until after it was too late.”

“I’m so sorry,” Fey said, putting her hand on Callum’s.

“Thanks,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. “But, like I said, I was just a kid. I barely remember her, so for me it’s like… like she’s this ghost haunting our home, you know? This specter of death and loss that lives in every room here and in everyone’s minds. A ghost everyone can see but me.”

Fey nodded.

“Her death hit Alastair hard, though. They were so close when they were young, practically inseparable. When she died, it just about broke him. And he blamed our father, of course. He left the estate within the week and never looked back…”

Fey frowned, brows drawn together in confusion. “I don’t understand. Why would he blame your father for it?”

Callum winced. “Where do you think she got the drugs, Fey?”