Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

BLOOD MOON

‘E melia, the silver garland, please.'

My mother is at the top of a ladder. She could get someone else to do this, of course, but it's important to her to get every detail right. The great Halloween tree stretches to the ceiling of the main foyer, twisted branches devoid of leaves, blackened with age. It's been in our family for centuries, once a living tree upon the estate. Now it lives again each Halloween, garlanded with lights and sparkling streamers, cloudy cobwebs and glittering jet spiders.

I rummage in the chest on the table next to me. ‘Here.' I reach up, but I'm not quite tall enough.

‘Let me, my lady.' Kyle takes it from me, his hand lingering slightly longer than it should, then hands it to my mother. My fingers tingle, my breath shorter.

‘Thank you,' she says. ‘And some of those red moons, I think, Emelia.'

I pick several little red glass globes hanging from silver thread, delicate as bubbles. They're a symbol of the Red Rising, our great triumph, when the four great vampire families worked together to take over the world in a single night. Destroying all power sources, overthrowing governments, decimating armies. I hand the globes to my mother who suspends them, carefully, from a cluster of slender branches. I pick up another, staring at it as I remember what Kyle said, about what Halloween means to humans. And how he felt, pressed against me in the costume room, how we almost?—

‘Emelia?' My mother frowns down at me. ‘Are you all right? You've been distracted all evening.'

I usually love this time of year. My mother insists on me helping her with the final Halloween decorations, making sure each of the guest rooms are prepared, the hallways garlanded, carved and gilded skulls placed in alcoves, tiny twinkling pale lights strung through the trees outside. When I was younger, Halloween meant waking to piles of silk-wrapped presents, soft with velvet bows, and being allowed to attend the ball my parents hold every year, inviting friends and family from across the realm. It still holds magic, the long night of ghosts and costumes, a sense of the history of our kind.

But this year all I can think about is dancing and Kyle; I'm trying to remember how much he infuriates me even as I'm increasingly drawn to him. I need to remain focused on my plan to leave. Our dance the other night keeps playing through my mind, a swirl of silver and violets, the feel of his hands on me. It's not helping that he's still being nice. I suppose I have no one but myself to blame, my overtures obviously working too well. What I didn't expect was my own response to him. But my mother is right. I am distracted. ‘Sorry. Guess I'm tired.' I pass her the bauble.

‘And the red garland,' she says. I look in the chest again, but can't find it. I rummage around, tinsel slithering through my fingers.

‘It's not there. I must have left it upstairs. I'll get it.'

‘I'll come with you,' says Kyle. He winks at me. I look away.

‘I think we also left a box of decorations up there,' my mother says. ‘Will you bring it for me?'

‘Of course, my lady.'

Kyle falls into step with me as I head up the stairs. I daren't look at him. We find the box of decorations, left in an alcove, the ornate moulded arch curving above us like a wing. I bend to gather up the red garland. Kyle does so at the same time. Our hands touch, and our eyes meet.

I wait for him to pull away. But he doesn't. His hands close over mine as we straighten up, his fingers tracing circles on my skin. I can't stop my sharp intake of breath.

‘I enjoyed our dance yesterday,' he murmurs. ‘I was hoping, perhaps we could do it again, later? Just the two of us.' His voice deepens, sex sliding across every syllable.

I'm strangled. Unable to form words.

‘What?' I finally manage to say. It's a sliver of sound, a breath. Not going to win any prizes for eloquence. It feels like a last defence, a flimsy wall thrown up against whatever happens next.

He moves closer, backing me towards the wall of the alcove. ‘I know you enjoyed it. I could feel your heart beating, you know.' His hand comes to my chest, resting lightly over the bird flutter of my heart.

‘Could you?' I say, trying to be cool as a cucumber, as his smooth skin. But I'm blushing like a hot coal. I'm anything but cool.

‘A shame your mother came in when she did.' The promise in his voice is unmistakeable.

I lean against the wall, an ache at the top of my thighs, the soft slither of tinsel in my hands.

His hand leaves my chest and he tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear, his silver eyes on me, his full generous mouth relaxed. My lips part, my whole body tingling.

‘You have no idea who you could be,' he murmurs, the words a caress. ‘A human, as ruler of Raven. Do you not realise what a difference you could make?'

We stare at each other. I can hardly breathe.

Then he leans in and kisses me.

I tense, surprise jolting me, the garland dropping from my slack fingers. ‘What in darkness do you think you're doing?' I hiss in one last pathetic defence, even though my entire being is responding to his touch, demanding more more more.

He says nothing. Just leans in and kisses me again.

This time, I kiss him back.

My arms around his neck, his hands in my hair. Freedom flickers in my chest, wild like the night. I taste blood and violets, heat and darkness. I'm drowning in it.

Then it's over. Kyle lifts his head, his hands held up. ‘I… I'm sorry.'

‘Sorry?' The word is a whisper, faint on the air.

‘I shouldn't have… I'm not supposed to?—'

My face crumples and I try to hide my reaction, even though I have no chance. A predator sees every nuance, every movement, of its prey.

‘It's not that I don't want to.' He says it fast, like he knows I need to hear it. ‘God, you have no idea how much… since I first saw you.' His hands cup my face, his lips so close to mine. ‘But you know we shouldn't do this – your parents…'

I don't care what my parents think. He's right, of course he is. My mother even warned me, in the Costume Room. The only daughter of Raven with a household guard. But my body is tingling, every nerve ending alive. I stare at him, and he at me.

Then he kisses me again. I press against him, my fingers in his satin hair, his hands roaming across my body. I don't care if anyone sees us. It feels inevitable, like I cannot resist the pull towards him.

The sound of the front door banging reverberates from below, and I hear my father's voice as though from a distance.

‘… needs to be brought under control. We cannot risk another uprising like the one at Oxford – there's too much breeding stock at stake!'

Kyle and I come apart. I'm breathing hard, my mind a tangled snarl of lust and confusion. Kyle's hand moves across my hair, traces the curve of my cheek. Then he bends and picks up the garland, handing it to me. His fingers linger on mine.

‘Emelia, I?—'

‘Shh.' I hold up my hand, wanting to hear what my father is saying. I think I glimpse hurt in Kyle's silver eyes.

‘We've increased our guard presence throughout the entire country,' Father continues, ‘and the North Wind are still getting through.'

‘Surely more violence is not the answer.' My mother's soft tones.

God, what am I thinking, kissing Kyle like that? My cheeks redden with shame. I'm just supposed to be making him like me, so I can rope him into my plan to escape. Kissing isn't part of the plan, despite how he makes me feel. I move away from him, trying to focus on what my parents are saying.

My father's voice grows louder. ‘I thought Mistral was supposed to be managing things.'

‘He is, last I heard. I've asked him to go to London, too, acting on our behalf.'

I roll my eyes. Mistral. Of course he's getting involved. He usually lives in France, but it sounds as though he's in England to manage… whatever's going on. I guess that's why he sent Kyle to us, as well.

I'm acutely aware of him next to me, a darker presence in the shadows. Wanting some space, I go towards the top of the stairs, hugging the garland to me as though I'm naked and it's my only cover. I'm still blushing, still hardly able to believe what just happened. Then Kyle's arms come around me, his lips brushing against my ear, travelling down the side of my throat. Oh, darkness.

‘Oh, so you've been talking to him, have you?' My father's voice becomes sharper. ‘I suppose he's still angling for your hand, despite the fact you've been mine for a century.'

I lean against Kyle, finding it tough to breathe as he kisses my neck. I fight to stay focused. I know I should walk away from him, but I don't seem to be able to. ‘You came from Mistral, right?' I whisper, my voice trembling. ‘Do you know what my father is talking about? Is it the rebels?'

The kisses stop. ‘I did.' Kyle's voice is a murmur against my skin. ‘And yes, he's talking about the rebellion.'

I squirm in his embrace, half-turning to face him. ‘Did Mistral say anything to you about it?'

Kyle snorts. ‘Do you think Mistral discusses his plans with me?' He softens the words with another kiss. My arms wind around his neck, seemingly of their own volition. Maybe kissing could be part of the plan, after all. Again I feel the wildness Kyle inspires in me, the awakening at my core.

‘I don't know how he does things.' We're still whispering, our mouths so close together.

‘Badly. The guy is a dick. I'm glad he sent me here.'

Something Kyle and I have in common, then. I muffle my giggle, not wanting to give us away. Kyle kisses me again. My father's voice drifts up from below.

‘Maybe if Mistral spent less time sniffing around here and more time actually trying to find the root of this rebellion, it would be less of a problem. Because believe me, it is becoming one.'

‘I know it is, Aleks.' My mother's voice is uncharacteristically sharp. ‘I do govern my own realm.'

‘I thought you said the North Wind were nothing to worry about,' I whisper.

‘I never said that,' whispers Kyle. Another kiss.

‘Emelia! Come downstairs.'

Damn. Kyle releases me. My shoulders back, I start down the stairs, trying to look as though I wasn't eavesdropping. Or kissing. My father is standing in the foyer, his arms folded, his eyes glittering gold slits. Mother is still up her ladder, looking annoyed.

‘Um, we have the garland,' I say, holding it out. ‘And the decorations.'

‘Leave them there,' says my father, his tone dismissive. ‘Your mother and I are talking.'

‘Go and rest,' my mother says, sounding distracted. ‘Or perhaps spend some time in the library. I think there are new books.'

‘But—'

‘Kyle, escort her.' My father is already half-turned away, his focus on my mother. She descends her ladder, graceful as though she were floating.

‘Come, my lady.' Kyle, his hand on my elbow, moves me towards the stairs. I catch a smile curving his mouth.

‘Just a minute,' I say, throwing his hand off my arm. ‘What are?—'

‘Emelia! Do as you are asked!' My father's voice thunders through the foyer. I freeze, as does everyone else in earshot. Kyle takes my arm again. I let him. I'm fighting tears, though, as he guides me up the stairs once more. There's no hint of a smile on his face now.