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“Ready yourself, slayer.” Varney turned to Cy with a stern look. “The game begins now. Comply, and you may leave Bannerworth Hall alive.”
She strode forward out of the drawing room and into the hallway, tugging Cy along with her as she ducked down the long corridor without looking back.
Cy tried not to wonder at the delicate trimmings and trappings of the Varney home. It was filled with elegant things, portraits and gold edging like jewelry on a finely proportioned body. But the finery was all a charade, a mask to hide the darkness beneath the surface.
Cy had seen it all before. He’d come to expect the horrors that often awaited in the darkness. Dead bodies. Bloody ribbons of flesh glistening under the torch light. Or worse...humans in all states of despair, being tortured, drained until they were on the cusp of death.
Nothing surprised him anymore. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t disgusted by it.
Varney’s steps were quick, her body pulled tense and rigid. It was clear that this Lord Bathory frightened her, set her on edge. She clung to the chain that held Cy bound like a lifeline, her knuckles a pale white.
He’d heard some information on Lord Thorne Bathory before he’d been captured. None of it was good news. He was the leader of one of the seven noble houses, their lineages spanning generations. Thousands of years of progenitors and their progenies. Long lines of ruthlessly evil beings, hell-bent on the complete subjugation of the human race.
A world run by the Vampyre Dominion.
And no one was more dangerous, more in control of the Dominion, than Thorne Bathory.
Part of Cy wished Jax was with him now. They’d shared so much trauma growing up under vampyre rule, but they’d suffered it all together. Cy abhorred his own selfishness at the thought. Wherever Jax was now was surely safer. Well, as safe as anywhere could be in this world. The Veritas would protect Jax. Cy had to believe that. It would be his armor through whatever ordeal he was about to face.
Jax would be safe.
The vampyre led him up a magnificent opal-colored staircase that overlooked a decadent ballroom. They turned to follow a long hallway, all swathed in dark reds and shining golds. That there were no windows did not surprise him. Even the minuscule amount of sun that would occasionally shine through the smog was enough to harm their delicate skin.
Vampyres were such babies.
Varney eventually came to a stop outside the second door on the right-hand side of the hallway and rapped on the intricately carved wood. “Lord Bathory, are you well?”
A soft voice echoed from within. “Come in.”
Cy steeled himself as Varney took the door handle in hand and turned, pushing inward and revealing the room within.
Though he should have inclined his head like a good pet, Cy took in the beauty of his surroundings: the room draped in gold fabric, a bed against the wall, four-posted and dressed in red silks. Vampyres didn’t need to sleep, so this one was likely just unnecessary luxury. Or for fucking.
Lifting his eyes, he took in a slim figure seated at a desk of mahogany wood. Long limbs lounged gracefully, one knee crossed over the other. Cy’s gaze traveled up the man’s form. Dressed in flowing silks of black embossed with a gold that matched the long strands of hair that fell down his back, he looked the picture of poise and posterity. And his face…
He was quite possibly the most beautiful man Cy had ever seen. Full, pink lips, high cheekbones, and an elegant, slim nose. His eyes were crimson, the color of blood. It was an eerie, striking contrast: the angelic monster. Cy shivered. So this was Lord Bathory.
Of course he was beautiful—that was what made vampyres so dangerous, the allure they held over humans. Most humans fell immediately under their spell. But Cy had learned long ago that beauty did little to hide deadly fangs.
Beside Bathory stood a tall, powerful-looking female vampyre, draped in a silver cloak. Holding a broadsword at her hip, her brow was pulled in a dark, brooding expression. Of course, he’d have a personal armed guard. Thorne Bathory wasimportant.
Instantly, Cy hated him. His hands itched to kill, to slip around that slim porcelain neck and wrench the pretty head from his shoulders. He hated him even more for his beauty, for the darkness hidden behind that comely mask.
Beside him, Varney faltered. “Lord Haven?” she stumbled. So, not Thorne then…Cy studied their interactions, trying to make sense of what was transpiring between them. Varney obviously had not expected Haven Bathory, whoever he was.
“Lady Mirae,” Haven greeted her in turn.
“Is Lord Thorne with you?”
Haven stood, bowing his head. “No, I’m afraid my sire is quite busy at the moment. He’s sent me in his stead. I hope my presence will suffice?”
Varney smiled. “Of course. We’ve only missed him, is all. But we’re honored to have you, Lord Haven.”
“Just Haven, please.”
Varney’s lips turned up in an uneasy smile. “Haven. House Varney has a gift for Lord Thorne. We had hoped to present it to him ourselves, but I trust you’ll ensure it makes its way to him?”
“Thorne does love gifts.” Haven crossed his arms in front of his chest, slim brow raised.
