Bound. Jen Colly

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ undertones. Melisande sighed, the intent wistful, but the product over-dramatic. “Oh, Cleopatra. There are so many handsome gentlemen willing to spoil you. Why haven’t you picked one yet?”

      “None have suited me,” Cleopatra said, her gentle voice barely carrying across the room.

      “It’s a tiring excuse.” Her mother shook her head slowly, then, ignoring Cleo, spoke to the other women. “It angers her father and crushes my soul. I can’t have another child because of complications with her, you know. All I want is to hold my grandchildren, but she won’t oblige. I swear she’d die in the sun just to cheat me out of children twice.”

      Cleopatra Bellamont stood, and Keir straightened at the same time. Cleo wasn’t an only child by choice. Damn. He hadn’t known.

      She gripped her sewing project tight in her hand, the needle dangling at the end of the thread. Her beautiful eyes had come to life, hinting at the courage she hid from them. The three elder women waited expectantly, Jillaine on edge, the other two wearing snide smiles. Would she finally stand up for herself, demand the respect she was due, and put them in their place?

      Cleopatra ducked her head and mumbled, “Excuse me.”

      Edging around the table, she headed toward the door, toward him. Her head might have been held high, but her hand trembled as she reached for the doorknob. She was falling apart.

      He followed her stiff and steady march down the carpeted corridor. He’d seen a similar reaction from her when her father had confined her to the upper levels years ago, and at his rash dismissal of her servants, and over the disappearance of her cousin. All one-time events back when he’d been monitoring Sterling. This was different. Her mother’s verbal digs had unraveled her.

      She entered her home, quietly closing the door behind her. Keir slipped through the wall, not knowing what to do, but not willing to leave her alone in this state. She dropped her sewing on a long, decorative table without glancing back. The hoop teetered on the edge. Opposite the fireplace was a black baby grand piano, and she sat, neatly arranging her gown around the bench.

      When angry, some women pointed fingers, others threw fits. Cleo gave her frustrations over to music, letting it all pour into a single song. Always the same song. He’d never known her to practice. She didn’t play for her parents, for parties, or even Lady Arianne. Her fingers only touched the keys when her raw emotions needed an outlet. This was her therapy.

      “In the Hall of the Mountain King” started slow, the low notes bouncing around, putting into his head an image of someone sneaking around in the dark. Higher notes joined, adding a lighter, more playful layer. Soon her fingers flew over the keys, the increased tempo stealing every ounce of her focus. Beginning to end, she played the song over and over. She hit the keys hard as the song neared the end of its sixth round, rocking forward and throwing her weight into the jarring combination of harsh, angry notes.

      When she finally stopped, Cleo sat in the silence, stared over the length of the piano until something inside her broke. Her hand flew to her mouth, too late to muffle the sob that escaped. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she gave up the fight. Crossing her arms over the piano, she buried her face into the crook of her elbow and cried, hard sobs jerking her shoulders.

      In the past he’d watched her drop her problems at the piano, as if she’d brushed them all off her shoulders. This wrenching grief that followed was new, unsettling. Cleo was his light, the one thing that kept him believing that kindness and compassion existed. She gave him hope.

      He could watch her for hours, and in fact had on several occasions. She liked to meet Arianne for breakfast, and Keir would have little choice but to listen to their conversations, her stories, and her laughter. Cleo’s smile chased away the death and deceit surrounding his soul, and he’d come to crave a daily dose, seeking her out on days she didn’t get a chance to connect with Arianne.

      Keir knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t smile tonight, not with her heart so thoroughly trampled. Leaving her like this hurt, but nothing could be done. Cleo lived in a very different world. And Keir? Well, he didn’t really live at all. He existed to preserve the lady’s life. Nothing more.

      Cleo bent over her piano, shoulders quaking as she cried, was not the image of her he’d wanted to carry with him. He backed out of her home, wishing he could somehow give her the kind of hope she’d always given him.

      Chapter 3

      Balinese

      Captain Devlin Savard moved briskly down the corridor, unsure of how he accomplished the feat. He was exhausted. Sleep had always been elusive, and often unwanted, but now that he needed it, he had no time.

      Seven days ago dozens of demons attacked Balinese. The creatures had been spotted in Paris, so far away that they’d never expected to see one up close. Yet, the demons had broken through the gates, challenging their defenses head on. No one could have guessed that they’d also been waiting inside Balinese.

      The demons had spilled blood, and not at random. They’d targeted Lord Navarre, council members, and Guardians, the intent to eliminate any line of succession and leadership. They’d nearly succeeded. A handful had survived, him included. Everything changed in an instant.

      Lord Navarre, though conscious when first found, had taken only a small amount of blood. Not enough to heal the wound in his chest, but he lived and had slipped into a healing sleep. He had yet to wake, but Savard checked on him every day and night, anticipating his recovery. Until then, Navarre’s absence left the duties of both captain and lord on his shoulders.

      His transition to acting lord had been difficult, and in some instances, nonexistent. The city had been betrayed from within, and having a hand in everything around him felt like his best defense. This kept him, for the most part, running the city as a captain and not a lord. However, with each passing day, his position as lord felt less temporary.

      The night after the attack, he’d done nothing but move bodies with the help of what few Guardians could be spared. Deceased vampires had been brought above and laid out in the courtyard behind the chateau that hid the underground city. When the sun rose, they’d combusted, their ashes becoming part of the earth. The ageless ritual honored the sun, the earth, and the dead.

      Then came the disposal of the demon bodies. In the lowest depths of Balinese, each demon had been encased in a coffin and buried. A handful of men had protested his decision to bury the demons amongst their own, but in the end, those buried vampires had been executed for horrible deeds. Evil knew no boundaries of race, and they’d been sealed away from the earth to prevent their murderous evil from becoming part of the life-giving soil.

      Captain Savard passed the dining hall. The handful of men who had gathered in the foyer stepped back, clearing a path and sharing uneasy glances amongst themselves. He didn’t blame them. They’d be foolish not to be uncertain of their captain turned lord.

      Because Lord Navarre had no heir, no blood family, the line of succession automatically fell to the captain…a captain Navarre had pulled off the streets of Paris. There had been protests, mainly from the nobleman who had originally opposed his instant promotion to captain. They could not, however, argue with a signed and sealed document that appointed Devlin Savard as the sole heir to Balinese.

      Savard hadn’t known the document existed, and neither had the council. Lord Navarre had risked his life the night of the attack to get to the council room. What Savard hadn’t known at the time was why. Navarre had named his heir. They’d discovered the document days later, shoved into the safe СКАЧАТЬ