Darkness Before Dawn (6 page)

“She’s not the only one.”

“Then I guess I need to distract you.” Easing up, I kiss him. He threads his fingers through my hair, holds me in place as he deepens the kiss.

He smells so good. Like lemon. I’ve been carrying lemon drops in my briefcase to eat on the way, just so I can feel like he’s with me.

Drawing back, he studies my face as though he’s trying to memorize every line and curve, as though he’s afraid he’ll never see them again.

“I’m crazy about you. You know that, don’t you?” he asks.

I run one of my hands over his hair, feel the spikes tickle my palm. “I know. I’m nuts about you, too.”

“Someday we’ll have more time to be together, when we’re not so busy learning how to save the world.”

“Meanwhile we have moments like this,” I remind him.

“Yeah, we definitely have moments.”

Then he kisses me again. I want this moment to go on forever, just Michael and me, lost in a world where nothing exists except each other. Where passion consumes us. The kiss becomes more, becomes everything, feeding our desire for each other. I never want to leave him.

On the other side of the apartment, Rachel’s door moans as it opens. Michael—always alert to his surroundings—ends the kiss. With his large hand cupping the back of my head, he nestles my face against his solid chest. I hear the rapid thudding of his heart. Even though I know I need to, I can’t seem to move away.

“Dawn,” Rachel says quietly, “you need to get ready.”

Michael’s hold on me tightens, as though he can stop the passage of time, the clocks from counting off the seconds, the world from revolving.

But beyond the wall, Valentine waits. Nothing Michael does can change that. All I can do is hope that this won’t be the last time we’re together.

Chapter 5

I
t’s dangerous out here, beyond the city walls. Starving vampires lurk in the shadows. The countryside is vast, desolate, and destroyed. I’m only seventeen, but even I remember the bombs falling in the distance. Dropped by us in desperation to win. So much ash rose from the burning ground it blocked the sun for years. I remember the sight of my first sunrise without a barrier of haze. I was thirteen.

“Ten minutes, Miss Montgomery,” Winston, my driver, shouts from atop the carriage.

“Please, just call me Dawn.”

“Yes, Miss Montgomery.”

In the distance, Valentine Manor—with its three towers and far too many windows for a creature allergic to the sun—looms. A visitor first seeing the castlelike structure would think it was some medieval noble’s estate airlifted from Britain. They say it took only two weeks to build. Lord Valentine has that many Lesser vampires serving beneath him.

Most vampires, like those who attacked me on the trolley, never see the inside of mansions like this. They never have lavish parties or court young girls. Only the Old Families hold that kind of power, enjoy the fruits of wealth. Most vamps go hungry every night. They work like crazy in the hopes of extra blood rations. But the Old Family vampires are often cruel, and I wonder sometimes if there would be fewer rogue vampire attacks if Lord Valentine would take better care of his minions.

Of course, blood rations wouldn’t be a problem at all if people would stop believing the false promises of a better life and willingly embracing the opportunity to be turned. I don’t understand why they don’t get that turned vampires are called “Lessers” for a reason. They’re not seen—or treated—as equals.

The road curves around in front of the massive building. Thick fog settles outside my windows. We stop and Winston’s shadowy silhouette appears in the mist. His hair is thin and gray, too long for his short face. He opens the door and holds my gloved hand as I step down; my other fist clutches the handle of my briefcase. We walk past the two horses that brought us here. Large and strong. Uneasy at the smell of vampires in the night.

“I’ll be waiting,” Winston says, and swings up onto the small bench at the top of the black carriage.

“Thank you, Winston,” I say, already shifting into ultrapolite mode. I’ve had Victorian etiquette drilled into me, because Valentine expects a certain tone during the meeting.

For some reason, Valentine likes the ancient rituals. He insists that delegates wear Victorian-era clothing. Which is why I’m in a long black dress with a high collar and a corset that cinches in way too tightly, making it hard to breathe. My hair is piled on my head in a complicated style with a few dangling curls. My feet, bound in pointy shoes that look like miniature torture devices, click across the thick stones. I go up the steps. Time to announce my arrival. I let the iron knocker fall; the growling wolf’s head bangs into the door, sending its ominous echoes across the silent fields that surround the manor. Except for the one building and stables, it’s desolate and haunting out here. To calm my nerves, I take a deep breath, hold it for a count of three. A little trick my mother taught me. I can do this; I’ve been trained to do this.

The door opens with a creak and I’m once again face-to-face with a vampire: the fangs, the pale skin, the feral eyes. I can’t help it; my heart skips a beat when his black gaze dips to my neck. Beneath the high collar of my dress my pulse pounds. He can probably hear it.

“Good evening, Miss Montgomery. The Lord is waiting for you in the dining hall.”

“Then I shall not keep him.” I’ve rehearsed the stiff line over and over to get the inflection—or lack of one—just right.

The chilled night air follows me inside. No electricity runs through Valentine Manor. Instead, hundreds of gas and oil lamps give off a unique, haunting glow. Vampires can have anything they want now, and this is what they choose. I don’t understand their aversion to technology’s advancements.

We walk past a sweeping marbled staircase. Along the walls hang portraits of Valentine family members, past and present. Once they pass through puberty, born vampires show the effects of aging much slower than we do. Twenty of their years to every one of ours is the closest estimate we have. Then at a certain point, the aging process stops. Immortality awaits.

Or so we believe. Vampires reveal to us only what they want us to know, so we have a lot of unanswered questions.

The vampire leading me is one of the Valentines’ most trusted servants, turned by Lord Valentine himself. I wonder who he was in his previous human life. I wonder if he even remembers. He could be hundreds of years old. Lesser vampires never age beyond what they were when they were turned. This one is tall, with long hair that drapes across his shoulders. He’s dressed to the nines in a suit and vest, a gold pocket watch hanging from it. His pasty skin makes me wonder whether he was ill when Valentine turned him. Some humans ask to be turned rather than face death. Eternal life is a tempting purchase. But at what price?

One I’d never pay. Nothing is worth becoming a monster.

Thick wooden doors line either side of the hallway we walk along. Ones I’ve never seen opened. Probably rooms made of pure gold, or at least worth that much. There is no end to an Old Family’s wealth.

We head toward a pair of French doors twice my height. Flanking either side are massive sculptures pulled from Greek ships that sunk millennia ago. Marbled and weathered, they are gods in human form that stood the test of time. Despite their majesty and the history chiseled into every crack and vein, they’re outdone by the vampires who live longer. Human gods have been replaced by more tangible ones.

The servant opens the doors wide. The dining hall is the size of a small house, the single table stretching from one wall to the other. A parody of grand living. At the far end sits Lord Valentine, his massive chair carved out of a single oak tree, turned away from the table so it’s more of a throne than a piece of dining furniture. Its thick, rounded legs end in talons. In his coal black suit, the vampire himself is far more impressive. Well over six feet. Broad shoulders. The large ancestral ring is wrapped around his right forefinger. In spite of everything I was taught about the protections offered to delegates, and all the reassurances that my host would not select me as a tasty midnight morsel, I’m suddenly scared. I wonder if my parents were, too.

“Miss Montgomery has arrived, m’lord,” the servant says, bowing his way out the door and closing it quietly. Leaving just the two of us. The behemoth I’m staring at could kill me before I even screamed, and wouldn’t think twice about doing it if I disappoint him. Diplomatic immunity may save me from the vampires outside, but not from the rogues inside the city—or, more important, the one within this room.

With hints of gray, his long hair is pulled back into a conservative ponytail, held in place with a braided strip of leather. He exudes power. A tidal wave resting in every subtle movement. With a motion of his hand he can topple empires.

“Please have a seat,” Lord Valentine says, his deep voice filling the room. His hand, holding a golden goblet—full of blood, no doubt—indicates the chair across from him.

I take my seat, folding my skirt beneath me. His gravity is overwhelming. I place my briefcase on the table, careful not to scratch the wooden surface.

“I’m pleased, Dawn. You’ve exceeded my expectations,” he says.

I jerk my head up, but he’s not looking at me. His gaze is lost somewhere in the dark corners of the room. I’m tempted to tell him that I don’t care if I please him. Exceeding his expectations is an empty compliment. But I’m not here as Dawn Montgomery. I’m here as a delegate. So instead, I just say, “M’lord?”

“You embraced your destiny. You became a full delegate in a shorter time than most.”

“I had an advantage. I learned a lot from my parents.”

“And there is a great deal more you have yet to learn,” Valentine says, “things that your father failed to share with you. You are very special, Dawn, in ways you can’t fathom.”

His arrogance infuriates me. He doesn’t know what my father taught me—or failed to teach me. He’s pointing out my weaknesses with backhanded compliments. He’s trying to unsettle me, and I expect nothing less from him on this crucial night. But I’m ready. My parents taught me that he talks in riddles and circles. They taught me how to stay calm, to stay focused. To change the subject…

“I would like to discuss the recent abductions from the city,” I say, unsnapping the hinges on my briefcase and pulling out some paperwork that lists the names and includes photos of those who have gone missing. Just as I did when Rachel gave me the information, I hesitate at the top photo. Shaggy Guy is staring back at me. Swallowing hard, trying not to think about how much danger Tegan and I were truly in, I slide over copies of all the information. Valentine doesn’t move to take it. “Over the past week, four of our citizens have been abducted.”

Valentine slowly places his goblet on the table. “Do you believe my underlings are responsible?” he asks, his hands clasped at his lips, eyes not on mine.

“We have witnesses who saw the abductions who say vampires are responsible. We know that a great lord such as yourself would not condone such actions, but we also realize that Lesser vampires are not always in your control.”

“They are always in
my
control,” he reminds me with a stern voice that can silence cities. Silence lives.

“Of course,” I say. I fight the urge to apologize. He might see it as a weakness. I have to show him I’m strong. But if I don’t comment, he might see it as rude and snap my neck. I’m thinking too much.
Just get the first night over with;
that’s what Rachel said. She taught me everything I know about protocol. Tonight is a test for her as well. If I fail, my blood is on her hands. “Then who do you believe is responsible for the abductions?”

“Those who are foolish enough to step outside the city at night have only themselves to blame. The VampHu makes them fair game for the Lessers.”

People younger than twenty-one aren’t allowed beyond the walls at night. But anyone older than that is not detained by the guards at the heavily armored gates. They know the risks. After what Tegan and I did last night, it’s a little harder for me not to be sympathetic at the notion of wanting more freedom, but it’s so much more dangerous beyond the wall. Out there people are hunted down by roaming vamps. Sometimes vampires drain them immediately. Sometimes they take them captive and feed on them over time. Since the war, VampHu prohibits vampires from turning humans, and most vampires obey that little rule. They finally figured out that the more vampires there are, the less human blood there is to go around.

“But these are happening within the city,” I say, realizing this challenge may end my life. I think about the four who attacked me. I could tell him about them, but that will only complicate matters and show my stupidity and defenselessness.

“Are you implying that we’ve broken the VampHu Treaty?” he asks. “That’s a very, very serious accusation.”

The heads of the fourteen Old Families would convene to pass judgment if I filed an official complaint. As far as I know, no one ever has. “No, m’lord.”

“Rogue vampires are to blame. They travel from city to city, looking for weak walls and even weaker humans. They killed your parents, did they not? So do not blame the great House of Valentine for your reckless behavior. Your citizens make themselves victims. I will hear no more of this.”

I’m angry that he’s blowing off our legitimate concerns. But I can also sense the fury rolling off him because I dared to question his authority. I’m surprised he’s allowed me to continue breathing. I look through my agenda at other topics to address. This one is obviously over.

“Is the blood supply adequate?” I ask.

“No.”

Of course not…

“How much more is needed?” I ask.

“At least double,” he says.

Double! Has he gone insane in his old age? I fight not to let my shock show. No emotions. I can’t show him any emotions or he’ll take advantage of the situation.

“I’m sorry, Lord Valentine, but that will be extremely difficult.”

“Then I cannot guarantee the safety of your city or its citizens,” he says, finally turning toward me. His eyes are dark. So dark I can’t tell if they’re staring straight into mine or at my neck. It’s a threat. Not an empty one either. This conversation, my life, could be over before my next heartbeat.