Chapter 11
The closer they got to the castle, the more imposing it became. It wasn't so much a fairytale castle as a fortress that took up the entire top of the hill. The pale stones topped by crenellated battlements looked like something medieval. Only the tall tower with its elegant spire seemed even remotely fanciful. A solemn road, bordered on each side by a low stone wall, wove up to the wooden portcullis.
As fast as the mists had parted, they folded back in again, obscuring everything but the battlements that they were closest to. Crewmen threw tethering ropes down to uniformed guards below as the dirigible lowered gently toward a landing platform cleverly concealed by the crenellated stone of the battlements.
The behemoth of a ship angled into position, hovering over the castle and swaying like a ship at sea in the slight wind blowing through the valley. A familiar clatter indicated the lowering of the rope ladder.
So this was it then. Winn's heartbeat increased in anticipation of what was to come.
Salvation or ruin.
He felt the pressure of responsibility and prayed that he and his brothers would triumph, despite the overwhelming odds against them.
If Rathe won, all of mankind would be wiped from the face of the earth. Winn's petty human frailtiesâlust, desire, prideâwere nothing more than a drop in the ocean in the face of this monumental challenge.
Rathe would not be content simply to let the Darkin overrun the surface of the planet. He'd enslave mankind, making anything humanity thought they knew of misery look like a stay at some fancy-pants resort at the seashore. Rathe had the power to twist minds, rend hearts, and steal souls.
“Shall we?” The contessa motioned to the opening in the deck rail where they could descend.
He tipped his Stetson. “Ladies first.” She gave him a brief bow of her head in return, then her chin tilted up a degree, and her shoulders dropped as she whisked past him, her movements so elegant and regal her boots barely made a sound on the teak decking. In a split second she had changed from the curious, sensual woman he'd danced with to a consummate diplomat, with no expression upon her face.
But even her formality couldn't change the glossy darkness of the curls that blew in lazy little twists about her throat where he'd kissed her or the heady fragrance of jasmine that drifted in her wake. Winn ruthlessly shoved his observations aside. It was time to focus on the matter at hand rather than the subtle curve of her cheek or fullness of her lush mouth.
A substantial military escort, in two ridiculously straight lines, faced forward, awaited them when they reached the battlements below. They were smartly attired in the same crisp black uniforms as her men on board, their gold buttons polished bright. The high collars looked as uncomfortable as hell and reminded Winn of the clothing worn by Chinese railroad workers. Only a lot fancier. Black angled hats, reminiscent of the Civil War veteran kepis and embroidered with the flashy gold and red Drossenburg crest, hid the men's eyes with a spit-polished brim.
The highest-ranking officer bowed to brush a brief kiss to the back of the contessa's gloved hand. “Welcome home, my lady.” Winn didn't miss the curious glance cast in his direction by the captain. “I see your mission was successful.”
“
Da
. Mr. Jackson, may I present to you Herr Trouchlin, general of His Imperial Majesty's personal guard.”
Winn tugged at the edge of his Stetson brim, and the captain gave a quick, efficient bow and clicked his heels together before dismissing him entirely to focus on the contessa.
“Has His Majesty been informed of our arrival?” She fell into step beside the general as they turned in unison and strode purposefully along the battlement, leaving Winn to follow in their wake. He tried hard not to step on the train of her skirt or look too long at the sway of her bustle.
“Certainly. He is awaiting you and your guest in the throne room.”
Winn's Hunter instincts returned automatically as he subtly scanned his surroundings. Possible exits, means of escape, hiding places. Anywhere an enemy might lurk.
Lesson number four: always have an exit strategy.
The castle was well fortified. The walls were made of five-foot-thick, solid stone blocks, fitted together so tightly, he'd be surprised if he could fit a knife blade between them. It was a sixty-foot drop to the ground, which was unforgiving rock. To the north, a damn steep slope led to a fast-running river; to the east lay a picturesque little village; south the cold, gray face of the mountain backed the castle. A single road, rimmed by the small stone walls with a sheer drop on either edge, wound up the western hill, ending at well-fortified wooden gates.
All in all, a good place to be if one wanted to be protected, and a bitch of a place to break out of if one wanted to escape.
They passed through an arched door in the battlement tower and entered the castle proper. As they traveled down several wide stone staircases and a convoluted maze of hallways, Winn noted all the extravagant medieval tapestries and thick carpets that hushed their steps. He didn't know much about artwork, but even he could tell that the massive paintings in gilt frames, and the rows of white marble statues, most of them missing arms or heads, were older than dirt. Probably worth a large fortune as well. The place oozed wealth and excess.
Soon enough they arrived at the heart of the castle. The giant central room, with its high-arching vaulted ceiling, was surprisingly light and airy. Heavily carved double doors, crafted from a dark wood and ten feet tall, were flanked by more expressionless, uniformed guards.
The contessa's gaze raked over him, and Winn got the distinct impression she was assessing if he were suitable to present to the emperor. He gave her a steady look in return.
If she thought he'd be intimidated by meeting such an exalted person, she didn't know him at all. Where he came from, all men were considered equal. Although some were a little more equal than others, Winn thought, following her across the white marble floor.
“Please remove your hat and do not speak unless spoken to,” she said.
“I'm from America, not the moon, Contessa,” Winn murmured softly, removing his hat. “My mama brought me up right. Don't you worry, I know how to comport myself.”
He brushed his fingers through his flattened hair, but it did nothing to smooth down the prickly sensation racing through his system. At their approach the doors were pulled open, and he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
A long stretch of room, punctuated with enormous stained glass windows, proclaimed that once it had been the sanctuary of the castle. The large chamber was filled with peopleâor rather vampires. On either side of the vivid red carpet running the length of the room, they sat in gilded chairs. All heads turned as one to observe the slow stately progression Winn and the contessa made toward the prominent dais.
Every Hunter instinct in Winn went on high alert as his gaze slid over the vampires gathered there. Holy hell. He'd never seen so many vampires gathered in one place before, and his hands itched to hold a weapon.
Vampires holding court in an old church. The irony wasn't lost on him.
In the nave, where the four parts of the chapel met in a central point, sat a man. As they approached he turned dark eyes to silently watch their progress. Winn took the time to assess Alexa's emperor.
His Vampiric Emperor Vladimir the Fifth was an imposing figure, taller than most, with thick, dark hair worn long and tucked behind his ears. His sharp, dark eyes looked as black as his thick, well-shaped beard, and his importance was underscored by the heavily embroidered embellishments of seed pearls, rubies, and gold thread upon his mink-edged black robes. For a vampire reputed to be hundreds of years old, he looked like a younger man in his prime. His throne, crafted of highly polished wood, set upon a raised dais, gave him the advantage of looking down on everyone else.
Winn leaned in slightly to the contessa as they walked. “I see the family resemblance in that flinty stare of his. Is everybody in your family this imposing?” he whispered. She said nothing in reply, her back ramrod straight and her face impassive. Had he not been such a keen observer he would have thought she was just blatantly ignoring him, but instead the tension around her eyes indicated intense concentration. Was she silently communicating with everyone in the room?
“It's rude to talk about a person when they can't hear you,” he muttered under his breath just loud enough for her ears only.
Her gaze flicked to his, and she raised a brow.
Yeah, sweetheart.
Winn shot her a small smile before she faced forward again.
I might not be able to hear you, but I know what that look indicates. A private chat with your emperor.
A buzz of whispered conversation grew louder as they approached the throne, giving Winn the distinct impression he had a target slapped on his back. He looked at the crowds gathered on either side out of the corners of his eyes. There were pointed glares and disdainful glances. The men were richly dressed in velvets, silks, and golden brocades, but a century out of fashion, at least. The contessa seemed the only one who dressed fashionably as a modern-day Victorian woman of means.
At the foot of the dais she dropped into a deep curtsey, her skirts spreading out about her. The general fell to one knee beside her, head bowed. Winn's fingers dug into the rim of his Stetson. He bowed from the waist, rather stiffly, not exactly sure if it would pass muster. It wasn't as if he met royalty every day, Darkin or otherwise.
“Welcome home, Lady Drossenburg,” the emperor said. There was a distinct note of fondness in his voice. “I see you've accomplished what I've asked of you.”
The contessa rose from her curtsey, gripping her hands in front of her, her index finger fidgeting with the large ruby ring on her right hand. The nervous gesture was not lost on him. She was just as intimidated by the emperor as everyone else in the room. “Your Imperial Majesty, may I present to you Mr. Winchester Jackson, eldest of the Chosen.” Her gaze shifted in Winn's direction.
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Alexa saw him stiffen slightly at the title, and she resisted the urge to smirk. It would not be proper, especially in front of the vampiric court, to openly comment about Mr. Jackson's lack of faith in his own title in the presence of His Imperial Majesty. If Mr. Jackson was uncomfortable with it, that was certainly not her problem. She'd done as Vlad had asked. She'd brought him one of the Chosen to find their piece of the Book. And now she could be done with Mr. Jackson and the unsettling desires he produced in her.
Deep down, Alexa was growing less and less certain Mr. Jackson's presence alone would be what gained them back the missing piece of the Book. Certainly the Hunter was powerful enough, but he lacked the basics to navigate their Darkin/human/Hunter politics. But Vlad had been insistent that it be one of the Chosen and not the European Hunters who assist them.
Vladimir was ensuring unification and support among their kind with this very public display of welcoming the American Hunter into his court, and she would not undermine him. But later, when the two of them were not surrounded by the rest of the court, she would tell him what she truly thought of Winchester Jackson. Well, perhaps not all of it, but the parts that mattered most.
Among the mass of vampires, Winchester certainly stood out. Not just because his skin was a healthy,
alive
, golden brown when everyone else's was milky pale. But also because of his rugged appearance. The host of weapons he had holstered to his large frame were at odds with the intelligence that sparkled in his blue eyes and the rough stubbled edge of his strong jaw. What Winchester Jackson was, was a contradiction.
“Welcome to my court, Mr. Jackson,” the emperor said clearly.
Alexa suppressed a smile as she watched Vlad try to infiltrate the Hunter's mind and fail, just as she had. It made her feel a measure more secure in her own abilities. If the emperor himself could not penetrate Winchester's mind, then she was not as affected by him as she thought.
Vladimir's dark eyes flicked to hers for an instant.
Can you read his thoughts?
No, Your Imperial Majesty. He has been taught how to conceal them from our kind.
Interesting. This is more promising than I had hoped.
“Mr. Jackson, you are aware of our interest in recovering the second part of the Book of Legend, which has been stolen from us?” the emperor said, his tone confident.
“I am, but I got one problem with the plan.”
The emperor raised a dark brow. “And what is your objection?”
“I need to use it before you can have it back.”
“For what?”
“To seal the Gates of Nyx.” A buzz, like a slapped nest of bees, grew louder as the vampires in the room talked to one another both out loud and in their heads. Alexa wished she could shut it out.
“It appears the time for the prophecy is at hand, Your Imperial Majesty,” she said loudly enough for Vlad to hear her clearly. His onyx gaze snapped to hers. For the last six hundred years they'd guarded the piece of the Book, using its contents to reinforce their position as the most superior of the Darkin. If they did not support the winning side, that reign would quickly be coming to an end.