The Opal Blade (The Ashen Touch Trilogy Book 1) Page 6

  “Our Kindred are hungry,” Lilliana snaps, suddenly bearing forward on the cracked stone of the table, her shoulder blades rising in steep dual peaks.

  “And what, exactly, do you propose I do about that? You know I’ve suggested taking back your hunting grounds a hundred times. But Abraxis, Gorgon, and Barbas don’t agree. They don’t think we have the… resources required.” I remind them of my stance on taking back what is rightfully theirs, and their expressions both settle back into only mild irritation.

  “Yes well, they do not know the hunger. The desperation… the cannibalism among our Kindred… it is… harrowing to behold.” Katerina swallows deeply, as though the thought of the Sanguine Forest alone is enough to send her over the table and her teeth inch deep into my carotid in one swift motion.

  “I have tried to persuade them. You know I have tried. They are… resistant.” I choose the final word of this sentiment carefully, never quite sure who is listening in this unending labyrinth of chilling echoes and screams.

  “That’s all very well, but what are we supposed to do? Our children… they cry. The torment… it is unbearable to a mother.” Lilliana narrows her eyes, trying to implore my sympathy.

  I know what they are implying. What they want from me. But I am unsure whether I am willing to give it.

  Every time I let them feed upon mortals, it is a risk. I am risking exposure of myself to those from which I have made such effort to hide, and this isn’t the first time I’ve been close to being discovered either.

  I think back to when that half-breed had been discovered… what’s his name again?

  Xion. That’s it.

  I had been a fool, thinking Abraxis would lend me his forces for merely allowing him to go among the mortals and seduce their women, and it had nearly gotten me exposed and targeted as a result.

  I look between the two women as their dark hair casts further shadow upon them, making them look even more formidably demonic, mulling it over.

  While it is a risk, every day the Banshee and Succubi go hungry is another day that the forces I already have on my side weaken, fight among themselves and die for fresh meat, even if their method of attaining it is cannibalistic in nature.

  “It will have to be discreet. Only a few can go. Your weakest,” I concede, reaching into the deep pocket of my skirt and pulling out the dark wooden box with a tree burned into this side. I hold it in my hands, my limited power exposed before them as they visibly relax and exhale.

  It is with this that I know I’ve made the right decision. “Gather them,” I order, my evident power over them and their kindred making me bold.

  They smile wicked smiles and leave the room to collect their weakest, hungriest children, and I take a seat at the cracked table, skirt billowing around me as I wait patiently for feeding time.

  SEPHY

  Jules knocks his familiar rhythm on the door, and I feel my head pound. I would normally throw Ol’ Faithful, but this morning, I’m just not in the mood.

  “You can come in, Jules.” I sigh, instantly regretting it as the thudding in my temples continues. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but apparently not.

  Jules pokes his head around the side of the door, tentative in his motion, as though I may be waiting to throw my pocketknife directly at him. He’s surprised to find me sitting up in bed, fully awake with Cerb accompanying me. I still haven’t been able to find sleep again after my little jaunt into the woods last night.

  “You’re awake early,” he observes in surprise, his dark brows rising suddenly on his large forehead.

  “I’m awake still,” I admit, looking down at my muddy feet. I’m surrounded by my duvet, freezing, and I’m beginning to wonder if I should’ve dried off before falling back into bed in rain-soaked clothes.

  Maybe Xion was right after all.

  I feel something I’m not used to for a fraction of a second; guilt. The night is coming back to me in fragments, and as I recall how persistent Brad had been getting, I’m reluctantly grateful for Xion’s intervention and feeling unwanted guilt for how I’d yelled at him.

  “You might want to think about catching up on your rest and cancelling with Jacque this morning if that’s the case. Your uncle just informed me that he’s called a meeting to introduce you to the board of directors for the business.” He sets down the tray with my usual breakfast on it, but I feel oddly uninterested in eating anything. I wrap the duvet around myself tighter, feeling goosebumps prickle my skin.

  “Seriously? I signed the damn papers, and now I have to make nice with a bunch of suits? Why can’t I just sell the damn company?!” I exclaim, wondering if I might throw up as the room begins to spin as though it’s on some kind of an invisible axis.

  “Your father and mother came from nothing, Persephone. They’d be turning in their graves at the thought of you handing off their hard work to someone else.” His reply stings like an ice bath, and I feel his judgemental gaze burn into me, especially as he uses my legal name which he full well knows I hate.

  “I don’t feel well anyway. Can’t we reschedule or something?” I ask him, pulling my legs up under my chin tighter, trying to keep in the fleeting heat.

  “You think your uncle will reschedule this after the problems he had getting you to sign those contracts? For a hangover? I’m going to be calling up Oxford and getting a refund. We paid them good money to make sure you didn’t turn out stupid.” He’s sassy this morning and I wonder why. He’s my employee. Why the hell does he care so much?

  “This isn’t just a hangover; you know those don’t stop me. Honestly, I feel horrendous. I think I might be getting the flu or something.” I whine and he looks at me with a deadpan expression.

  “Pulling a sickie isn’t going to work this time. Peter will have Xion in here dragging you down the stairs by your hair if you’re not careful. He’s frustrated because you refuse to co-operate.” He’s giving me a lecture now, and so I snap, my body shuddering with an unwanted chill as it plays slalom down my spine.

  “Look, just run me a bath. I don’t need advice from you.” I scowl and turn from him, closing my eyes and giving my mind sweet relief from the overload of light and sound. He doesn’t reply or complain. He just walks up the shallow steps into my bathroom and begins to fill the tub with boiling water in tense silence.

  After a few minutes filled only by the sound of running water, he leaves the room without so much as another word. I know I’ve upset him. The problem is, he wants to be my father; he loves me. But he’s not my father; he’s my butler and I pay him to make my life easier, not lecture me.

  Scrambling out of bed, I keep the duvet wrapped around me, letting it trail on the floor until I reach the bathtub. Examining the scene before me, I let my eyes settle on the grounds beyond my bathroom window for a moment as a team of gardeners cut the grass and prune the rose bushes which surround the building. I gaze beyond them to the forest, to where I had run last night and where I had found the most gothic looking tree I’ve ever seen.

  Maybe I hallucinated it or concocted it in a dream, but from the dry mud stuck to the bottom of my unwashed soles, I’d say not.

  Bracing myself, I shed my cocoon of substandard heat, letting it fall to the marble of the floor as I strip off my still damp clothes. Hurrying as quickly as I can, I ready myself to step into the hot water.

  I plunge into the depths of the tub, not even faltering as the burning liquid touches my skin. I sigh out, warm finally, but only for a few minutes before the chill returns with an unexplainable edge despite the steam which curls in the air as it rises around me, fogging the window panes.

  I sit back, exhausted, as though someone is physically dragging the energy from my bones. I mean, I know I haven’t slept, but I’ve done more on less before. So, why the hell do I feel so drained?

  Is it this business? Knowing now I’ve got a long hard road littered with responsibility and a million decisions to make, or is it something more? Do I feel that badly about having yelle
d at Xion last night?

  No.

  The answer rings in my ears and I know it’s true. I feel a little guilty sure, but not enough to warrant feeling physically ill.

  I run my long fingers over my skin, feeling the protrusion of goosebumps over every inch of my body. I’m flushed red, a sign that usually means I’m warm at least, but today I just sit here and shiver, trying not to throw up.

  I try to relax, leaning back so I’m neck deep in the still steaming water before closing my eyes and attempting to let everything that’s changing around me go. Trying to forget about Xion’s feral gaze as he moved in to protect me last night, trying to forget Peter’s smug grin as I’d signed the contracts binding me forever to my father’s financial legacy, and trying most of all to forget how my skin is crawling right here in this moment.

  As my mind empties far too slowly, I feel a sudden pull at something within my gut. An urge.

  I sit up in the bathtub, water sloshing over the edge at my sudden momentum, and stand, unable to sit still for any longer. Cerb perks up at my meercat-esque action, getting up onto all four of his enormous paws and watching me anxiously.

  It is like a trance, a frenzy in my blood, the one I had felt for the first-time last night. The chill disappears, and in moments I’m warming like a small candle has flickered to life within my gut. I step out of the bath, not knowing where I’m going, but wanting more. More heat, more warmth, more fire.

  I place a pair of black silk pyjamas over my still sodden body, not caring to even dry myself, and proceed out into the hallway, dripping on the wooden floor as Cerb trots in my wake.

  With every step I take, I become less in tune with the outside world, the only audible sound my blood pounding inside my skull. I trail across the landing to the upper east wing, my feet moving of their own accord, one in front of the other as my hair leaves a trail of droplets behind me on the runner, turning it intermittently dark.

  I turn down a corridor I never frequent, mainly because Peter’s office and suite lie at the end of the hall, and as I step around the corner, the heat beneath my skin grows. My pulse heightens, and my strength seems to return fractionally, giving me incentive enough to keep moving forward.

  The corridor holds very little, other than a few doors to the old library, collections of antiques in storage and a few spare rooms filled with my parents’ things that I cannot bring myself to sort through. Cerb licks my hand, but I shrug him away, uninterested in anything other than finding whatever it is I’m looking for.

  There is, however, something out of place in all this, something I’ve never noticed as being obviously misplaced. However, now I’m walking toward it, it’s sticking out like a virgin in a strip club.

  I turn toward the bookcase, looking at the titles stacked on its shelves and cocking my head. There’s a library right next door with plenty of space, so why is this here?

  I read the spines, one by one, but only one truly pulls my interest.

  Placing a finger on the top of Dante’s ‘Paradise Lost’, I pull, the heat growing more intense within my veins with each action I take.

  As I remove the book from the shelf, the entire thing moves backward, and Cerb barks, revealing a room I haven’t known existed until this very second.

  I’m not surprised… I mean, I mainly use this place as a hotel and leisure centre between drinking binges, but still, a hidden door is kind of cool for a stuffy old mansion like this.

  I step inside, seeking any source of light as there seem to be no windows and no doors other than the entrance in which I’m stood. I find a light switch on the wall near the opening as my hand instinctively reaches out and traces the doorframe. Flicking it, I reveal the contents of the space in what seems to be lighting of showroom intensity.

  It’s a tiny space, a secret space, and the focal point of the room is unmistakable. In the centre of it all, in a glass case and stood upon a pedestal, a blade made entirely of fire opal is displayed, glistening rainbow coloured in the too white light. The walls are a deep black, and the carpet is a similar jade green to the corridor outside, putting all focus on the knife.

  What the hell is this? I wonder, unable to move my gaze from the weapon. I take a few steps into the room, leaning down slightly to gaze into the case and examine the blade. As I let the opalescent edge ingrain itself into my mind, I have the unmistakable urge, no, instinct, to hold it. It needs to be in my palm. It’s beyond beautiful, and it should be wielded by me and me alone.

  I reach out to remove the glass, but before I can so much as lay a finger upon it, a voice rings out behind me, breaking the trance it has over me and causing me to jump.

  “Persephone. Don’t touch that.” Xion’s voice comes rough and deep as his shadow appears in the corridor beyond the door frame. I look back at him, my hair dripping cool water down my breasts, making me even more desperate to fuel the fire within my veins by continuing to act under its influence.

  “Why? What is this?” I demand, curious. I’m relieved at his presence, and I realise I must have been feeling more anxious than I thought.

  “You don’t know what it is. You shouldn’t touch what doesn’t belong to you, especially if it’s in a case like that. It’s hidden for a reason I’d assume.” He warns me and I shrug, not breaking his gaze as I ball up my fist and slam it, knuckles first, through the glass.

  I reach out as he continues to stand in the doorway, not trying to stop me as I refuse to lower the intensity of my stare. Hopefully, this is because by now he’s realised this is futile. I wonder if he told me not to take the blade, knowing I’d do the opposite and so pause, my fingers only inches away from the solid gold handle as Cerb looks between us both with wide and curious eyes.

  “I can protect you from a lot you know… but I can’t protect you from yourself.” Xion sounds broken, but his expression remains stoic and cool. It causes a sudden anger to come over me and so my hand lurches forward inside the case, and my fingers claim the hilt of the blade without second thought.

  Heat shoots up my arm, radiating throughout me and chasing the chill I’ve been feeling from every inch of my skin. My muscles tighten and my heart races as something I cannot explain takes hold of my body, removing the pain I’ve felt all morning and energising me entirely within seconds. I don’t know what is happening to me, or why, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt this blade is mine.

  “I don’t need your protection. I never asked for it, and I don’t want it either,” I inform him, one eyebrow cocked. He turns from the doorway but looks back over one shoulder, simply shaking his head and replying,

  “Good for you.”

  Chapter Four

  Firestarter

  SEPHY

  I still feel crappy, though I’m no longer shivering, but instead playing the part of a menopausal woman. I flash hot like someone’s put gasoline in my veins and is using my nervous system to spark a blaze. Lying flat on my bed, hair strewn bloody amongst the pale pillows, I close my eyes and try to relax.

  I never get sick. Ever. So, this is definitely something I wish would just go away so I can allow myself to get on with my day. It’s not as if it’s even a good one as it is with the director’s meeting, which encroaches faster and faster with each chime of the grandfather clock down the hallway, making me increasingly irritated.

  Cerb is lying at my feet, his chest rising and falling dramatically as he watches me with an anxious gaze. Even he can tell I’m not feeling right, and he’s a dog for Christ’s sake.

  A knock at my door startles us both, and the Leonberger launches himself off the bed, claws scratching hard against the wood only moments later as he rises on his hind legs, overly excitable as a puppy, and barking so deeply I can actually feel the air around me vibrate.

  “Come in,” I call, making sure the opal blade is stashed under my pillow beside my pocket knife, as I sit up, flushed and sweating.

  “I just wanted to make you aware that the directors will be here in one-hour Ma’am,” Jules s
ays this with a brisk snap to his tone before spinning and exiting the room again without so much as a pause to wait for my usual sarcastic reply. I sigh, I must have really hurt his feelings earlier. Why do I keep doing that lately?

  “Well, Cerb, at least you still love me,” I comment, as Cerb gives me an odd look and bounds out the door and after Jules, who whistles for him, no doubt to feed him his evening meal. I roll my eyes.

  Get a dog they said. They’re so loyal they said. Loyal my ass.

  I turn, still wearing my black silk pyjamas from earlier. My hair is un-styled and ratty after I’ve let it drip dry naturally, and I cringe as I walk past my reflection in the floor length mirror attached to the door of my walk-in closet.

  I sit down on a plush pink loveseat which is positioned at the back of the space, looking over my selection of clothes and wondering what is appropriate to wear when being forced to attend a meeting with the directors of your own billion-dollar company. It’s a wonder, in fact, that Chanel or Gucci don’t have a line specifically for this kind of occasion named ‘for formal shit you don’t want to do’, but I suppose they’re the kind of people who love getting dressed up and making nice with a bunch of stuck up strangers in too-tight suits.

  Then it occurs to me. I have the suit I graduated in.

  I can wear that.

  I stand up, picking the garment bag out of the mass of black hanging from the railing against the opposing wall and remember the long walk on stage to collect my doctorate. I had worked hard for that piece of paper… not that I needed it, but I’d wanted it. It was a challenge, and I love the ancient myths, stories about times when sass, personality and hard graft were enough to get you a place in the hall of fame without needing a bunch of paper with some old guy’s face on it.

  Throwing the garment bag over the back of the loveseat I’ve just risen from, I grab a hairbrush from the vanity next to the doors and ponder on how I should appear. Should I even care about this meeting?