Prophecy: Child of Light (35 page)

When she’d passed out in his arms, he’d thought it was his fault and then he’d noticed that she’d healed his wound while he was drinking from her. With him taking her blood and the magic stealing every spare ounce of her strength, it was no wonder she’d fallen unconscious. She’d given so much just to heal him physically and emotionally. He didn’t know how to thank her.

He stopped dead and looked at her. She turned, frowning.

“Something wrong?” she said.

He shook his head and pointed at the building behind her.

“I don’t speak Russian.” She smiled at him, a brilliant one that made him wonder how she could find something to really smile about. She was in a strange land, on the brink of a war, but she was still smiling.

Did he make her smile? Was he the reason she looked so happy? He hadn’t done anything that he could think of. He remembered her words on the train. She’d told him that he couldn’t leave her and that she couldn’t do this without him. Was his just being here with her enough to make her smile?

He frowned. She wasn’t going to like this one bit then.

“I booked you a room.”

The smile faded from her face.

“I don’t understand,” she said and stepped towards him. “What about you?”

He looked along the empty road to the square just beyond it. “I have a room at a different hotel.”

“Why?” There was a note of hurt in her voice that cut him to the core.

He closed the gap between them and resisted his desire to touch her cheek when he saw the look in her eyes that said she didn’t know what she’d done wrong. She’d done nothing wrong. He didn’t want it to have to be this way.

“We have to be somewhere tomorrow.” He put his hand into his pocket and produced a small card. Handing it to her, he waited for her to open the envelope and read the invitation.

“This is madness, you know?” she said once she’d taken a good look at it. “You expect to walk in there with no one recognising us?”

He turned the card over for her. She read it and still looked sceptical. He smiled at how cautious she’d become.

“But why do we need to stay at different hotels?”

“We need to remain separate. That way there is less chance of us being detected. Tomorrow evening, go to the place across the road. You see it?” He intimated the dress shop.

She nodded.

“Arrangements have been made for you to be attended to after hours. Choose whatever you want to wear. The ball is being held at the Venia’s palace. My contact has left details for you at the reception desk in the hotel. A car will pick you up at eleven thirty outside the hotel. The first dance is at midnight. I will meet you there.”

“Why are we going to this?” She still didn’t look convinced.

He placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. “I must meet with someone and I want you to be there, just in case, understand?”

“Is that the only reason I’m coming along?”

He shook his head. “I thought you might enjoy it.”

He turned her around and walked with her to the door of the hotel. Producing another slip of paper from his pocket, he handed it to her.

“Use this name to check in,” he said and waited for her to nod. “Until tomorrow then.”

She went to go in but paused and looked over her shoulder at him.

“Anything I want to wear? Price doesn’t matter?”

He had to smile at the twinkle in her eyes. Cornelius had once told him that women loved dancing and they loved being given the chance to dress up. He had to admit that it was true. Prophecy’s reserve about going to the ball was beginning to crack now that he’d offered her the chance to buy herself something to wear.

“Money is no object.”

“No particular colour or style?” She gave him a little smile.

 “Wear whatever you want.”

She grinned and he could see the excitement in her eyes. He watched her go into the hotel and waited for her to disappear from sight before starting towards his own. It felt nice to give her something that made her smile so much. She’d taken it better than he’d thought she would. He remembered his first ball and how exciting it had been. He’d attended it with Lucya and Kalinor. He’d barely begun his training as a hunter at the time and he’d never been around so many dignitaries from different bloodlines. Everyone used the ball as an excuse to dress in the most extravagant and expensive clothes.

He jammed his hands into his pockets and tried to imagine what she was going to wear.

It had been a while since he’d been to the Creator Day masquerade. He wasn’t sure who would be attending or if it really was a good idea to go, but he was certain of one thing.

Prophecy would be the most beautiful woman there.

T
he lights along the path seemed to guide Prophecy towards the entrance of the house. She kept as far away as possible from the small group in front of her as they entered. They were laughing and the sound of their merriment merged into that of the ball as she followed them into the house. She took the steps slowly, wrapped her arms about herself, and then dropped them to her sides, not wanting to look as though she was frightened. She kept them stuck there for a few steps and then realised that she was probably drawing attention to herself. She couldn’t relax no matter how much she tried.

She swallowed hard when she caught sight of the guards that were standing on either side of the door to the ballroom in front of her. Her eyes scanned the interior of the hall. The palace was massive, with an entrance hall that was bigger than the main reception room of her family’s house. It was brightly lit, with candles burning high above her in an elaborate chandelier. An impressive mahogany staircase curved its way up to the first floor above her. To her right and left were closed doors. Everywhere was decorated with red flowers, marking a stark contrast against the pale yellow of the walls.

She hurried forwards when she realised that the party she had entered with had gone past the guards, leaving her alone in the hall with a neatly attired man who was standing behind a small table.

Adjusting her shawl with trembling fingers, she gave a panicked look to her chest and breathed a quiet sigh of relief that the make-up was still in place. It had taken a lot to hide the marks. The woman in the dress shop had babbled on and on about something that she couldn’t understand and had then appeared with a tub of cream. She’d been confused at first, but when the woman had pointed to her marks and uttered the word ‘tattoo’ she’d realised what she was talking about. She’d thanked her a million times over.

She held the invitation out to the man and smiled shakily when he looked her over. She pressed her gloved fingers against her mask, quietly reassuring herself that it was still there and that no one would recognise her.

He raised a brow at her and then looked over her shoulder at the people who had walked in behind her.

She looked at them too. They were all finely dressed in black. Everyone seemed to be dressed in black. She was starting to wonder if Valentine had been lying when he’d told her that she could wear anything she wanted to.

“My lady?”

She turned to face the man again. He was holding his hand out to one side and she realised that she was supposed to have gone through. She gave an uneasy look to each guard. They were far taller than her and their broad shoulders made the open door in the gap between them seem impossibly small. She jumped when one of them shifted from foot to foot and her eyes fell to the long swords at their sides.

This was madness.

Someone was going to recognise her and then it would be over.

No, no one would recognise her. They would recognise Valentine. She knew that he must have been to the Creator Day ball before. He had probably been to many in his lifetime. She gave a thought to the fact that Iona and Arkalus had often attended the ball themselves. If she had been allowed to go, she might have met Valentine sooner.

Scurrying past the guards, she swallowed hard when she made it into the ballroom and felt the full grandeur of it hit her. It was beautiful. The hall was so intricately decorated, with a painted ceiling and delicate chandeliers that gave the room a bright but warm glow. She kept close to the wall, taking in the movement in the room and the sheer number of attendees.

There was so much power in the room.

Looking up, she ran her eyes over the balcony around the room. Large columns supported it, and she remained hidden beside one while she tried to get her bearings. There was an orchestra set up at one end of the hall. All of the musicians were finely dressed, but their clothes weren’t as rich and expensive as those of the guests. They were a blur of darkness, of feathers and horns. She tried to focus on them as they whirled past on the dance floor. It was all so enthralling. She leaned forwards a little, her eyes wide as she took it all in. She’d never seen so many important people in one room, had never felt so much power. She wondered if all of the bloodlines were here. Her family usually had at least a dozen people in attendance at one of these balls. She secretly believed that Iona had loved the excuse to dance with so many different bloodlines. The ball was a tribute to the one who had created them all many millennia ago. They donned the masks to protect their identities, to shed who they were for one night.

Tonight they were just vampires.

They weren’t Venia, Vehemens, or Nocens.

She wasn’t a Caelestis.

Valentine wasn’t an Aurorea.

They were just vampires.

She tied the shawl tighter behind her back so it remained in place and hid the marks on her shoulders. Pulling up her satin gloves, she cast another glance around the room, this time searching for Valentine. She didn’t know what he was wearing. She wished that she’d asked him so she could at least find him in amongst all the other vampires. She listened to the sound of laughter coming from a short distance to her right and someone brushed past her.

Turning quickly, she caught a flash of a black demonic looking mask and then it disappeared into the crowd. She frowned and tiptoed, trying to find him but not wanting to draw attention to herself at the same time.

She smiled at a passing man when he nodded at her and wished that everyone would stop looking at her. No matter how much she tried to fade into the background, she seemed to be failing.

Her eyes fell to rest on a tall man across the dance floor. He was standing on the steps that led up to the balcony. She recognised the mask as the one she’d caught a flash of not five minutes ago. It had long black horns and looked like the devil. His build was slim, emphasised by the fine cut of the black jacket he wore. It was decorated with what looked like deep green embroidery. She couldn’t see his neck. The tall collar of his jacket obscured it, making it impossible for her to see if he had a scar. She squinted, trying to see if it was Valentine. Her gut feeling said that it was but she couldn’t be sure without getting closer. He moved slightly, revealing the person he was talking to. She leaned into the column, her heart sinking when she saw the woman smiling at him. She was dressed in a tight black corset with a large pair of black-feathered wings adorning her back. Her lips were painted so dark that she couldn’t tell if they were red or black too. Either way, she was beautiful. She looked so regal, so well bred and delicate.

Prophecy sighed and furrowed her brows beneath her mask when she saw the woman touch the man’s cheek and smile.

She was about to turn away when someone caught hold of her hand. Turning, she expected to see Valentine.

Her eyes widened when the bulky man grinned at her from behind his red mask and pulled her onto the dance floor.

Before she could break free, one of his arms was around her waist and her other hand was clasped tightly in his. Her head spun as she tried to make sense of what was happening. Bringing her eyes up to meet the man’s whose arms she was in, she swallowed hard when they flashed red at her, betraying the fact he was a Vehemens. The room was a blur as the tempo of the music increased, the violins and fiddles sliding into each other and the tribal beat of the drum making her feel as though her heart was racing.

She felt swept away when she suddenly found herself in the arms of another man. She breathed heavily. Panic rose up inside her when he grinned and revealed his sharp teeth to her eyes. She tried to lean away from him but he gathered her closer and all she could do was focus on the movement of her feet so she didn’t fall. She had danced before, but never at this kind of frantic pace.

A pair of black eyes greeted her when she was handed to the next man. She looked around, desperately searching for an avenue of escape as the tempo of the music increased, galloping along as though it was never going to stop. She could hear laughter and could see the smiling faces of all the vampires that lined the dance floor. They were cheering the dancers on but she felt as though her plight was the main reason for their laughter.

Her eyes widened in alarm when she was spun on the spot and found herself suddenly in the grip of a Venia, his icy blue eyes luring her in and calling to her. She pushed against him and he laughed, his raven-like mask shifting as he did so.

“Let me go.” She ducked out of his arms and went to escape but another man caught hold of her, pulling her back into the fray.

Valentine moved around the room, listening to the jovial talking of the vampires and the rich folk music. He adjusted his black horned mask and smoothed down his black and green coat. Having spoken to Mia, the only thing he had left to do was find Prophecy. He frowned when he spotted someone familiar and walked over to them. Standing next to them, he stared at the dancers.

“You stand out like a sore thumb,” he said.

The man looked at him with a frown and then grabbed hold of his arm in a desperate way. Valentine looked down at it and the man let go, a look of apology entering his hazel eyes where they were barely visible through his black and red jester style mask.

“What the Devil are you doing here?” he said to Cornelius.

His aide fumbled with his mask and almost dropped his glass. It was no wonder that Kalinor had often asked him why he’d chosen Cornelius as his aide rather than one of the members of his house more suited to the task. He seemed to find it impossible to keep calm under pressure or even do something as simple as stringing a sentence together when nervous.