My Love Lies Bleeding (17 page)

He placed a jug of water on the floor. “You should clean up.”

I frowned. “What? Why?” For some reason I thought his voice sounded familiar, but I was pretty sure I would have remembered
him if I’d seen him before.

“It’s expected.”

“Well, you can take your—”

“Stay down,” he advised quietly. “And keep your mouth shut.”

Was he actually trying to help me? The apple he tossed me nearly hit me in the face. I caught it mostly by reflex. Then I
realized why I recognized his voice. He was the vampire who’d come to the window of the farm house and offered his allegiance.

He straightened at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. His expression went hard, blank. Two women came up behind him, not
tattooed with the mark of Araksaka but not exactly friendly, either. They brought in a basket and a beautiful gown, all brocade
and embroidered velvet with a square neckline and panniers and lace petticoats. It was burgundy with pale blue crystal beads
and accents on the bodice and around the hem. The dress’s hanger was placed on a hook intended for iron chains and other methods
of torture.

Now I was really confused.

That the basket was filled with a silver-backed hairbrush, a hand mirror, a square of lavender soap, and vials of perfume
didn’t clear things up even a little.

“Um . . . what is all this stuff?”

The women eyed me critically.

“It should fit. The shoes look too small, you’ll have to go barefoot.”

“I’m supposed to wear that costume?” At any other time, I would have been thrilled to prance around in some old-fashioned
gown dripping with ornamentation.

“You can’t very well attend a ball in those dirty things, can you?” She sneered at my pants. “It would be an insult to our
queen.”

I felt staggered. I actually pressed a hand to my temple.

“Wait, it’s an actual ball? Waltzing and canapés and glass slippers?” My very first ball and it was in honor of a lunatic
murderer and would likely end with a vampire killing me. And I had to dress up for the plea sure?

“Don’t get the dress dirty,” one of them said.

“Why not?”

“Lady Natasha would be . . . displeased.”

“This is totally surreal,” I muttered after they’d left me alone with my very own ball gown. There was a zipper up the side,
so at least I wasn’t expected to contort myself around to do up my own laces. Hyacinth had always said the reason well-to-do
ladies had maidservants was because none of the clothes were user- friendly. The gown was beautiful, embellished by hand,
every minute detail perfectly done. And I didn’t want to wear it, not one bit. I edged back as if were dipped in poison.

Instead of using the water in the jug to wash with, I drank every drop. I was thirsty and hungry enough that my stomach cramped
around the apple I ate. I paced a while because I literally had no idea what else to do with myself. This was the last situation
I’d ever expected to be in. I was at a complete loss.

“Nicholas,” I called out. He was on his back, still as stone. “Nicholas,” I tried again. Nothing. Not a flicker of an eyelash.
I gave up and went back to pacing. After an hour of pacing, my calves were sore and I was feeling dizzy. I used the chamber
pot, while I knew Nicholas was still asleep, and then decided to put the dress on when I realized that if the guards came
down and I was still in Solange’s cargos, they’d likely strip me down themselves. A white cotton slip dress went on first,
followed by the panniers, which were basically two baskets hanging on a wide leather belt that went around my waist. It felt
weird and bulky. The dress went on top and was heavier than it looked. The fabric was stiff and tight enough that I had no
choice but to stand up straight. There was a blue velvet choker. I wished I still had the Drake family cameo; I’d attach it
out of spite.

And it might give me courage.

Because I talked a good game, but the truth was, my knees were weak as water and I felt sick to my stomach. Panic was stealthy
and it hunted me on soft, silent feet, not quite closing in but never going away, either.

So when Conan returned, I really thought that I was hallucinating.

Kieran was thrown into Nicholas’s cell, his face bloody and bruised, his left arm hugged to his chest as if it was broken.
But what really caught my attention was the body draped over Conan’s huge arms, gently placed on the pallet beside me.

Solange.

It was surprisingly difficult to crouch down by Solange’s side, and not just because of the ridiculous dress. Her head lolled
to one side as if even her neck was too tired to hold it up. I couldn’t tell if she was breathing, and my hands shook as I
leaned closer. I really didn’t want to see a gaping hole in my best friend’s chest. I wouldn’t just dirty Lady Natasha’s dress,
I’d throw up all over it.

“Shut up,” I shot back. “I don’t know if I’m talking to you yet.” I touched Solange’s shoulder. She was cool and covered in
mud. “Solange?”

“It’s the bloodchange.”

“I said shut up,” I tossed over my shoulder. “I know what it is, she’s my best friend, isn’t she?” I narrowed my eyes. “And
you look like shit.”

“Arm’s broken,” he agreed. He looked gray, hollowed. “Hope killed my dad.”

“I told you it wasn’t the Drakes.” I wrinkled my nose. I could hear my dad in my head, going on about compassion. “And I’m
sorry. Not that I don’t still want to wring your neck.”

“I had to be believable, for all the good it did. Hope’s up there. She gave me away.”

“Want me to break her nose?”

“Hell, yes.”

“I’ll add it to my list.”

“What are you and Nicholas doing here anyway?”

“Hope,” I told him. “She escaped and sent her unit in to take over the farm house. Nicholas and I made it out. We were hoping
to warn his parents off but we couldn’t find them. And they’re still out there looking for Solange.”

“I’m sure they’re here or near enough anyway. They don’t strike me as the type to stay out of the action for long.”

“That’s true,” I said, buoyed. I turned back to Solange. “Thank God, she’s alive. When she wakes up I’m going to kill her.”
I brushed her hair back. “If you can hear me, Sol, you better come through this. I know you can do it. Your namby brothers
did it, so you can, too.” I draped my discarded sweater over her. “What the hell was she doing, anyway?” I asked Kieran.

“She was running away.”

“No way.”

“We found Hyacinth.”

My heart dropped. “Is she . . . ?”

“She should survive, if they got her home quickly enough.”

“Assuming there’s still a home, of course. Hope’s got it in her cross hairs.”

He shifted, swore when he bumped his arm. I tossed him my belt since I wasn’t sure he’d be able to get his own off. Nicholas
was still lying in a heap in the corner.

“Here, set your arm.”

“Thanks.” Sweat beaded his forehead as he worked to wrap the belt around his shoulder. He looked like he knew what he was
doing. “Do a lot of battlefield medicine, do you?”

“You’ve met the Drakes.”

“Good point.”

I watched him struggle and sighed irritably. “I guess I don’t hate you after all.”

“I tried to save her.” He pulled the belt tight with his teeth. Lines of pain etched around his mouth. “She was supposed to
be safe underground.”

“Everything’s such a mess,” I mumbled.

“It’s worse than you think.”

“Of course it is.” I rubbed my face. “I’m afraid to ask, I really am.” At least my panic seemed to have desensitized itself.

“Lady Natasha wants to watch Solange die as the entertainment for her freakin’ ball.”

“She used it to save Hyacinth.”

“What?” I let her head drop, none too gently. “It’s the only thing that could have saved her.” I slapped the ground. “You
know what this means?” I asked grimly.

“What?”

“Lady Natasha might just get her wish.”

“You bloody bastard.” His eyes flashed as he stalked him. “You killed my sister!”

“Wait—,” Kieran screamed when Nicholas grabbed his broken arm. He kicked out, aiming for Nicholas’s knees. There was a grunt,
more sounds of fists and feet hitting flesh.

“Nicholas!” I shouted through the bars. “Nicholas, stop it.”

“He killed Solange.”

“No, he didn’t.” Kieran was dangling off the ground, his face going purple. “Put him down.”

“He has to pay.”

“Nicholas Drake.”

He didn’t let go, but he did finally turn to look at me. I pointed to Solange, on her back on the pallet. He dropped Kieran
so fast, Kieran stumbled.

“Solange? Solange!”

“She hasn’t moved since they brought her here.”

He finally grinned, looking like the Nicholas I remembered from the Christmas Eve he got his first bike. “She’s not dead!”
He frowned. “Why don’t you look happier?”

“She gave her vial away.”

“She gave her . . . son of a bitch.”

I leaned my forehead on the cold bars.

“Today just sucks.” I tried for a smile. “On the plus side, I get to see you prance around in tights.”

Only his eyebrow moved, but it was enough. “I beg your pardon?”

I pointed to the pile of clothes on the ground by his foot. “Your formal wear.”

He glanced at it, then back at me. “Nice dress. Can you breathe in that thing?”

I smoothed the front of my dress. “It would be much more fun to wear if it wasn’t what I was going to be buried in.”

“You are not going to be buried.” He paused, lifted the clothes up suspiciously. “Vampires don’t bury their victims,” he added
distractedly.

“Hey, looking for comfort here.”

“Sorry.” He shook out the doublet, complete with lace froth at the cuff s. “Logan would love this.” He smirked at me. “No
tights.” He dropped everything. “I’m still not wearing this crap.”

“They seemed rather adamant.”

“She can kiss my— hey.” He scowled at Kieran. “There’s only one costume. How come you don’t have dress up like some eighteenth-century
jackass?”

Kieran was still cradling his arm, his hair damp with sweat. He looked wan but still managed to smirk back. “I’m not a prince
from the illustrious Drake family.”

“Cut it out.” Nicholas’s ears actually went red. I was so going to tease him about that later. “I’m not a bloody prince.”

“May as well be.” Kieran shrugged his good shoulder. “Lady Natasha knows more than half her court would defect if Solange
wanted them to. They’re just waiting for a better offer.”

“I’m still not wearing this.” Nicholas plucked at the ribbon on the black velvet sleeve of the doublet

“Yeah, you are,” I said cheerfully. “Or else they’ll strip you naked when they come get us.”

He glared at me for a long time and then pulled off his shirt, muttering vile curses the entire time. I caught a glimpse of
bare chest, wondered if I should look away to give him privacy, then decided that it might be my last chance to see him with
his shirt off . His arms were lean and sculpted, like a swimmer’s.

“I didn’t get to see you take your clothes off,” he complained.

“That’s what you get for sleeping all day,” I quipped back. He went farther into the shadows to exchange his pants for the
leather breeches. Too bad. When he emerged again, he looked pretty good even though it wasn’t his style. And he was lucky
there were no tights, after all. He tilted his head.

“You like it.”

“Shut up.” I blushed. I hated vampire extrasensory perception. It wasn’t fair that he could hear my heartbeat or smell my
skin or what ever.

“Girls are so weird.”

Kieran snorted. “No kidding.”

Nicholas and Kieran both went grim, quiet.

“She’ll need blood,” Nicholas finally said. “But I’m sure Bruno got hold of my parents by now, and they’ll bring it with them.
I doubt it’s a secret Solange is here. Natasha does rather seem to want to make this as public as possible.”

“Do we have a plan?”

“We fight like hell.”

“Good plan.”

It wasn’t long before the Araksaka filed down the stone steps to escort us to the hall. I wouldn’t let go of Solange’s hand,
even when one of them lifted her up to slide an embroidered silver robe over her torn dress. She looked so fragile, with her
dark hair and pale features. They marched us upstairs. They wore white silk shirts and heavy breeches, which should have made
them look silly but instead made them seem even more fierce. One of them shoved me when I got in the way because I was still
clinging to Solange. I stumbled.

“Hey, don’t touch my girlfriend.” Nicholas seethed.

“Girlfriend?” I blinked at him. He thought of me as his girlfriend? Then I shoved the guard back, before anyone could see
me blushing. “I mean, get off of me.”

The hall was beautiful, crowded with candles and lanterns hanging from the ceiling and even more mirrors everywhere. Apparently
Lady Natasha really liked looking at herself. A long table held countless jugs of every description: silver inlaid with rubies,
gold, carved mahogany, painted china. I knew every single one of them held blood. Musicians played in one corner, the soft
notes of harp and piano and violin drifting around us.

Lady Natasha’s courtiers were easy to recognize— they all wore raven feathers in their hair. The rest kept their allegiances
more subtle; I didn’t know the meanings behind most of the pendants and embroidered family crests. I didn’t see London or
anyone else from the Drake family. I did see yards of velvet and silk embroidered with gold thread, brocade gowns, elaborate
wigs. I wouldn’t have been entirely surprised if Marie Antoinette strolled by. They drifted and lolled and reclined gracefully
on chaises and piles of cushions.

Solange was carried up to a dais draped with red sari fabric. In the middle was a glass bier on which she was stretched out.
Her hand fell over the side and lay there limply. There were roses all around her. A raven flew down from a crevice in the
ceiling and perched patiently at Solange’s feet. Another raven landed, and another. Soon she was surrounded by huge black
birds, all watching her expectantly. The old-fashioned grandfather clock read nearly midnight. When it rang its twelfth chime
Solange would have to wake up then and there.

Or not at all.

“Welcome, welcome,” Lady Natasha called from her white throne. We were herded toward her. She wore a white gown with sequined
silk over her panniers. Her pale straight hair fell to her elbows, and on her head she wore a medieval horned crown hung with
sheer veils that draped to the floor. She dripped diamonds; they were around her neck, wrists, fingers, and even around her
ankles beneath the sway of her bell skirt. Hope sat next to her in an evening gown and high-heeled sandals. And just when
I thought it couldn’t get much more surreal, Lady Natasha clapped her hands regally.

“Let the celebrations begin.”

The crowd broke off into couples in the wide space of the hall, and they whirled in a waltz as the music swelled. They wore
medieval dresses, Norse aprons, Tudor whale-boned corsets, Victorian dancing slippers, pin- striped suits from the 1920s,
dashing pirate shirts, and velour frock coats. They circled in a kaleidoscope of colors and fabrics until the sheer press
of them started to make me dizzy.

Solange lay still; even her chest was frozen, suspended in the bloodchange. Her lips went purple, as if they were bruised.
The blue of her veins traced under her parchment skin, like rivers through a winter landscape.

“Her lips are turning blue,” I whispered to Nicholas. He nodded grimly.

“She hasn’t much time.”

I’d never felt so helpless in my life. I could only stand there in the elegant ballroom inside the mountain and watch my best
friend struggle not to die. She moved once, jerking as if electricity fired through her. Kieran took one step forward and
was roughly shoved backward by one of the guards. Lady Natasha’s laugh was light and pretty.

“Soon all this will be over,” she said, preening.

“Sooner than you think.”