Zanthus woke up to someone throwing a suit onto him. He opened his eyes, hungover, looking at Demedicus.
“We have a beloved ceremony to go to. Get dressed.”
He groaned, lying back down with a hand over his eyes. Every day he woke up was another stab into his heart. He was hungry; he hadn’t had anything to eat in months. He got out of bed and went into the shower.
He didn’t shave or do much of anything to his appearance, but he put on the suit and some nice shoes. He went downstairs, seeing everyone else dressed.
“Zanthus, brother, you clean up well!” Quillian complimented. He was tying his tie with a small grin before grabbing the keys. “Let’s go ruin a ceremony!”
“Quillian!” Adra chastised.
The Council got into the car and took off toward the venue. It was in a reserved mansion a few hours away.
Of course, it was during the evening with reserved rooms for everyone if they couldn’t make it home. Getting out of the car, Quillian handed the keys to the valet.
“Take care of her. She’s my baby.”
“Of course, sir,” the man responded, rushing to the driver’s seat.
Zanthus walked behind the rest of them as they entered the grand ballroom. There were hundreds of people waiting for the ceremony to begin. They mingled among themselves, talking within various classes.
The Council immediately stopped the conversation. Everyone feared them yet regarded them with the ultimate form of respect. They walked to their own table and sat down, listening as the commotion began again.
Zanthus hated this. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to see happiness that had been taken from him. For him, this was torture. He wouldn’t stay for the ceremony. He wouldn’t be able to take it.
Within an hour, the room was silenced, and the male came forth to stand on the stage before them. Zanthus stood and quietly left, excusing himself outside.
He stood on the deck, watching the pond before him ripple from the fountain in the center. He took out a cigarette, lighting it. He exhaled and shook his head.
Xinia paced upstairs in the practice room. She wasn’t nervous to play—she loved playing—but she had avoided the crowd all day. In a few minutes, she would have to go downstairs and play for the couple.
She would have to endure the pitiful looks and listen to the gossip that spread about her. She would have to bump into people and be asked horrible questions.
She didn’t know how she could handle that. She went into her bag and took out a rubber band, wrapping it on her wrist. Conventional anxiety treatments wouldn’t help with this.
She walked out onto the balcony, gripping the cold railing. She looked out onto the water, enjoying the way the moon shone on it. She heard something. It sounded like a flicker. Her eyes instinctually went to the noise.
She lost her breath, seeing his profile. His jaw was sharp from what she could see, and his facial hair created a thick layer on his skin. His hair was dark, or maybe it was because it was nighttime.
Her hand gripped the railing harder. Her breath caught in her chest as she realized she knew him.
For the first time in a very long time, she believed that a man was genuinely handsome. She turned, and as she did, she could have sworn she felt his eyes on her.
She grabbed her sheet music portfolio and her water bottle and went downstairs. She was just in time to see the male get burned with the female’s name. It scared her to death. She had to look away.
There was a round of applause as the couple left the altar and went to their decorated table.
Xinia stood in the back of the ballroom, right behind the black grand piano, as Blair came forth, announcing on the microphone that Xinia would be playing. There was another round of applause, and the lights in the room dimmed.
She walked on stage, bowed, and moved to the piano. She positioned the bench and herself in a way that would be most comfortable for her. Beside her was a page-turner that she had practiced with a few days prior.
She looked over the ivories and smiled to herself. For the next few minutes she would be absolutely free. She played “Comptine d’un autre été.”
Zanthus squinted his eyes as he saw the figure disappear inside. He put out his cigarette and realized that the ceremony would be over soon. He returned inside, sitting down with his brothers.
The pianist was announced, and he watched as Blair walked off. A woman came on stage. She was fragile and small, and through her smile, he could see the pain behind her eyes. Her name was Xinia, and apparently she was virtuosa.
She sat down, and the lights focused on her. She smiled politely at the page-turner. And then she played. Her fingers roamed the keys with ease, and her smile widened as she continued to play.
He knew this song. Where was it from? He couldn’t remember.
She played beautifully.
He watched as her back moved with the pace of the music. Her hair was long and straight, but off to the side so she could easily see her hands without being distracted.
She played with her heart—no, her soul—and loved every moment. She made love to the piano, and the piano released a wonderful response.
He focused on her hands. They were nimble, though long. Her nails were painted a bright red that matched her gown. His eyes trailed from her hands to arms that were small and undefined.
Then he went to her neck and licked his lips, seeing her blood pulse beneath her delicate skin. He suddenly became hungrier than he had been in months.
Her lips were thin but beautifully defined by the red lipstick. Her cheeks were high and regal. He knew she would have been born of power in his time.
His eyes were so deeply focused on her movements that he almost didn’t realize the song had ended. She smiled softly as people around her clapped. People stood, astounded by her ability to play.
She didn’t realize that people were standing, however, because the moment she finished, her eyes locked onto his. His body tensed, seeing her almond eyes stare back at him.
It was like she was a breath of fresh air after he’d been drowning for years.
He blinked when he realized he was hard. No, this wasn’t right. He shouldn’t feel this way for any other woman. He pushed himself away from the table and walked out.
After he left, she had never felt more unexplainably cold and alone.
However, even as she felt completely empty, she remembered that today was someone’s greatest day, so she turned back to the piano.
She saw the lights come back up and heard people begin speaking to one another. She didn’t mind that they spoke through her playing. She just enjoyed making music.
So she played for about two hours before her mother came to her. She was taken from her safe space on stage and onto the main floor where she was immediately bombarded with questions about Juilliard and if she was okay.
She felt like a failure having to tell people that she’d dropped out.
Her eyes caught a familiar figure within the crowd, and she excused herself. She walked over to the woman who clearly had a beloved.
“Adrasteia?”
Adra turned toward the sound with a bright smile. “Xinia? How are you? You are so good at the piano!”
Xinia smiled gratefully. “Thank you. I didn’t realize…”
“Oh,” she laughed. “Yeah, I’m a vampyre, and this is my beloved, Lycidas.”
Xinia didn’t want to touch him, and she was sure Adra didn’t want her to either. So she smiled and gently bowed her head as the man turned to her. She stilled, seeing his face.
He was quite an abrasive man, and he scared her beyond belief. She swallowed her fear and any disrespectful action, however, because he was a member of the Council.
She was personally familiar with them, but she hoped they wouldn’t remember her.
“Councilman Lycidas,” she said softly.
“It’s just Lycidas. It’s nice to meet you.”
Good. They didn’t remember.
“Oh, and this is Quillian, Caine, Athanasius, Demedicus, Kieran and, darn, I’m not sure where he went. There’s another member. His name is Zanthus.”
Zanthus. She could never forget that name. He was the one who truly came to her that night. He was the man she’d seen standing outside.
“It’s a pleasure to meet all of you.”
Quillian regarded her silently. She was fearful of them but not the ordinary fear of authority. She was scared of their physicality while there was a hint of trust. It confused him.
Her emotions were so strong yet completely chaotic. She wanted to leave, he could tell, and by her anxiety, he could tell she would make an excuse soon.
A drunken vamp accidentally ran into her, and she froze, almost looking like she was going to cry. She excused herself immediately then. Quillian watched her, instantly feeling fear drown her.
She left the crowded room and went outside onto the porch. She gasped, feeling as if she had just come up from under water.
She bent over, placing her hands on her knees, focusing on her breathing. She jumped hearing the click of a lighter.
She looked to her side, seeing a man sitting on the step, smoking.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I-I…”
“You’re having a panic attack.”
She nodded, unable to speak as her lungs couldn’t fill up with air. Fuck, she hated this. She hated feeling like this. She felt so afraid, so alone, so broken…
He stood up and walked in front of her. “I am going to help you,” he warned. He grabbed her hands. “Close your eyes.”
For some unknown reason, she listened, and as soon as she did, everything went away. All the sound, all the feelings, all the smells…everything left her and for once, she was completely calm.
It was only a moment before her senses returned to her.
When she opened her eyes, she realized who he was. He looked different now. Before, when she had met him, he had been large, and while he was still muscular now, it wasn’t nearly as much as then.
His eyes held pain now, and he seemed overall far more callous. He probably didn’t remember her. He stepped away from her and picked up the cigarette he had laid down on the step.
“You shouldn’t smoke.”
What? Why would she say that? She was so stupid.
He laughed and looked back at her. “Why not?”
“It’s…it’s bad for you.”
He laughed again. “We’re vampyres. No, it’s not.”
She was so, so stupid. She pulled the sleeves of her dress down, noticing a scar slipping out.
“You’re the woman who played the piano.”
She looked up, startled that he had said something. He was taking a drag as she took time to respond. “Yes,” she replied.
“You play well.”
“Thank you.” She waited for him to say something else. She wondered why he hadn’t asked her what had freaked her out, but a part of her was glad he had not.
As she was close to him, she could feel her fangs threaten to make an appearance. She lowered her head, focusing on her breathing. She was very hungry.
She turned to walk away but stopped as she got to the door. She turned around toward him. He still stared at the trees.
“Councilman Zanthus—”
He turned around again. “So you know me.”
“I could never forget you.” She swallowed as he stared at her, willing her to explain. “When I was twenty-seven, the Council saved me.
“You were the one who carried me out. So I just wanted to say thank you because I had never gotten the chance.”
She returned to the door. As she opened it, he said something.
“I don’t remember you.”
“I’m no one,” she responded with a small smile. She returned inside. She was going to retreat upstairs, but her father found her and brought her back into the ballroom. She wanted to groan as she was forced into a seat.
She had to sit there as the people around her spoke about various things she had no interest in. Her breath caught in her throat again as Zanthus walked in.
Her eyes followed him all the way to his seat and as he sat down, his eyes found hers again. She looked away quickly.
“So, Xinia, we were so sad to hear that you dropped out of Juilliard.”
She instinctually went for the rubber band on her wrist. She snapped it against her skin.
“It was unfortunate,” her mother replied.
“I’m so sorry for what happened to you—”
“Yes, what a tragedy.”
She snapped the band harder this time as her father responded. More and more questions flooded until someone asked something that broke any control she had left.
“God, what if they’re still alive—”
She stood up. She knew she had quieted the entire ballroom, but she left in a hurry.
What if they were alive?
What if they found her again?
What if they…
She felt sick. She ran into the nearest bathroom, not bothering to close the door, and threw up the contents of her stomach.
She could feel someone’s hands on her, holding her hair back. When she finally finished gagging, she realized it was Adrasteia.
“I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not. And that’s okay.”
She heaved again, but Adrasteia was there, rubbing her back, holding her hair, and when she was ready, she handed Xinia a glass of water.
About an hour later, Xinia was sitting on the floor with Adrasteia sitting against the door. They were sharing a bottle of wine Adra had stolen from the kitchen.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really. Everyone always wants me to talk about it. Never helps.”
“What does help?”
“Nothing, really, except piano. So I play until my fingers bleed.”
“You know,” Adra started, taking a swig, “my parents were murdered about a year ago. My beloved got me through it. Do you want one?”
She shook her head. “I am never choosing a mate.”
“What if you’re soul bound?”
“What, you mean like a connection wanted by Artemis?”
Adra nodded as Xinia chuckled. “Well, I would feel sad for the man who ends up with me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’m fucked up. More fucked up than you’ve probably ever experienced.”
Xinia stumbled to her feet, wiping a hand through her dark hair. “I should get to bed. I don’t feel so great.”
“Do you need help?”
“No, I have a room here in the mansion. I can get there. Thank you, though.”
“You’re welcome.”
“No, I mean it. Thank you for being a friend tonight. I needed it.”
“Always.”
