Graced Read online

  There were more, but these were the most fundamental and unchanging.

  Misty’s finger poked him in the arm. “Why are you so interested in those things?”

  Dante glanced at her. “The skulls?”

  She rolled lavender-colored eyes at him. “What else are you looking at?”

  He turned the were—wolf in this case—skull over in his hands. It also felt cool and smooth, but its surface was grainier, even with the resin coating. And it was heavier than the human’s. Much heavier.

  “It says the werewolf skull has the same cranial capacity as a human’s,” Dante said.

  “So? That just shows wolves are as stupid as humans.”

  The corner of Dante’s mouth lifted slightly. Holding the wolf head in one hand, he lifted the vampire skull and peered at the yellowed note underneath. He carefully sat it back down, while noticing that it was lighter than the wolf skull, but heavier than the human’s. “They have the same capacity as we do.”

  Misty snorted, but her arm snaked out and lifted the vampire skull to check for herself. “Fancy that.”

  “We’re all as dumb as each other, then.”

  “There is no way a human is as intelligent as we are—the same goes for fleabags.”

  Dante had never really had much to do with wolves—or any other were—so he couldn’t vouch for their mental acumen or their flea status, but he had to agree that he’d never really met a human who was anything other than pathetic. At least wolves—and weres in general—couldn’t get bit-ridden.

  “The human skull is fragile, the bone thin and delicate.” He ignored Misty’s chuckle. “But the wolf skull is heavy, the bone dense. Check out these suture marks.” He ran his finger over the zigzagging lines that crisscrossed their way over the bone, far more than on the human’s. “They’re all over. And see here? This ridge on the top of the skull?”

  He held it up, with his finger resting on the aforementioned ridge. Misty obediently looked, and for once he could tell that she was humoring him. “This is the gap between the jaw muscles. They were huge.”

  “So?”

  “So? It explains why they can bite almost through bone, even when they’re in human form.”

  “In a way, I can see why these bones interest you so much, but, Dante, they’re skulls. It’s not like you can talk to them; you can’t have a chat to their owners. You need another interest, one that people can survive.”

  Dante turned to her. “These skulls are interesting because they show just how different we are from each other; humans, weres, vampires. But we’re all essentially the same. Did you know there are theories that say we all came from the same source?”

  Misty frowned. “Source?”

  “We were all human once.”

  “Not possible.” She waved a dismissive hand through the air. “Look at that vampire skull. It’s clearly different.”

  Dante reluctantly put the wolf skull back. The eye sockets looked slightly smaller than the human’s, but he couldn’t say with certainty that this was the case. Not without his measuring tools. It wasn’t a noticeable difference when the flesh was there, anyway.

  Misty handed the vampire skull to him. “It’s different, see?”

  She really didn’t seem to like the idea that vampires might have been related to humans or weres. He turned the skull over in his hands, running his fingers over the mandible and temporal bones. “The bone is thicker than the human’s—but that probably means the vampire was old. All that constant regeneration tends to leave a calcium build-up. The skull isn’t really that different.”

  “Apart from the fact that there is a calcium build-up. You know…the whole longevity thing. Humans die a lot. How old is old?” Misty asked.

  Dante squinted as he thought. He guessed, “Maybe two thousand years?”

  “That’s not that old. Father is a thousand, and he’s still got three more to go.”

  “So? It’s not like you’ve had a look at Father’s skull.” Although Dante had thought about it, probably more often than would be considered healthy in a loving, dutiful son.

  “True. But knowing Father, it’s probably thicker than a werewolf’s.” She chuckled.

  He quirked a half smile and turned the head around so it was on its side, facing Misty. “See here?” He ran his fingers over the maxilla, where the incisors met the bone. Tilting the skull again, he saw the thin pieces of the wire that bound the two teeth there. Muscle normally held them in place.

  “Our teeth go that far up?” Misty asked. She was running a finger over one of her own fangs.

  “Yeah, they do.” And then they dropped down, but she’d know that already. He placed the skull back on the shelf.

  “You’re a freak, you know that, right?” Misty said.

  Dante took a step back from the bookcase and examined the display. It looked exactly as he had found it. “Because I like to know how my body works? About where we might have come from?”

  “No,” she said, turning around. He heard the sound of rustling silk; she must be smoothing her dress. “I can understand wanting to know how something works. But you don’t like the things that live inside the casings you find so interesting. And you like to know about humans and dogs, too.”

  He slashed a glance at her. “You fuck them, what’s the difference?”

  She blinked. “I’d never fuck a dog. Or any were. Plus, what I do is fun.”

  “And what I do isn’t?”

  “As I said,” she flounced her hair again, “you’re a freak.”

  Dante shook his head and started walking across the thick, blood-red rug toward the soundproof door that wasn’t soundproof.

  “So why do you smell like death, but you don’t have the accompanying aroma of yummy yummy blood?” Misty asked his back.

  Dante shook his head, not bothering to turn around. “One of the bit-ridden slaves attacked me.”

  He pictured her eyebrow arching high onto her forehead. “So you killed them?”

  He shrugged, almost at the door. “It did it in front of a group of slaves. What else was I to do?”

  “Bite them?”

  “That’s what the slave wanted.”

  “I see.” Her voice was thoughtful.

  Maybe Misty saw something, but it probably wasn’t Dante’s point. He stepped through the doorway and into the corridor. She would think that he’d decided to be perverse—something she was good at—and that he’d given the slave the opposite of what it had wanted. But he’d thought that ending the bit-ridden creature’s existence was…the kinder option.

  To live for the bite; to want nothing more out of life other than the euphoria induced by vampire saliva? He shook his head as he walked down the corridor toward his chamber. It was hard for him to think of how a life like that would be worth living.

  Chapter 2

  “Keep your head down, Emmie,” Elle said. She tightened her grip on her sister’s hand. The small fingers, a deep olive in comparison to her white, were wriggling in protest.

  Emmie stopped moving down the sidewalk and tilted her face toward Elle, careful to keep her eyes away from the strangers who bumped into them as they passed by. Even downturned, that rich, unique Teal seemed like a beacon. “I just want to look around.”

  “We walk by here every day.” Elle sighed and halted, quickly drawing Emmie out of the way of strangers. They seemed to have this argument every time they went out. And sometimes she gave in, but not today, not right now. Large bluestone walls towered on their right side and a street full of carriages rushed by to their left, with rows of fashionable shops past them. The icy smell of vampires seemed to permeate the air.

  “People will see you.” Or, more accurately, a vampire or werewolf who was strolling down Pittbrough Street—the city’s main shopping strip—might notice Emmie’s eyes and decide they wanted her for a “pet.”

  It wasn’t dusk yet, which meant that it was mostly humans out, but Elle never liked to take chances. Not with Emmie. With her free
hand, Elle touched her fingers to her sister’s chin. Small, pointy and stubborn, that’s what that chin was. “You’re special, sweet.”

  Emmie pulled her face away and frowned at the cobblestone street. “I don’t want to be special.”

  Nobody wants to be special, Elle thought. Well, nobody who had any sense. To be unique was like painting “food” on one’s forehead and walking into a vampire’s or wolf’s estate. Like the one they were standing next to, those cold stone walls looming, a silent warning.

  “Let’s go,” Elle said and started walking, half-dragging Emmie behind her.

  “Do we have to go to Gran’s?” Emmie asked.

  Elle couldn’t stop the edges of her lips rising. “Unfortunately, yes, we do.”

  “She’s not very nice.”

  Elle looked down at her sister; the weak sunlight caught the golden lights in Emmie’s normally brown hair. Their breaths were misting, but Emmie didn’t seem cold. Elle tugged the collar up on her sister’s jacket and made sure it was buttoned over her dress of pale green cotton, sturdy and washable. It hung a good two inches above the ground, and her brown walking boots were visible. She’d had another growth spurt. Did children ever stop? Elle noticed that Emmie had tied a dark green ribbon around her waist; a dusky green tail hung below the hem of her jacket. Their grandmother would not approve; but then, Gran never approved of much.

  “Gran is old; old people tend to get crotchety.”

  Serious Teal eyes met hers. “I’ve met other old people, you know, and none of them are like Gran.”

  “Nobody is like Gran.” Elle chuckled, a low sound that caught a passing vampire’s attention. She shut her mouth quickly and took in his dark hair, which was tied back in a queue, and his eyes, which were a piercing violet. He seemed to search her face for…something. He was standing next to a blonde, icy vampire who wore a white gown that looked utterly ridiculous on her.

  Elle looked away, her fingers tightening on Emmie’s. Elle didn’t like the way the vampire was staring at her, from the tips of her short red curls to the scuffed boots of her City Guard uniform.

  Time to get moving, she thought, before he or the ice bitch he’s with notices Emmie.

  Elle’s fingers closed spasmodically around Emmie’s as she hauled her sister away.

  *

  “Dante, what are you doing?”

  Misty’s voice pierced through Dante’s mental haze. He blinked, shook himself, and turned his attention away from the human girl who wore trousers like a man, and had her flame red hair cropped to frame a face that was highlighted by hazel eyes.

  Hazel.

  “Dante?” A finger prodded his arm. Hard.

  He hissed and turned to his sibling. “What?”

  It was difficult for him, to stand there and not follow the human girl, but it would raise too many eyebrows. His father was due back in town within the week, and the less public attention he garnered, the better.

  Misty’s eyes were narrowed and her pale face was pinched in irritation. “You stopped walking and stood there like a fool, staring into space. We’re being looked at.”

  “I thought you liked being watched,” Dante muttered, searching for the telltale short hair of the human girl, but she’d vanished into the flow of people moving up and down the opposite side of the street.

  Hawkers were shouting information about their wares from the shop fronts that lined the sides of the pavement, and coachmen were yelling at each other from the cobbled street. He didn’t even want to think about the smells that were assaulting him. Too many unwashed humans. “I was looking at someone.”

  “My dress is getting dirty!”

  The sidewalk wasn’t really that dusty, he thought. It was paved and had been swept by each storefront owner in the early hours of the evening. He glanced at the hem of Misty’s muslin dress. It had very faint smudges of dust decorating the lace. “Why did you wear white when you knew we were going to be walking?”

  Other vampires were strolling by them, and as he watched, dry specks of dirt were kicked up into the air and danced their way onto the lace of her dress.

  “Don’t be dense.”

  Dante blinked. Dense? Freak, yes. Weirdo, he’d accept that, but dense?

  “White makes me look innocent.”

  He laughed; it was a rusty sound. He saw that Misty had pursed her lips. At least she hadn’t painted them with rouge, he thought, but being a vampire who fed regularly, her lips seemed to stay a bright berry color. She looked ridiculous enough as it was.

  “Innocent?” he asked, his laugh having died down to a smirk.

  “It does.”

  “Sister, nothing you wear could make you appear innocent.” Some people just had vibes, he thought, and “harlot” was his sister’s.

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine, don’t believe me. But I always wear white. So why were you standing there looking at someone? And since when are you even interested in other people? Aren’t you still a virgin?”

  Dante shook his head and held out his arm, waiting for his sister to place her hand on it. For a culture that didn’t care about who hopped into bed with whom—gender and race not being important—they sure cared about someone who wasn’t having sex.

  Dante began walking again, forcing Misty to follow. The sea of people who had avoided them when they stood still now parted, as if royalty strolled through. From the smile on Misty’s face, she seemed to appreciate the preference they were given. He had no idea why they moved out of his way so fast. Maybe he looked scary.

  Remembering what she said, he muttered, “I am always interested in other people.”

  Misty smiled as an acquaintance nodded a greeting. The young man’s cravat was set so high it nearly obliterated any sign that he possessed a chin. But his eyes didn’t seem to suffer from the overly enthusiastic garment, and they stared at Dante just as much as they did his sister.

  “You mean you like experimenting on humans,” Misty said out of the side of her smile. “Humans aren’t people.”

  “They’re people enough.”

  “Try to smile, brother, people are looking at us.”

  They continued down Pittbrough Street, even though it was now called Park Road—what type of idiot changed a street name halfway down?—and turned into King’s Park, the place for vampire aristos to see and be seen in Pinton.

  He hadn’t wanted to come, but Misty had proved sufficiently irritating. Like the weak-spined fool his father thought him, he’d given in. And she’d had a point—if he was seen trying to be sociable, their father wouldn’t carp on so much about having such a disappointing excuse for an offspring. He’d still be annoyed at Dante for some reason, but at least it wouldn’t be about that. As for why Misty had specifically wanted him to go with her, he wasn’t sure, but he had a feeling it was because some aristos thought he was intriguing. Social hermits were fascinating like that; he guessed Misty wanted some of that attention focused on her.

  He raised an eyebrow. “But if I smiled, wouldn’t I appear less mysterious?”

  Misty opened the parasol he’d forgotten she was carrying. Lacy shadow fell over them. As they moved farther into the park, the air smelled less like unwashed human bodies and more like flowers, metal and vampires. She didn’t reply.

  “I don’t know why they bother to have trees that aren’t trees,” Dante said as he looked at the contorted sculptures designed to represent the plants. He’d failed to recall how utterly ridiculous they were. Curling around metal branches were twisting vines; the scent of honeysuckle, jasmine and ivy wafting through the air. They were beautiful, but pointless.

  Like most of society.

  “The landscapers didn’t want any real wood here. Wanted it to be a vampire haven.” Misty rolled her lavender eyes at him.

  Dante snorted. “And who, tell me, would come into a park filled with vampires, break a branch off a tree and then stake someone in full view of everyone else?”

  Misty stared at him. “It’s the principle,” she
said slowly.

  “No, it’s idiocy. Humans have access to wood—they build with it, they burn it, they use it daily—if they were going to try and kill one of us, they’d do it in a much safer environment.”

  “Safer?”

  “For them.”

  “Your mind is a strange place, Dante.”

  He gave her a genuine smile, letting her words flow over him. “Thank you.”

  Chapter 3

  Olive Brown stared at the messenger standing nervously before her. He was sweaty, grimy and tired, she knew that, but she wasn’t going to offer him a chair. People didn’t get to sit in her presence; it was a privilege to be treated as if someone was on equal terms with her. Most people weren’t even close.

  “He should be arriving any day now,” the messenger—Trent—said.

  Olive nodded. “That is good news.”

  The messenger seemed to sway on his feet. Trent’s Green eyes flickered over Olive’s face, never meeting her own sharp glare. But Trent was smart enough to not look at the floor. That would have spelled weakness, and weakness was something Olive would not—could not—tolerate. Olive and Trent may have the same eye color, but Trent was to Olive like a rat was to a bear. She would destroy anything threatening her, or her people. Like a mother protecting her cubs. And if some of her own kind were lost along the way, well, battles always ended in casualties from both sides.

  “Is there anything else?” Olive asked.

  “No.”

  “Then you may go.”

  Olive watched him leave. She frowned at the dirty footprints he’d left on the green carpet. She’d have to get it cleaned. Maybe she’d make one of her granddaughters do it the next time they visited.

  Only after he’d shut the door behind him did she allow herself to smile.

  Chapter 4

  The city reeked of vampires. Icy cool; like chilled, bloody water. It clung to the insides of his nostrils and made his skin itch—from the inside. He didn’t like it, liked it even less than the stench of the tanners and dyers that pervaded the other side of the Thyme River, but that meant little. What he liked wasn’t exactly important, not anymore.