Page 54 of Besieger
“Sil—” he moaned despite himself. Silvio kicked his legs apart and positioned him for his pleasure, easing in too fast for comfort. “Sil, I am still sore from earlier and I havejustwashed. How are you not spent?”
All protestation left his voice when Silvio fit neatly against him, his forehead against Emerick’s shoulder, trembling. He began moving, slow—exquisitely slow and tender—as if Silvio was relearning the motion, or was afraid it would break him. The familiar warmth and weight of a body moulded against his, fingertips tracing the muscles of theComte’s legs, an eager breath against moist, burning skin, and the promise of blood kisses.
“Rico—” Silvio breathed out and the ache in his voice was almost frightening. Parched. Like a man possessed. “Mine,” he muttered quietly to himself. “All mine, at last.”
CHAPTER SIX
KYRILLOS, 2017
KYRILLOS ALEXANDROS HAD ARRIVED IN BERLIN as part of thePatrikia’s entourage years ago, and had remained there ever since. It was uncommon for the covens to exchange servants, but Ingenuar had made an exception. The All Father had seen how Kyrillos preferred dealing with the intrigues of his pretentious betters in Berlin, rather than serve as a gladiator among the undead back in Athens. Humans were allowed to leave a vampire’s service in exchange for their memories, and Kyrillos wanted to retain his, even if that meant a life of subjugation, moving between vampire masters.
Today had been a strange day. Stranger than most days spent in the company of vampires.
As Kyrillos was making the rounds, he caught sight of the Master’s daughter, Mihaela, in the hallway, east of the library, talking to a man. Kyrillos had been hurrying from room to room all morning, taking note of their guests’ quarters, keeping inventory of any items left behind from previous visits, ensuring that fireplaces were cleaned and stoked with firewood, curtains were drawn and intact, no moths gnawing at the fabric and letting in the fatal light of day while their masters slept. Despite his low station, Kyrillos had a good idea how many vampires resided at any given time in the mansion and how many were expected to attend. The man next to the young mistress was unfamiliar. Therewas no room assigned to him. Nor did the young mistress have the habit to entertain guests.
Slowing pace, Kyrillos squinted, trying to make out the stranger’s features. The man seemed out of place in the building. Something about him felt different. Kyrillos saw a stern profile, a cruel mouth and a frown that did not leave the man’s face as he listened to whatever Mihaela was saying. He had a dark complexion, an almost golden sheen to his skin, and his eyes were slanted. Under the light of the crystal chandeliers, his long hair looked raven-black, with hints of dark blue or violet. Kyrillos did not know who that man was, but he was sure he was not looking at a human, nor was he a vampire. His clothes were weird. Weirder than how most vampires dressed, as if he had come on foot through the countryside or on horseback, dressed in patches of leather and dyed wool. Road dust and soot covered the man’s boots.
It had to be a costume of some sort, Kyrillos mused and forced himself to look away and walk faster before they caught him staring. He knew the mistress to be a peculiar one. She was the youngest vampire to ever walk these halls.
And then, right when he had returned to work and fallen back into the familiar rhythm, he saw a maid, Katinka, leaving Raffaelle’s room. He took note of it—it was thesecondtime that evening the woman had gone upstairs to the room, carrying trays with various delicacies.
Vampires did not have personal servants assigned to them when they visited the Coven. A maid or a footman was chosen at random, sometimes on the very day, shortly before being sent up a room to clean and help the guest. Since vampires tended to feed on and occasionally take servants to bed, this system was meant to prevent attachments from forming. Yes, a vampire might have a preferred human among the sea of many, but these humans’ primary duty was the mansion itself and keeping it functioning, maintaining the order of the All Father.
So Kyrillos found it odd that Katinka kept appearing at Raffaelle’s door. That particular vampire did not linger on any given man or woman from the help. Yet, Kyrillos had seen Katinka the day before, and a few other times the previous week. He could pull her to the side and usher a warning, remind her that as the Mistress’ maid, she ought to exercise discretion and caution. Or he could leave this for the butler to handle. After all, it was not exactly Kyrillos’ responsibility to look after and reprimand his colleagues. Especially when he was having troubles of his own.
MarquisBracci stared at Kyrillos; the vampire’s eyes took him in entirely, calculating. Kyrillos had never lain with a vampire, never had his blood spilled for them, neither here nor in Athens. He did not consider it a matter of pride or of shame. It was not even something that occupied his time and thoughts while he worked. But now, under the gaze of theMarquis, he wondered what it would feel like. To be fed upon and touched by the dead. To be desired by the dead. The vampire was standing in front of him, his weight on his left leg, one hand in the pocket of his dark-grey wool trousers, which he had paired with a sepia-coloured polo, an outfit he had chosen to run a quick errand, keeping him warm enough against the cold wind if he were to venture outside.
“Do you know where Ingenuar is?” Silvio asked.
The vampire spoke with a slight accent, pronouncing the German words slowly, drawing the syllables out and forming them with his lips with deliberation. Kyrillos tried not to look at the vampire’s mouth, but the alternative was to look into his eyes—or look away entirely. The latter was unthinkable.
Of course, Kyrillos knew.Everyoneknew where the master was.
“The master’s in his study, sir,” Kyrillos heard himself answering, forcing himself to meet the vampire’s eyes.
Silvio’s mouth widened in a smile. He seemed pleased by what he was seeing. And what could he be seeing but a human;a young man in his late twenties, with a dark set of curls, hazel-brown eyes, a flushed face with defined cheekbones, and tanned skin. A servant. One among many.
“Would you take me there? I can never remember where that is. I visit so rarely, and this place feels like a maze at times.”
Kyrillosknewvampires had their ways of finding one another, to navigate buildings and cities alike—the same way they always seemed to know where all the mortals were and what they were up to in the mansion. Silvio could easily trace where Ingenuar currently resided and go to him. He did not need help, least of all from a footman.
Instead, Kyrillos nodded and turned on his heel, leading the guest up the stairs and through another long corridor. He could feel Silvio’s eyes on his back, the echo of footsteps on the marble tiles the only indication that the vampire was following. It was a short walk and Kyrillos did not know whether to be grateful or curse the brevity of the route. When they reached the hall leading up to the study, Silvio halted a few paces short of the door and fixed Kyrillos with that gaze once more.
The mortal’s mind was abuzz and raw with anticipation, his face burned bright red. Silvio did not narrow the distance between them, only nodded and thanked him, smiling. Kyrillos had been dismissed, back to his duties he should go, his company no longer needed. Flustered, Kyrillos turned around and quickly walked back the way he had come, feeling a complete fool. Behind him, he heard the opening—the vampire’s step faltered for a heartbeat—and the closing of the door to Ingenuar’s study. And Silvio was gone. The moment was gone. The lock clicked into place.
For one agonising second, his mind wandered, imagining how theMarquiswould call him back, asking him to stay; beckoning him, and…And do what?He had seen Silvio with the other one, the man some of the vampires named with a word in French Kyrillos did not know, though he could easily guess the connotation behind it. Of course, Silvio would have no need foranother lover, let alone a plaything. For this is what all the servants were: playthings to the dead, who cleaned up after them and kept them warm and fed.
Kyrillos thought Katinka no better for offering herself, time and again, at a vampire’s bed, and yet here he was, his composure lost, troubled by the sudden craving to do the very same thing. His hand shot up, clutching at the collar of his shirt; he wrapped the cloth tight around his neck, covering the skin.
For one nauseating second, he considered lingering in this part of the building, busying himself with something so that he could cross paths with Silvio again on the vampire’s return. TheMarquishad said he found the mansion hard to navigate. It was Kyrillos’ duty to assist him. A Regent’s needs were above those of the other vampires, after all. How would it feel for Silvio’s voice to slither in Kyrillos’ head, coming from somewhere deep within the Coven, and pull him to where he was needed?
No, no.Kyrillos shook his head, biting at his lip until it hurt. Until he tasted blood. The faster and further he walked away from the study, the better.
If thePatrikiasaw him like this, she would surely laugh.
RAFFAELLE, 2017
Raffaelle prided himself on being within the chosen circle of the Council. He had their ear and their confidence, and they, in turn, had his loyalty. In the court of the undead, obedience came naturally to a mortal’s mind once an order was repeated loudly and often enough. But try to put that same order in a vampire’s mind, it swayed like a pendulum. Vampires were picky and cautious creatures. They were constantly roaming through one another’s minds, scratching at the walls guarding the stream ofthoughts, gorging themselves on a plethora of secrets and half-truths. Wanting more, more, more.
