Hearts At Stake - By Alyxandra Harvey Page 0,31
you find?” I asked, pretending my voice hadn’t squeaked.
“I’m not sure yet but it’s got more security than I’ve ever seen.” He frowned. “I can’t crack this. I’m not even sure Connor can.”
“But he has a place to start, right?”
“I guess. For what it’s worth.” He pushed away from the desk.
“We had to try.”
“Yeah.” He didn’t look pleased. I nudged his foot with my boot.
“Want to crank call Kieran?”
He sat next to me, smiling. “Maybe later. Nothing gets you down, does it?”
“Sure it does.” He was close enough that his knee brushed mine. “When this is all over I’ll have myself a good cry and a pity-party. Right now, I just don’t have the time.”
“You’re kind of amazing.”
I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, flushing. It was odd to get a compliment like that from him. And really nice. “Solange says I’m kind of evil.”
“That too.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” he replied warily.
“Were you scared during your bloodchange?”
He stilled. “Yes.”
“Did it hurt?” I couldn’t stand the thought of Solange suffering. It wasn’t fair. She was too good a person to go through all of this.
“Some. Mostly I just felt weak and exhausted, like I had a really bad fever. By the time I lost consciousness I didn’t really care anymore. I was too tired.”
I was sorry now that I’d been locked out of the house, that I couldn’t have been there for him. I could easily picture him writhing in pain on this bed, soaked in sweat, delirious. “Geoffrey says it’s kind of like a battle.”
“It is. It feels like you’re hallucinating though and even now it’s hazy. I’m not sure what was real and what wasn’t.”
I touched his knee. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”
“Don’t be.”
“Solange is really strong,” I said it again. “Stronger than everyone thinks she is.”
“I know.”
“What got you through?” I whispered. “Do you remember?”
He nodded but wouldn’t look at me. When he didn’t elaborate, I turned to face him. “What? Is it a secret? Don’t I know all the deep dark Drake secrets by now?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “I guess.”
“What then?”
“You.”
I swallowed, stunned. “Me?”
“Yeah.” He stood up and went to the door, where he paused for the barest second. “You got me through.”
CHAPTER 11
Solange
I was not enjoying this.
We weren’t even there yet and I just wanted it to be over.
We didn’t take the tunnels to Veronique. Her house outside of Violet Hill was completely independent of the Drake compound and Natasha’s royal courts in the caves and pretty much everything else. The house was perched on a hill and painted dark gray, with Victorian gables and stunted thorn trees all around. It was straight out of Wuthering Heights.
“I can’t believe she came here for this,” I muttered as Marcus turned into the lane. It was miles before it wound through the woods and then out onto a clearing with a narrow driveway. “She never comes here.”
“You’re special,” Quinn told me. “She came here for you.”
“Great.”
We got out of the car and I tried not to compare the slamming of the doors to gunshots. Everything had a dark, final feel here. I shook it off. I was letting the melodrama of the house infect me. This was technically my great-great-several-times- great-grandmother. While I doubted she’d baked me cupcakes, I had to assume she didn’t mean me any harm either. Each of my brothers had survived the formal introduction. I would too. I kind of wished Lucy was here; I could have used some of her swagger. I’d just have to find my own.
“Come on, little sister.” Duncan nudged me up onto the porch. The door swung open before we could knock. Veronique didn’t have guards, but she did have ladies-in-waiting. The one who answered the door didn’t betray a flicker of emotion. She was dressed in a suit with a pencil skirt and wore her hair scraped back into a bun. She looked competent and about as warm as winter at the top of a mountain.
“You’re expected,” she said. “Come in.” She stepped aside. “I am Marguerite.”
We bustled into the foyer and then just stood there in a hesitant clump. Even Logan wasn’t flirting with her. London scowled but looked at the floor. There were chandeliers everywhere, made of jet and crystal drops. Oil lamps burned on wooden chests serving as tables. It smelled vaguely like incense. A shield with the Drake family crest hung on the wall with our motto: “Nox noctis, nostra domina,” which translated roughly to “Night, our mistress.”
“Only