I almost started laughing too. Maybe because the rings ... They hardly seemed important, at that point. We'd been husband and wife since we'd spoken our vows and didn't need jewelry to prove it. At most, the gold band that I was fumbling to get onto Lucius's hand would tell the Bucharest debutantes to back off. Not that I was worried about anybody stealing him away. Lucius was mine now, and I was his. It was that simple.
"I am incredibly happy right now," Lucius whispered when his ring was in place. "Incredibly so."
"Me, too," I agreed, thinking that the phrase—"incredibly happy"—wasn't adequate. For once, even Lucius didn't seem have a vocabulary extensive enough to capture how I knew we were both feeling right then.
Then, as we stood there grinning at each other, Alexandru Vladescu finally spoke the words I swore I couldn't wait one more second to hear. "Lucius, you may kiss your bride."
Epilogue
"DO YOU THINK we left the reception too early?" I wondered aloud, although I didn't really care if we'd been a little rude. Our party, held in a clearing high in the Carpathians—a spot that I sometimes saw in dreams—had been wonderful, but I'd been ready to go ... well, almost as soon as it had started. I'd appreciated the endless congratulations, but—with the exception of our first dance—I'd hardly had a chance to even see Lucius since the wedding. Apparently, royalty couldn't afford to overlook anybody when mingling. "We were okay to leave, right?"
Lucius looked down at me, but I could barely make out his features. We were walking hand in hand through the dark forest, heading back to the estate, where we'd spend our honeymoon. "I think that decorum was abandoned entirely, by everyone, sometime around midnight," he reassured me. "I believe it started with your father's dancing."
"That was some tribal blessing thing he learned ... somewhere," I defended Dad, even though I couldn't help laughing at the memory of the awkward moves he'd attempted. And the spectacle had gotten worse when he'd drawn in my uncle Dorin, who'd apparently had more than one glass of wine that evening.
Yes, my father's unconventional way of wishing us good luck had probably marked the beginning of the end of the "stately" part of the reception.
"And then my best man—and your maid of honor—seemed to disappear without even a goodbye," Lucius noted.
I stopped laughing. That actually worried me.
Had they really gone off ... together?
Before I could ask Lucius, for at least the tenth time, if maybe we should go search for them—to which he would inevitably reply that I underestimated Mindy's good sense and Raniero's trustworthiness, in spite of the latter's bad taste in pants—he added to my concerns.
"And last but not least, there was Claudiu's inexcusable behavior toward you throughout the entire evening—for which he will answer to me, at a more appropriate time."
"Lucius..." I didn't want to think about Claudiu right then, even if he had pretty much snubbed me at my own wedding. "Let's just let it go, okay?"
Lucius didn't make any promises, and all at once it didn't matter so much. At least not right then, because we had stepped out of the woods and were crossing the last few yards to the castle.
I stopped for a second and just stared, trying not to be intimidated. I'm no longer a guest here.
Then, feeling Lucius tug on my hand, because he hadn't paused to gawk, I kept going, and when we reached the massive door, one of the guards, who'd probably never been too far from us, materialized to open it.
"Lucius! What the...?" I cried out in surprise as he bent down and swept me up off my feet. "Are you actually carrying me across the threshold?"
"That is what grooms do, correct?" he joked, hoisting me higher, so I settled against his chest. "This is proper etiquette, I believe."
The gesture was completely cliched, but I secretly loved it. It seemed in character for a vampire who'd once lectured me on the merits of chivalry in a high school cafeteria. "Well, thank you," I said, nestling against him as he carried me inside the castle walls.
I expected him to put me down once we got into the foyer—where he'd taken me prisoner not too long before—but he continued holding me, moving into the maze of corridors, and soon both of us got quiet. And when we were deep in the heart of the castle, my heart started to pound a little with anticipation—along with a growing case of nerves. My chest was against Lucius's, and I could feel that his heart was beating harder, too. But I seriously doubted that he felt any fear, like I did.
Should I tell him that I'm getting a little scared?
No!
He kept walking, his footsteps echoing in the otherwise empty hallways, and although Lucius had shown me the room that was his—soon to be ours—as always happened in the estate, before long I was completely lost, until he stopped at a door that was bigger than most, and which I did recognize.
"We're here," he announced softly.
My pulse started racing then, way too fast for a vampire's, and I looked up and down the dark hall. This time, there was no guard in sight.
"Lucius?" My voice was quiet too, but it sounded higher than usual, and my arms tightened around his neck, as if I didn't want him to put me down.
"Yes, wife of mine?" he asked, sort of teasing. But I could hear that his voice was changing, too. Getting softer and lower. "Do you need something, before we cross this threshold?"
I was the one who'd started the conversation, but I had no idea what I wanted to say or ask for. I was still completely happy—but also very nervous. It wasn't that I thought he'd ever hurt me, or that the old plot to take my life might be back in motion. It was just that we were about to...
"Nothing," I told him, getting control of myself. "I just wanted to say how much I love you."
Lucius nuzzled my neck, and I could feel his lips turn up into a smile. "I love you, too, Princess Vladescu."
Then my new husband bent slightly to reach for the doorknob, twisted it, and opened the door. Carrying me into the room, he set me down and drew me to him, saying quietly, "Welcome home, Antanasia."
I didn't answer him. All of the sudden, I couldn't speak, for too many reasons to count, as the fantasy of our wedding already started to fade and a beautiful, exciting, terrifying reality sank in.
This is my home. I felt Lucius's arm around my waist, and looked up into his dark eyes. This is my husband. Then I peered around the cavernous chamber, with the fire blazing even in summer, and the huge bed, and the leaded windows, and the stone walls—all of which I'd only seen once before. This is my life now. There really is no turning back.
I was thinking that just as Lucius reached behind himself with one arm, still holding me with his other, and closed the door behind us, sealing us in together and shutting the rest of the world, and the life I used to know, out.
More by Beth Fantaskey:
Jekel Loves Hyde
Jessica's Guide to Dating on the Dark Side
Please enjoy this sample chapter of
Jekel Loves Hyde.
Prologue
Jill
I BURIED MY FATHER the day after my seventeenth birthday.
Even the sun was cruel that morning, an obscenely bright but cold January day. The snow that smothered the cemetery glared harshly white, blinding those mourners who couldn't squeeze under the tent that covered Dad's open grave. And the tent itself gleamed crisply, relentlessly white, so it hurt a little to look at that, too.
Hurt a lot, actually.
Against this inappropriately immaculate backdrop, splashes of black stood in stark relief, like spatters of ink on fresh paper: the polished hearse that glittered at the head of the procession, the minister's perfectly ironed shirt, and the sober coats worn by my father's many friends and colleagues, who came up one by one after the service to offer Mom and me their condolences.
Maybe I saw it all in terms of color because I'm an artist. Or maybe I was just too overwhelmed to deal with anything but extremes. Maybe my grief was so raw that the whole world seemed severe and discordant and clashing.
<
br /> I don't remember a word the minister said, but he seemed to talk forever. And as the gathering began to break up, I, yesterday's birthday girl, stood there under that tent fidgeting in my own uncomfortable, new black dress and heavy wool coat, on stage like some perverse debutante at the world's worst coming-out party.
I looked to my mother for support, for help, but her eyes seemed to yawn as vacant as Dad's waiting grave. I swear, meeting Mom's gaze was almost as painful as looking at the snow, or the casket, or watching the endless news reports about my father's murder. Mom was disappearing, too...
Feeling something close to panic, I searched the crowd.
Who would help me now?
I wasn't ready to be an adult...
Was I really ... alone?
Even my only friend, Becca Wright, had begged off from the funeral, protesting that she had a big civics test, which she'd already rescheduled twice because of travel for cheerleading. And, more to the point, she just "couldn't handle" seeing my poor, murdered father actually shoved in the ground.
I looked around for my chemistry teacher, Mr. Messerschmidt, whom I'd seen earlier lingering on the fringes of the mourners, looking nervous and out of place, but I couldn't find him, and I assumed that he'd returned to school, without a word to me.
Alone.
I was alone.
Or maybe I was worse than alone, because just when I thought things couldn't get more awful, my classmate Darcy Gray emerged from the crowd, strode up, and thrust her chilly hand into mine, air-kissing my cheek. And even this gesture, which I knew Darcy offered more out of obligation than compassion, came across like the victor's condescending acknowledgment of the vanquished. When Darcy said, "So sorry for your loss, Jill," I swore it was almost like she was congratulating herself for still having parents. Like she'd bested me once more, as she had time and again since kindergarten.
"Thanks," I said stupidly, like I genuinely appreciated being worthy of pity.
"Call me if you need anything," Darcy offered. Yet I noticed that she didn't jot down her cell number. Didn't even reach into her purse and feign looking for a pen.
"Thanks," I said again.
Why was I always acting grateful for nothing?
"Sure," Darcy said, already looking around for an escape route.
As she walked away, I watched her blond hair gleaming like a golden trophy in that too-brilliant sun, and the loneliness and despair that had been building in me rose to a crescendo that was so powerful I wasn't quite sure how I managed to keep my knees from buckling. Not one real friend there for me...
That's when I noticed Tristen Hyde standing at the edge of the tent. He wore a very adult, tailored overcoat, unbuttoned, and I could see that he had donned a tie, too, for this occasion. He had his hands buried in his pockets, a gesture that I first took as signaling discomfort, unease. I mean, what teenage guy wouldn't be uncomfortable at a funeral? And I hardly knew Tristen. It wasn't like we were friends. He'd certainly never met my father.
Yet there he was, when almost nobody else had shown up for me.
Why? Why had he come?
When Tristen saw that I'd noticed him, he pulled his hands from his pockets, and I realized that he wasn't uneasy at all. In fact, as he walked toward me, I got the impression that he'd just been waiting, patiently, for his turn. For the right time to approach me.
And what a time he picked. It couldn't have been more dead on.
"It's going to be okay," he promised as he came up to me, reaching out to take my arm, like he realized that I was folding up inside, on the verge of breaking down.
I looked up at him, mutely shaking my head in the negative.
No, it was not going to be okay.
He could not promise that.
Nobody could. Certainly not some kid from my high school, even a tall one dressed convincingly like a full-fledged man.
I shook my head more vehemently, tears welling in my eyes.
"Trust me," he said softly, his British accent soothing. He squeezed my arm harder. "I know what I'm talking about."
I didn't know at the time that Tristen had vast experience with this "grief" thing. All I knew was that I let him, a boy I barely knew, wrap his arms around me and pull me to his chest. And suddenly, as he smoothed my hair, I really started weeping. Letting out all the tears that I'd bottled up, from the moment that the police officer had knocked on the door of our house to say that my father had been found butchered in a parking lot outside the lab where he worked, and all through planning the funeral, as my mother fell to pieces, forcing me to do absurd, impossible things like select a coffin and write insanely large checks to the undertaker. Suddenly I was burying myself under Tristen's overcoat, nearly knocking off my eyeglasses as I pressed against him, and sobbing so hard that I must have soaked his shirt and tie.
When I was done, drained of tears, I pulled away from him, adjusting my glasses and wiping my eyes, sort of embarrassed. But Tristen didn't seem bothered by my show of emotion.
"It does get better, hurt less," he assured me, repeating, "Trust me, Jill."
Such an innocuous little comment at the time, but one that would become central to my very existence in the months to come.
Trust me, Jill...
"I'll see you at school," Tristen added, pressing my arm again. Then he bent down, and in a gesture I found incredibly mature, kissed my cheek. Only I shifted a little, caught off-guard, not used to being that near to a guy, and the corners of our lips brushed.
"Sorry," I murmured, even more embarrassed—and kind of appalled with myself. I'd never even come close to kissing a guy on the lips under any circumstances, let alone on such a terrible day. Not that I'd really felt anything, of course, and yet ... It just seemed wrong to even consider anything but death at that moment. How could I even think about how some guy felt, how he smelled, how it had been just to give up and be held by somebody stronger than me? My father was DEAD. "Sorry," I muttered again, and I think I was kind of apologizing to Dad, too.
"It's okay," Tristen reassured me, smiling a little. He was the first person who'd dared to smile at me since the murder. I didn't know what to make of that, either. When should people smile again? "See you, okay?" he said, releasing my arm.
I hugged myself, and it seemed a poor substitute for the embrace I'd just been offered. "Sure. See you. Thanks for coming."
I followed his progress as Tristen wandered off through the graves, bending over now and then to brush some snow off the tombstones, read an inscription, or maybe check a date, not hurrying, like graveyards were his natural habitat. Familiar territory.
Tristen Hyde had come for ... me.
Why?
But there was no more time to reflect on whatever motives had driven this one particular classmate to attend a stranger's burial, because suddenly the funeral director was tapping my shoulder, telling me that it was time to say any final goodbyes before the procession of black cars pulled away from the too-white tent and the discreetly positioned backhoe hurried in to do its job because there was more snow in the forecast.
"Okay," I said, retrieving my mother and guiding her by the hand, forcing us both to bow our heads one last time.
We sealed my father's grave on a day of stark contrasts, of black against white, and it was the last time I'd ever find myself in a place of such extremes. Because in the months after the dirt fell on the coffin, my life began to shift to shades of gray, almost like the universe had taken a big stick and stirred up the whole scene at that cemetery, mixing up everything and repainting my world.
As it turned out, my father wasn't quite the man we'd all thought he was.
Correction.
Nothing and no one, as I would come to learn, would turn out to be quite what they'd seemed back on that day.
Not even me.
And Tristen ... He would prove to be the trickiest, the most complicated, the most compelling of all the mysteries that were about to unravel.
Chapter 1
Jill
THE FIRST PERIOD of the first day of my senior year kicked off with an academic ritual that I'd dreaded since my earliest days in school.
The choosing of partners.
"Come up and get your get new lab manuals, a copy of the text, and then pair up at the lab stations," our advanced chemistry teacher, Mr. Messerschmidt, said, directing our attention to the front of the room, where his long desk held neat stacks of books and papers waiting for us. He did a quick head count, lips moving as he pointed at us, one by one. "We're supposed to have an odd number," he added, frowning, like the tally hadn't turned out as planned. "So somebody'll have to work alone this year, if everyone shows."
No ... not an odd number...
I felt my heart race, the way it always did when there was a chance that I might end up alone. One year in gym class, I'd been the odd girl out for square dancing two weeks in a row, standing in solitary shame against the wall until the teacher forced somebody else to switch out so I could have a turn. And even though chemistry was my best subject, that was no guarantee that Jill Jekel would find a partner here, either.
As I moved to get my manual and book, I tried not to look desperate, even as I made vague attempts at eye contact.
Becca was in the class, but she was so popular ... I looked in her direction, but Seth Lanier was telling her some joke, making her laugh. She'd probably team with Seth...
Tucking my stick-straight, brown hair that was forever escaping from my ponytail behind my ear, I reached for the lab manual, trying to look relaxed and nonchalant. I could always act like I wanted to work alone, if worst came to worst.
"Hey, Jill."
I glanced over to see Darcy Gray edging in next to me, snapping up a manual, and I felt a surge of hope, albeit one tempered with skepticism.