Traded

GABRIEL:

I was the king. The king of the underworld.

But that didn’t stop my brothers from betting behind my back. 

They didn’t know I was outside of the room, watching through the half-open door. 

“The wedding festivities begin next week. But something hasn’t been settled—the thing everyone’s talking about.” My brother Cristian leaned across the heavy, antique table. He had the Dalca family good looks—thick, dark hair, square jaw, smooth, alabaster skin. He was the largest of my little brothers, a beast, with broad shoulders that strained beneath his shirt.

Cristian waggled his eyebrows. “The question on everyone’s minds is: will the vampire king bring a date to his little brother’s wedding?”

The response from my three other brothers was swift.

“Hell no.”

“Of course not. He’s too good for everyone.”

“As if.”

“We should make a wager.” Stefan, the youngest, had an eager glimmer in his eyes. “I’ll bet you three blondes plus a raven-haired beauty that he’ll never bring a date. We could wait a thousand years—”

“We have been waiting a thousand years,” the next brother, Alex, joked. “But for fun I’ll take your bet, and I’ll raise you a redhead.”

“And I’ll see your bet, and add another redhead,” Cristian agreed. He looked positively gleeful.

The other brother, Iulian, grinned. “Since I’m the one that’s causing all the trouble by getting married, I suppose I should join in. I’ll take your wager of three-blonds, a raven-head, and two redheads—and I’ll raise the stakes by adding one of my hounds. That’s how sure I am that King Big Brother won’t have a date for the wedding. There’s no way.”

Stefan looked at him with wide eyes. “You’re willing to bet one of your hellhounds?”

Iulian laughed. “Obviously, I’m pretty confident. Gabriel hasn’t had a woman since Leonora drove a proverbial stake though his heart so many years ago.”

That’s it. The conversation needed to stop. I thundered into the room and glowered at each of them. “Really? This is how you talk about your king?” At least they had the decency to look ashamed.

“It’s just a friendly wager, brother.” But Cristian puffed out his chest, a bit defensively.

“I’m not sure what this wager is about.” I crossed my arms against my chest. “Of course I’m bringing a date to the wedding. It’s the society event of the century. It wouldn’t do for the king to attend unaccompanied. I’ve already made the arrangements.”

My brothers looked shocked. They glanced at each other, then at me.

“Who is she?” Alex asked.

I favored him with a smile—at least he’d had the decency to throw in the first redhead. “The wedding is soon enough. You’ll see her for yourself.”

I silently cursed them as I strode from the room—but really, I should curse myself. Of course I’m bringing a date to the wedding.

Oh yes, of course. As if it were so simple.

Fuck. I’d gone and done it now…

AUDRINA:

“Audrina, set out the serving goblets. We’re about to have a visitor.” Vivian Hawthorne, my stepmother, didn’t bother to look at me while she spoke. 

She was too occupied with regarding herself in the mirror above the fireplace. She pushed her ice-blond hair back, all the better to show off her unnaturally smooth skin. Large diamond earrings flashed on her lobes; the matching necklace sparkled against her bony clavicle. 

At a glance, my stepmother appeared wealthy and younger than her years. She was slender, yet still somehow filled a room with her presence. Her high cheekbones and full lips made men stop and stare, including my father…

“What’re you waiting for?” she snapped. “Stop dawdling. You and your sister drive me crazy, constantly staring…”

I tuned out the rest of her rant and hurried to the kitchen. When Vivian told me to do something, I’d better do it, or there’d be hell to pay. I went to the pantry and found our old serving tray, its silver cloudy, and the crystal goblets she and my father had used on special occasions. A thin layer of dust covered everything. I worked quickly, carefully washing the crystal and wiping the tray until it shone. 

I came out of the kitchen and almost collided with Eva, my stepsister, as she sailed down the stairs. “Will you watch it?” She tossed her thick blond hair over her shoulder and scowled at me. 

“It was an accident—”

“I swear, you’re such a klutz. You just can’t do anything right, can you?” She narrowed her eyes. They were ice blue, like her mother’s. “Now bring that to the sitting room before Mother has a fit.” She traipsed off, half-stomping, half-strutting, in a crop-top sweater that showed off her enviable, pale abs, skintight black pants that hugged her surgically enhanced ass, and designer boots that cost as much as an international plane ticket. 

I heard giggling from the top of the stairs. My younger sister, Winifred, leaned over the railing. Like me, Winifred had long dark hair and dark eyes. She waggled her eyebrows at me. “You heard her,” she whispered, her voice mimicking Eva’s haughty one, “get going! Or Mother will have a fit.”

“Shh, don’t.” I threw her a warning look. “You know what’ll happen if she hears you.”

Winnie snorted. “She’ll have to catch me, first.”

“Seriously, stop. We’re having a visitor. I’ll come and find you when I hear something, okay? Go to your room, where you can’t get into any trouble.”

Winnie gave me the finger—which she really shouldn’t be doing, because she was only sixteen—and disappeared from the top of the stairs. 

I didn’t leave until I’d heard her door close. I had to be sure that she was safe. 

I hustled to the sitting room, mindful of the crystal. Vivian paced the worn Oriental rug spread before the roaring fire. Eva stood nearby, scrolling on her phone, a bored, vaguely annoyed expression marring her otherwise gorgeous face. 

The day was dark and cloudy; the late-afternoon dimness and low lighting hid the shabbiness of the decor. Once, this room had been beautiful. But the years had worn it down. The rugs and upholstery were threadbare, the draperies faded and stained by decades of sunlight. 

My stepmother tsked as I settled the platter on the antique sideboard. “Be careful.”

“Yes, Vivian.” These were the two most frequently used words in my vocabulary.

She’d set out some appetizers—cherries, strawberries, and sugar-encrusted almonds—in what remained of our crystal bowls. My stomach, always empty, snarled. Snacks were generally forbidden in our home. We barely had enough money to cover our meals.

“Please fetch me a bottle of the Bordeaux,” Vivian commanded coldly. “And don’t dawdle—he’ll be here any minute.”

“Of course.” These were the other two words I used the most.

But I didn’t focus on that as I hurried, grabbing a flashlight on my way to the wine cellar. The fact that we were setting out appetizers and wine was interesting, and interesting was a welcome break from the unpleasantness and doldrums that normally occupied us at Hawthorne Hall. 

Since my father died, Vivian hadn’t entertained. Our wine collection was reserved for extremely special occasions, like the time Eva had secured a modeling gig. She’d gotten fired from it two days later, but we didn’t talk about that.

We didn’t talk about a lot of things.

The cellar was freezing and a little scary. It was cavernous, pitch black. I wielded my flashlight like a sword, ready to attack anything that jumped out at me. But the worst thing I encountered was a moldy smell and cobwebs. I found the Bordeaux immediately—it’d been my father’s favorite. I was curious to see who Vivian was offering this treasure to.

She was in a state of near-panic by the time I made it back upstairs. “Where have you been? We need to let this breathe.” She snatched the bottle from my hand and quickly opened it.

I hoped she’d cut herself with the wine knife, but as usual, Vivian remained unscathed. She started pacing again. Every few seconds, she would peer out the front window at the drive. My curiosity was getting the better of me. “Who’s visiting?” I asked, my voice gravelly. 

Vivian scowled for a moment, before she remembered that she didn’t want to etch any more lines into her face. “It doesn’t concern you.”

I licked my lips. “I was just curious.”

Eva looked up from her phone. “Like it’s any of your business?”

I swallowed hard. I’d learned that asking questions was dangerous, but that silence sometimes led to things disappearing—like mine and Winnie’s trust fund. “Is this about the house?”

Hawthorne Hall was really more of an estate. Located an hour outside of Charleston, comprised over ten acres of once-manicured gardens and grounds. The home itself was pale-gray brick. Its ivy-covered facade rose above the front lawn, which boasted a fountain with an angel in the center. The fountain hadn’t bubbled in years—it was yet another flourish we could no longer afford to maintain. 

“Like I said, it doesn’t concern you.” Vivian’s tone was openly threatening.

But she didn’t scare me as much anymore, not like she did when I was a little girl and she’d lock me in my room in the dark. “If it’s about the house, it does concern me.” My voice, though wobbly, was clear. “Winifred and I are on the deed. Now that I’m eighteen, I’ve vested in my share.” I lifted my chin a bit, feigning bravery.

“Oh, really?” Vivian’s spine went ramrod straight, her icy eyes glittering in the firelight. “And what exactly do you think that entitles you to? I’ve kept a roof over you and your sister’s heads all these years. I’ve fed you and sent you to school. No one else wanted you—so I suffered and gave up my own life to take care of you. And this is how you repay me? With your talk of deeds and vesting? You’re an ungrateful little bitch. You always have been.”

The doorbell rang.

Vivian pointed a bony finger at me. She was so mad she was shaking. “Get out of my sight. I’ll deal with you later.”

“Yes, Vivian.” There wasn’t much I could do besides run and hide. I fled the room before she threw something at me.

Still, my curiosity got the better of me as I hustled down the hall. I ducked into an alcove, peering around the corner. Vivian went to the foyer as the bell sounded again and again. Whoever it was, they were impatient. She smoothed her hair and her emerald-colored blouse, straightened her shoulders, and opened the door.

“What’s going on?” Winnie crashed into me, burrowing into my side while craning her neck, trying to see who was at the door. “Ooh, is it the dog catcher? Is he finally coming to take that bitch away?”

“Shut up,” I hissed. I’d elbow her in the ribs, but knowing Winnie, she’d yelp too loud.

I held my breath and watched as the stranger entered our home. It was a man. He was tall and handsome, with thick black hair, high cheekbones, and a pale complexion. He appeared fit, his big shoulders hulking beneath his dark suit, his broad chest straining beneath his dress shirt. 

“Yum,” Winnie whispered.

The man would’ve been impossibly gorgeous, but a faint sneer curled around his full lips, as if he were unimpressed by everything, maybe particularly Vivian. She offered the stranger her hand. He ignored it, and she let it drop to her side.

She cleared her throat. “Right this way, Mr. Dalca.” 

The stranger followed her to the sitting room, but before he disappeared from sight, he stared down the hallway, right toward the alcove.

I had the strangest sensation that he was looking at me.