Page 5 of Sophie's Ruin
As if he knew what I was thinking, Moreau gave an answering snarl when our gazes locked. Hatred flashed in his brown eyes, and I glared right back, refusing to back down.
“Moreau,” Henry said with bone-chilling menace, drawing the male’s attention to him.
The Lord of the West dragged his gaze away from me and focused on Henry.
“You need to keep her on a leash,” he hissed, baring his fangs.
My upper lip peeled back, revealing my own sharp canines, but Henry pressed my hand—a silent request to control my temper.
“Watch your mouth, or it will be you who ends up on a leash…tied to a pole outside at sunrise,” he said darkly, his eyes blazing with fury.
Moreau’s already pale face became leached of all color as he curled into himself. The Lord of the West was wider than Henry, but the latter was taller, towering over him with a hostile look of superiority. There was no doubt in my mind that if the two got into a fight, Henry would prevail. Moreau seemed to know it, too, because he averted his gaze and clamped his mouth shut,hiding his fangs. I let my upper lip relax over my fangs as well, just as the clan leaders of the Midlands stepped through the doors.
Like their neighboring regions that occupied the middle of the Empire, the three vampires couldn’t be more different. Emeric Laurent—an older vampire with silver hair and tired eyes—was the clan leader in the mountainous region closest to the West. The land next to his was ruled by the Bouvier clan, with Lena Bouvier as their leader. The petite female with wavy copper locks and creamy skin must have been very young when she’d turned, because she looked no older than sixteen and had an air of innocence and naivety about her. I knew the looks were deceiving, though—Lena was wiser than she appeared. It was because of that wisdom that she was entrusted with running her clan. The last of the three, Yvonne Durand, was the clan leader in the region closest to our Eastern region. She was a tall, slim female with a golden-brown complexion and wide-set, amber eyes.
After Yvonne had entered the foyer, I went to turn my attention away from the door, not expecting anyone else, but stopped when one more vampire strolled in after her. My stomach dropped as I took in the jet-black hair, the narrow face with features so sharp they could cut glass, and the eerily dark eyes.
“Beatrice Stern,” Camilla introduced the female, unable to hide the depraved excitement in her voice. I felt her eyes on me, watching closely for my reaction.
“So, you are the one who killed my brother,” Beatrice said coldly, stopping before me.
If her resemblance to Everett was any indication, she was related to him by blood instead of considering him her sibling in the familial bond sort of way customary for clan vampires. The sheet of glossy, chin-length hair shifted, gleaming in the light ofthe chandelier, as Beatrice angled her head, studying me with those cavernous eyes that were so much like her brother’s. She’d seen me before now, of course, the other night at the border, but she hadn’t gotten a chance to confront me then. It seemed she was doing so now, and I wondered how far she was willing to take it. The darkness within me stirred as if in anticipation.
Henry became a wall of hard, coiled muscle next to me, emitting a low growl that threatened bloodshed if something were to happen to me. When he moved to block me from Beatrice’s view, I stepped around him, refusing to let him be my shield—I didn’t need his protection and could take care of myself.
“Yes, I killed him,” I replied, holding Beatrice’s fathomless gaze. “And I’d do it again. He was a monster.”
The female smirked. “We are all monsters. And if you think you are different, then you are delusional. You will see. Perhaps sooner than you realize.”
My scalp prickled. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” Camilla interjected, shooting Beatrice a look of warning. “Shall we begin our meeting?” She gestured toward the study.
No one moved as a tense silence ensued. Everyone’s eyes were on Beatrice and me, waiting to see what would happen next. We were squared off against each other like two predators poised to lash out at any moment. It never came to that, though, because Henry decided to de-escalate the situation. He relaxed next to me, loosening his iron grip on my hand.
“We will begin the meeting as soon as Celeste arrives,” he said, louder than necessary in an attempt to snap Beatrice and me out of our stare-down.
“Celeste?” Camilla arched one perfectly trimmed brow. “Isn’t she one of the White Witches?”
Henry nodded. “White Witches deserve a seat at the table as we discuss the future of the Empire.”
“Do they, though?” Camilla asked. “They have been in hiding since the Red War. Now, a century later, you want them to have a say in what happens to this country?”
I tore my gaze away from Beatrice and glanced at Henry, wondering if he was thinking the same thing I was—we were already being challenged, and the meeting had not even begun yet.
His features remained impassive as he replied, “Yes. They might have descendants among the human population. Those like Sophie, who carry magic in their blood but don’t know about their heritage.”
“Why do we care?” Beatrice snarled. So, she was like her brother not only in appearance but also in her superiority complex and blatant disregard for anyone she perceived as inferior.
“Because we do,” Henry insisted. “The world is changing. Things will be different now.”
“We will see about that,” Moreau said under his breath.
“What did you say?” I narrowed my eyes at him.
Before he could answer, a knock on the door announced Celeste’s arrival. The witch walked in a moment later, her blue cloak flowing around her as she moved.
“Celeste,” Henry greeted her with a warm smile. “Thank you for coming.”
