Page 49 of Red Masquerade (Red Masquerade #1)

M arcel hauled me away from the house, ignoring my cries, my curses.

No one around us batted an eye as he dragged me down to the lawn, around the gravel drive leading up to the house. The gravel gave me something to dig my heels into. I kicked out my legs, no longer caring if anyone saw up my skirt.

I had no idea what Dixon would do to Vince.

I had to get Marcel’s hands off of me, had to get back to Dixon and Vince, to stop their fight—

“Cut it out,” he hissed, adjusting his grip, hoisting me higher so I couldn’t reach the ground anymore. The good humor he had earlier was gone. His face morphed back into the serious, self-important man I knew before. Deadly contempt in his eyes, that flash of lust that zeroed in on my throat .

“What did you do?” I pleaded, squirming, trying to twist in his arms, to make him lose his balance. The words coming again and again in succession, begging for the truth. What did you do, what did you do, what did you do?

Whatever he had said inside—it had to be a lie. Lies to make me stop in my tracks, to doubt Vince.

None of it made sense.

My heart raced, my breathing coming in quick, shallow gasps.

Where was Marcel taking me?

He was going to hide me away, and no one will be able to find me.

What is he going to do to me?

“Nothing that no one shouldn’t have seen coming.” He glared at me, lip curled, before he stooped down and threw me onto his shoulder.

The world turned upside down. Another scream was ripped from me.

Slumped along the veranda around the house, in her deep blue dress, was Veronica. Her head hung back, throat exposed, eyes half-shut. Looking just like all the other drunk men asleep on the lawn by the end of the evening.

“What did you do to her?!”

I scrambled to get to her, beating my fists at his back, but it was like punching a brick wall.

“Had my new friend Dixon help,” Marcel said, like it was nothing. “Convinced him to slip some poison into the blood supply earlier this evening.”

Oh my god.

Was she dead ?

A sob sputtered forth from me. “Take me back!” My anger pushed through the tears ruining my makeup, throwing as much power as I could into my fists.

If I let him take me somewhere, I’d never come back.

He’d drain my blood and kill me—for what? For his own enjoyment? Revenge?

And if Veronica was dead, did that mean—

“What do you want?” I insisted, his shoulder blocking enough air from filling my lungs. An ache began in my skull, a pounding at the base of my neck.

I couldn’t see his face, couldn’t see where he was taking me. But he turned his head, and his lips were brushing my thighs, his exhalations warm in the cool night air, and I almost screamed again. One arm was wrapped around my knees, keeping me still.

He made my skin crawl.

“I’ve told you what I want,” he said, voice deep. A loud inhalation. “ You .”

“You want my blood?” I cried. “Just take it!”

I wanted this over with. We never should’ve done this. I shouldn’t have come. It was almost like Marcel knew I was on my way; he knew just what to do to ruin the night.

I felt him shake his head. “I don’t want just your blood, sweet Helena.” Though his hot breath on my flesh said otherwise.

And then, a gate creaked on its hinges, a loud groan into the night. He walked within, and in a moment I knew where we were.

But why was he taking me into the garden?

To bury me amongst the headstones ?

For a brief second, I hoped whatever he planned stopped here. At least someone would be able to find me eventually.

A few guests milled about, smoking cigarettes and speaking in hushed tones. None glanced our way. From where I was hanging, the moonflowers bloomed above me, the sky an ocean below.

I wanted to sink.

I wanted to let go.

I needed to get back to Vince .

“Where are we going?” Trying to right myself, to stop the rush of blood to my head while I hung, I pushed against his back. The strength in my arms faltered, a dizziness from hanging, breathing too quickly.

But Marcel didn’t answer.

His footsteps scuffed along the stone path, taking me deeper and deeper into the flora of the graveyard. The headstones watched as I was carried helplessly amongst them.

I cried out to a few of the other people—shouting to get their attention, but they shied away, turning to their drinks, their cigarettes. They couldn’t even look at me, couldn’t even bring themselves to bear witness to my anguish.

Veronica might be dead, Vince was being beaten by Dixon, and who knew what happened to Séra and Sinclair?

I growled in frustration, wiping the tears at my eyes, not caring how streaked my face became. “If you don’t put me down, I’m going to scream.” My voice wavered.

“Please do it, dear,” he said, fingers tightening on the back of my knee. “No one will hear it but me. It’d be music to my ears.”

“Just—put me down! ”

I needed to get back. Needed to get back to Vince.

As he walked, the garden became more and more empty of partygoers, until eventually I couldn’t see anyone, just the huge sycamore trees and the night flowers bobbing in the breeze, going on as if nothing was amiss this night.

But I had been taken by a vampire—Vince’s enemy—and I had no idea what he wanted with me.

The path was familiar. I’d walked this way a few times now.

He came to a stop right before a vine and moss-covered wall. Bending over to set me down, once my feet touched the ground, a dizzying rush of air filled my lungs—and suddenly I was against the wall, cornered by a fanged predator.

Marcel’s eyes shone in the moonlight.

He stared at me for a moment, and I couldn’t stop the tremble to my hands, fisting them against his chest. He leaned close, one hand on either side of my head. A glance down to my lips, the smudged rouge there.

“Would you really give yourself up for him?”

“What?” I was breathless, trying to calm my racing heart while keeping him at bay.

His dark hair shined with gel, the white of his collared shirt luminous under the moon. “Would you really give yourself up for him?” He inspected me, like the answers were there in my eyes. “Would you really sacrifice yourself for Vince? After everything he’s done?”

I shook my head, willing fresh tears away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Marcel hummed. Waited a moment longer. Then moved back, just an inch. “Pity. ”

Leaning back into the wall, I tried to put as much space between us as possible. The leaves on either side of my head crunched as he tightened his hands, crushing the vines. He pushed off, and suddenly I could breathe again, now that there were a few feet between us.

I glanced to where we came from, that path clear. Maybe if I just—

“Don’t think about running,” he said, gazing at me through half-lidded eyes, his pupils dilated.

I lifted my chin. “And what if I did?”

He smirked, eyes tracing down to the flimsy skirt barely brushing against the tops of my thighs. “Unless you want me to chase you.”

My cheeks turned aflame at the notion.

I wished he would just get it over with. Press me against the wall and drain me. I’d only been back in Vince’s life for a few weeks. He had all the time in the world to move on, to find someone else to love, and I could be just the girl he thought of fondly from his youth.

Marcel pulled open a stone door, the lock busted and hanging as though it’d been forced open not too long ago.

The mausoleum.

The color of rust streaked the stone, a deep red stain that soaked through. In the moonlight, I couldn’t tell if the dark liquid had spilled on the ground as well—and I didn’t want to know what dark liquid that was.

“Come on,” Marcel said, holding the door open.

He watched me, eyes narrowing, and I knew if I turned and ran, he’d bring me to the ground just as Dixon had Vince.

And he really wouldn’t hold back this time.

It was a truth I felt in my bones.

All my thoughts turned to just hours ago—my time with Vince. Whatever coursed between us was palpable; I felt it every time he was within me, a heat rushing through my veins. We were made for each other, but maybe we were truly star-crossed. I told him I’d go to Flora’s. I lied to him. And the relief he’d felt at those words…

It was an utter betrayal.

It was my fault this all happened.

Maybe if I hadn’t insisted on being useful, on being bait, Marcel would be dead by now.

I glared at him, vowing if I didn’t end up dead at the end of this, Marcel would.

He raised a brow and motioned toward the door. “Now.”

But once I was on the threshold, I saw it wasn’t a tomb—it was a staircase leading down. There were no lights here, just a pit of darkness, the first step or two illuminated by the soft light of the night.

Everything within me told me to turn and bolt, to try my best to get away.

Marcel’s hungry stare burned into my back, his body just behind mine.

“What is this?” A musty smell wafted up. Images of half-decayed bodies hanging out of their coffins shot through my mind. Vampire-creatures so craved for blood, they no longer looked human. Vines growing from the earth to wrap around me and drag me down.

“You’ll see soon enough.” Marcel moved closer. “Go. ”

My throat ached with all the emotions bottled up inside me.

A cobweb was strewn across the step. The whole interior was dusty, dead mice in a corner. The walls on either side appeared to hold shelves, but no caskets, no name plates. Like this tomb was abandoned. It’d been created as a facade for whatever lay beneath.

I took a tentative first step and heard Marcel sigh behind me.

I should’ve told Flora how much she meant to me, how I always felt we were like sisters. And I should’ve told my mother exactly what I thought of her, should’ve told her everything I’d been doing these past few years, just to see her expression.

But most of all, I should’ve said the words to Vince more often: I love you .

Marcel crowded me in, his body a moving wall behind me, as he forced me down the stairs.

The air was damp, warm. I coughed, the humidity thickening the air until it became hard to breathe.

We were walking into straight darkness and I couldn’t see anything. I felt for the walls on either side.

A voice echoed up from the darkness. Indeterminable.

Someone waiting below.

But it was nothing like the moan I’d heard when I was in the garden last.

This time—

I gasped. Stopped in my tracks.

Icy fear rushed down my spine.

“No.”

Turning, I tried to find Marcel in the darkness, reaching for him. My eyes widened against the perpetual blackness in front of me .

“No, please .”

“Please, what?” He grabbed my arms, turning me back around.

“I can’t—You can’t make me go down there. Please ,” I begged.

He purred in the inky darkness. “I do like hearing that word come out of your mouth.”

More tears built up in my lashes, but this time I let them fall. “I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” His fingers brushed my chin, a phantom’s touch. The ghost of his thumb along my cheek.

The voice below didn’t stop, a low murmur that echoed up the stone stairway. Every muffled word a stab to my heart.

There was possession in Marcel’s touch, a familiarity. Like he’d gotten what he wanted all those weeks ago. I let him. Let him run his finger along my lips, let him curl his hand into my hair. Pulling me closer to him, while hot tears streamed down from my eyes.

First Vince, now…

His hand tightened in my hair, forcing my head back. I stifled a cry.

In the darkness, I knew he was smiling.

“Too bad I have an agreement,” he muttered, his lips almost brushing mine, the warmth from his mouth barely a centimeter away.

And he turned me around so quickly I thought I’d fall.

“ Go .”

As we neared the bottom, a soft orange glow emerged from the darkness. An entryway into a room, where there was some sort of light .

And as we neared the bottom, I prepared myself, steeling myself against what was to come. Letting the anger settle into me. Reminding myself why I left. I thought about all of it—the betrothal to Wright Highsmith, Lucas forcing Adam to die, the way Lucas thought he could control me.

Didn’t you know Vince is the one that told Lucas to marry you off?

It had to be a lie. I couldn’t wrap my head around it, couldn’t fathom why he would do that.

It didn’t matter, not in this moment.

I reached the bottom of the steps, Marcel at my back. The orange lamplight washed over my feet.

The voice—no, there were two voices—hushed.

And as I stepped into the room, my heart a steady rhythm in my chest, I gazed upon my brother, sitting, waiting.

Lucas turned to me, and those eyes, so much like mine, yet so much darker, glistened.

“Hello, Helena.”