The next evening fell heavy with rain and shadow. The storm had quieted, but the clouds still hung low, smothering the moon. Inside her chamber, a dozen candles flickered, their golden light bending over the mirror like trembling stars.
Becca sat before her dressing table, her reflection a stranger.
The gown the seamstress had crafted hung upon her frame like poured dusk. The dark blue velvet shimmered when she moved, deep and liquid, catching the candlelight in its folds. The black flower embroidery trailed along the bodice and down the skirts in curling patterns that seemed to grow and fade with each breath she took. It was beautiful too beautiful for her, she thought.
The neckline brushed just below her collarbones, modest yet graceful, and the long sleeves narrowed to her wrists, each cuff kissed with black lace. When she shifted, the skirts rustled softly, like whispers following her through an empty hall.
Her hair had been drawn back by Mina's careful hands, pinned with dark silver combs. The style left a few soft strands to frame her face, delicate as threads of moonlight against her pale skin.
Becca's eyes met her own in the mirror. For a long moment, she could not look away.
Behind her, the fire murmured softly in the grate, throwing warmth against the cold air. The faint scent of lavender and wax filled the room.
A knock came at the door.
Mina's voice followed, careful and low. "Milady? The Earl is waiting."
Becca's gaze flickered once more to her reflection. "Tell him I'll be down shortly."
The maid hesitated, then murmured, "Yes, milady," and her footsteps faded away.
Silence returned, thick as velvet.
Becca rose slowly, her hands smoothing the gown's fabric. For a fleeting moment, she imagined herself as the women described in the book beautiful, distant, a creature belonging to another world. The thought unsettled her more than she would admit.
Her eyes drifted toward the dressing table where the leather-bound book still lay, its cover faintly gleaming under the candlelight. She hesitated, then reached out, tracing the crescent on its surface.
The leather was cool, like skin left out in the rain.
"Vampyres have no heart for love," she murmured, repeating the words she'd read the night before. "And could never unlove the one they have loved."
The words lingered in the air like smoke.
For a moment, she wondered what kind of heart a man or creature must possess to live with such a curse.
But there was no time left for wondering.
She turned from the table, gathering her composure as she made for the door. The velvet skirt whispered around her feet as she moved, her steps steady, almost regal.
When she reached the corridor, the household lights flickered faintly, as if reacting to her presence. Down below, voices murmured the Earl's deep tone, the clinking of glasses, the low hum of servants preparing.
The west dining room had been prepared with a grandeur that did not belong to an ordinary evening.
Usually reserved for formal banquets and visiting nobles, the chamber was too vast for so small a gathering. Yet tonight, every candle in its gilded sconces burned bright, their flames trembling in the polished mirrors and casting gold upon the marble floor. The scent of wine and roasted herbs floated through the air, mingling with the faint chill that seemed to breathe from the walls.
The Earl had spared no effort for a single guest.
Becca paused at the threshold, her gloved fingers brushing the carved doorframe. Her breath caught beneath the corset's press tight, but not unbearably so this time. Her velvet gown trailed behind her like a dark tide, each step drawing a soft sigh from the fabric.
At the far end of the round dining table a contrast to the long, imposing one in the east hall sat her family and their visitor. The glow of the chandelier spilled over crystal and silver, and over faces she knew too well.
Lisa was the first to notice her.
"Oh, there you are, sister," she said brightly, her voice all honey and glass. "We've been waiting for you."
Becca's eyes flickered to her sister dressed in pale blue silk that shimmered like frozen sky, the off-shoulder sleeves trimmed with pearls. Around Lisa's neck gleamed the Countess's own sapphire necklace, and matching earrings sparkled against her golden hair. The sight made Becca's lips curve into a smile.. Lisa could never resist the spotlight even when it wasn't hers to claim.
The Countess's gaze followed. She regarded Becca with eyes sharp enough to pierce glass.
"My dear," she said smoothly after a pause that lasted too long. "You have kept us waiting. A lady ought not to delay her family or her guest. It speaks rather poorly of her upbringing."
The words slid across the table like the edge of a knife,
It was no reprimand, it was more of a reminder.
Becca lowered her head, her voice steady. "Forgive me, Father. Mother. I was not told our guest had arrived."
She offered a curtsey, graceful and restrained, one to the Countess and even one to Lisa, though the latter's smirk nearly undid her composure. Only then did she turn toward the guest.
And her breath faltered.
He sat across from the Earl tall even when seated, his posture as composed as the silence surrounding him. His hair was dark, black as ink, and his face held that same strange, perfect stillness she remembered. The candlelight caught faintly along the hard lines of his cheekbones and the elegant curve of his mouth.
But it was his eyes that stole her breath entirely.
They were no longer the endless black she remembered from the previous nights, that had vaguely caused her nightmares. They held a faint hue now, a dark red glimmer beneath the shadow. A trace of something otherworldly. Something both beautiful and cruel.
Mr. Damion Nightbane.
Or rather, the Lord of Duskborne, how surprising.
How curious, she thought faintly, that the very creature she was meant to marry looked like a fallen angel.
The Duke of Wilborn was handsome. So was the Earl of Auber. Even the Grand Duke, whose beauty was said to make women faint, possessed a face sculpted by privilege and perfection. Yet this man this Lord of Duskborne shattered every comparison she could conjure.
Perhaps it was because of his origin. He was not quite human, after all. His beauty was unearthly, an allure born of darkness itself. There was no warmth in it, no flaw that made it mortal. It was the kind of beauty one could admire only from afar, like fire or a blade.
Becca's pulse quickened as she realized, the night when he and Mr Crest had visited, his true identity was masked in a human form.
Summoning her composure, she stepped forward and dipped into a curtsey, her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest.
"Good evening, my lord," she said softly. "Forgive my delay. I did not mean to keep you waiting."
Lord Nightbane rose from his seat with a smooth, almost liquid grace that sent a faint chill down her spine. His smile was slow too perfect and when his gaze met hers, it felt as though he saw far more than her face.
"There is nothing to forgive, Lady Rebecca," he said, his tone rich and unhurried. "I have learned from my first visit that you enjoy keeping a room in suspense. And twice now, I must confess it has been worth the wait."
Before she could respond, he reached for her hand. His fingers were cold unnaturally and yet his touch was neither harsh nor unkind. He brought her knuckles to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers as he brushed them with a kiss that felt more like a claim than a greeting.
Becca's breath caught. The warmth of the candles and the murmur of conversation faded to a blur. All she could feel was the contrast between his icy touch and the slow burn it left upon her skin.
When he released her hand, she managed a faint smile, her composure fragile but intact. "You are gracious, my lord," she murmured, lowering her gaze to hide the confusion stirring behind her calm.
Nightbane's smile deepened, his voice a whisper meant only for her. "Gracious? Perhaps. But not nearly as patient as I once thought myself to be."
The Earl cleared his throat at the head of the table, breaking the moment. Becca turned away quickly, her cheeks warm though the air around her felt cold. She took her seat opposite Nightbane, yet even from that distance, she could feel the weight of his gaze lingering.
The clinking of silverware and the faint murmur of servants filled the grand room. Crystal caught the candlelight, spilling a warm glow across polished silver and porcelain. The faint scent of roasted herbs mingled with the sweetness of red wine.
Becca took her seat opposite Lord Nightbane, folding her hands carefully in her lap. His presence drew the light and dimmed it all at once there was a gravity about him that pulled the air still.
The Countess was the first to speak, her voice smooth and cool.
"My lord," she said, offering a small, poised smile. "I trust the rain did not trouble your journey this evening?"
Lord Nightbane inclined his head slightly. "The rain and I have come to understand one another, my lady. It never lingers long where it is not wanted."
"How poetic," the Countess murmured. "Perhaps Havemire's storms admire your company."
Lisa's laugh rang lightly, too sweet to be sincere. "Then I must say, my lord, you've brought the weather to heel. The night feels quieter than usual."
Becca resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Lisa could turn a greeting into a flirtation with barely a breath.
Lord Nightbane's lips curved faintly. "Perhaps the night is merely listening."
Lisa blinked, uncertain whether to smile or blush. Becca felt a strange shiver crawl through her chest, though she kept her gaze fixed on her wine.
"Rebecca," the Countess said then, her tone like glass under silk, "you've been uncommonly quiet. You might at least speak to our guest, considering the Earl's trouble in preparing this dinner."
Becca lifted her eyes, steady but cool. "I believe our guest is well entertained without my voice, Mother."
"Ah," Lisa said, her tone mocking but playful, "our dear Becca's charm lies in her silence. Men seem to find mystery in it."
Becca smiled faintly. "And in your case, sister, they find exhaustion."
The Countess gave a cold glare. but Lord Nightbane's low chuckle broke through before she could scold. It was a sound rich and unsettling, smooth as velvet yet edged with something far older than amusement.
"You both speak as though you've made a study of men," he said lightly. "An admirable pursuit, though I suspect few would dare study you, Lady Rebecca."
Becca glanced up, startled by the directness of his tone. "Perhaps not," she said quietly. "Some things are best left unstudied."
The Earl, perhaps sensing the subtle shift, cleared his throat. "Indeed. But I must say, my lord, your company has been most welcome. It's not often we entertain one of Duskborne's lords in our home."
Nightbane inclined his head. "The pleasure is mine, my lord. Your household is... memorable."
His gaze flicked briefly toward Becca as he said it. The Countess noticed.
Lisa saw it too and her smile faltered for the first time that evening.
Becca, uncertain of what that look meant, dropped her gaze once more to her plate, pretending to notice the faint reflection of candlelight trembling against her glass.