Married (36 page)

“So Graves knows about your magic now.” It wasn’t a question and Chelsea responded with nothing more than a pained groan.

Charles became impatient with the women’s conversation. Tulah saw the intent flash through his eyes a moment before he swiped a finger over her cheek. Her spine jerked straight as if on a puppeteer’s string. He leaned closer, sniffing the air around her.

“You will be mine, Tulah,” he growled.

Her eyes flicked over him, darting away from the raging erection filling the front of his dress slacks. He was utterly serious, completely determined. Tulah’s skin crawled.

“I won’t. I’ll never be with you willingly, Charles. One of us will die first.”

He surged forward, half-rising from his chair, his cheek sliding against hers as he dove for her ear. His teeth closed over the lobe, his tongue swirled. Tulah threw herself back, her chair wobbling on its hind legs. Edward’s knees were all that kept her from crashing to the floor.

Across the ballroom Tulah saw Adam leap to his feet, but Georgie clung to his arm and held him back.

“If you had power,” Charles growled, “it would be different. Perhaps I would take your boast seriously. But you have none.”

“Is that all you respect?” Fear clogged Tulah’s throat and strangled her vocal cords. “Physical strength, magical influence?”

Behind her, Chelsea made an odd noise as her chair scraped. Tulah could imagine why—Edward held her mother down, keeping her from interfering.

Charles’ voice softened. “I want you, Tulah. I was very angry when Graves hit you, when he touched you. You were always meant to be mine.”

Oxygen was in short supply. Tulah became lightheaded, her vision growing dim around the edges. She was too close to Charles, all but trapped in her seat by his bulk. Fear burned through her belly and hot denial welled up in her soul.

“I’m not yours and I never will be.”

Charles gave a low laugh. “Before the happy couple lights even a single candle on that fucking table, you will be mine and there will be nothing to keep me from taking you.”

Tulah didn’t know how it was possible to grow colder. “What do you mean by that?”

“Graves is playing a deep game, fucking whoever he has to, doing whatever it takes to cozen Daniel and gain more influence for himself. Muso is much more straightforward, and through him, the power will be mine. Everything I want will be mine.”

Charles nuzzled Tulah’s neck below her ear. His hand drifted over her ribs, shocking her into momentary stillness at his boldness. It passed in less than a heartbeat and Tulah exploded from her chair. From behind, Edward caught the nape of her neck in a hold that nearly brought her to her knees.

Then Constance stepped into the ballroom, looking like a fairy tale princess in a fluffy gown, bringing a momentary reprieve.

All eyes turned toward the bride. Tulah took the moment to collect herself—to gather her strength, try to formulate a plan and try to understand what Charles was talking about. She glanced at the head table but they were all patiently waiting with no hint of distress.

Tulah took a step forward without realizing but Edward shoved her back into her chair with a grip on her neck that had tears filling her eyes and her shoulder going numb. She looked toward Constance, who seemed almost as miserable as Tulah.

An instant later, the misery fell from Constance’s face and she lit up, glowing from within. She was an amazing actress and Tulah wished she had half that talent. With small steps but no hesitation, the bride walked herself up an imaginary aisle, stopping in front of the stand with the candles. She dipped her head to Madeleine, smiled at the occupants of the head table and turned to Graves.

Muso stood up. Though Madeleine had vowed to confront Graves before the Bestowal, Tulah understood that there should be no interruptions in a typical ceremony, no speeches or congratulations until after the candles were lit. Daniel straightened in his chair and Constance paled. A promise of death flashed across Graves’ face and a spike of adrenaline surged through Tulah’s veins.

“Honored guests,” Muso smiled at his audience, “welcome. You’ve traveled many miles to be here and have suffered unnecessary indignities to witness this ceremony. Unfortunately, it’s been in vain.”

Tulah blinked, then shot a glance at Charles from the corner of her eye. He was tense, on the edge of his seat, his erection lengthening as she watched. His eyes glinted with humor, a spine-tingling combination of dangerous amusement and secret knowledge.

Graves banged his stick on the floor. “Shut up, old man. This is a wedding, not a fucking lecture.”

“No, that’s the point, brother.” Muso smirked and shook his head. “There won’t be a wedding. I won’t allow it.”

Daniel shot out of his chair. “There is a contract, Father Ngozi. You can’t break it.”

Muso snatched his wine glass off the table and hoisted it toward Daniel in a mocking salute. “I would welcome an alliance with the Levy Family. Such a thing could only benefit me and mine. But I respectfully inform you that the contract is not binding, as it was never sealed with blood and was never given my approval. It won’t stand up before the Council, should you wish to take matters that far. Will it, Mother Davenold?”

Daniel’s face mottled with fury before he wiped all emotion away. “That contract took a long time to work out. My own grandfather deemed this alliance worthy, all but demanded Constance marry Graves. If you had an issue with it, you had
years
to lodge your protests.”

“But it wouldn’t be nearly as dramatic. It wouldn’t be nearly as productive, either.”

Daniel’s face became a perfect political mask, filled with nothing but calm persuasion. “Father Ngozi, let’s not be hasty. If there are terms in the betrothal contract you disagree with I’m sure we can work something out. I would have preferred to be informed before the ceremony began, but I’m certain we can take a moment to—”

Muso cut the Levy Father off with a quick wave of his wine glass. “There never should have been a contract in the first place. Graves knew it. He should have told you I don’t allow the men of the secondary branch to marry.”

“You can’t be serious.” Daniel’s voice deepened dangerously. “Why on earth would you make such a—”

“It’s punishment”—Muso stabbed his finger in Graves’ direction—“for killing my son.”

Tulah’s scalp prickled as Graves’ laughter swept through the ballroom. “Is that what you’ve been telling people?”

“You killed him just as surely as you killed my nephew,” Muso screamed.

“Him, I’ll admit to.” Graves shrugged. “But we both know why your son died, brother.”

“Because you abused him.” Muso’s head lowered, disfiguring his spine and giving him an air of terrible malevolence as he kept his eyes on Graves. “Just as you tried to abuse Georgeanne Davenold. Isn’t that right, Silviu Lovasz?”

Tulah dared to look at the Davenold table, surprised to see Silviu leaning back in his seat, completely relaxed. With one ankle resting on his opposite knee and his arm stretched along the back of his betrothed’s chair, he almost looked bored. The tone of his voice only furthered that impression.

“Do leave me out of your Family squabbles,” he said.

Muso’s eyes widened. “You and I had a deal.”

“Did we?” Silviu’s shoulder lifted.

“
Yes
, damn it, we did.” Muso slammed his glass down on the table and braced his hands on the surface as he leaned forward. “You promised to help me kill Graves and rid the world of his evil.”

Graves spun around to face Silviu. Constance and Daniel gasped in unison. The ballroom was already silent, but now a fine shiver passed through the audience as if they were all connected. Only Silviu and Georgie seemed unaffected.

“I would never agree to be your hitman. That would imply that you are unable to take care of the Ngozis spread throughout the world. Although,” Silviu paused for dramatic effect and smiled thinly, “since I know what happened to Jerin, how you and Graves plotted to kill him and use his magical strength to bolster your own, perhaps mine is a fair assessment.”

“No.” Muso shook his head rapidly. “It’s not true.”

Graves narrowed his eyes, evaluating Silviu’s mood. “Did you promise Muso you’d kill me, Lovasz? How very rude of an uninvited guest.”

Silviu inclined his head as his smile grew sharp edges. “I never make sweeping promises.”

Graves’ hand tightened around his walking stick. “What makes you think you can best me?”

“What made you think you could best the future Davenold Mother?” Silviu lowered his arm from Georgie’s chair to capture her hand and raise her knuckles to his lips. “What made you think you could successfully attack the current Davenold Mother?”

“Damn it, Lovasz!” Muso screeched. “You said you would help me!”

“He’s your Family. A Father should be able to handle his own troubles, unless, of course, he’s too weak to be Father.”

Muso’s faced blanked as he stared at Silviu for a long moment. The Lovasz man stared back without expression or capitulation. The Ngozi Father shuddered, then his lids came down to shield his eyes.

“Well, in that case,” he bared his teeth at Graves as the man turned back to him, “I
am
willing to consider giving my blessing to this match if you would be willing to give me what you owe.”

Graves’ shoulders straightened. “I owe you nothing.”

“
Wrong
.” Muso’s hand slammed against the table, rattling the glasses. “You owe me what you promised a decade ago. I will not allow this wedding to take place until you give it to me. How badly do you want an alliance with Daniel, Graves?”

Graves’ rage rolled out over the ballroom. Tulah felt it beating against her temples, mingling with her own fear and anger. Charles became energized. His breathing turned rough, his hand snaked over his thigh to cover the front of his trousers. Nausea threatened to choke Tulah.

Grave snarled. “You are a sick bastard, Muso. I agree with Lovasz, you are not fit to lead this Family. You ordered me to kill your own son, hoping to take his magic and grow beyond your limits.”

Muso hurled his wine glass at Graves’ feet. “And you kept it for yourself, you thieving bastard! You stole it.”

“I used it, too,” Graves purred. “I used it to rip out Joseph’s authority and claim this fucking branch as my own so I could take in enough power to lay you low.”

Agony locked in Tulah’s chest. She’d witnessed her father’s death, had lived with the pain for more than a decade, but nothing could prepare her for such a callous admittance in front of so many strangers. She heard her mother’s low moan in the sudden stillness of the ballroom.

“I am the Father!” Muso screamed. “You cannot best me.”

“Try it,” Graves taunted. He shifted, took a step away from Constance and crooked his finger at his brother. Tulah eyed the walking stick, taking note of the tension in Graves’ fingers where they wrapped the staff.

“I don’t need to try it, I only need to command it. Give me what you owe, what you promised,
what I sacrificed for
. If you don’t, this wedding will not take place and I will strip you of all authority. This branch will no longer be yours to rule, but Charles’.”

“Trying to bribe my man to your side, brother?”

Muso smirked. “He’s been my eyes and ears here since the beginning.”

“And yet, it seems he’s kept some information from both of us.” Graves bent a murderous glare on Charles.

“No matter.” Muso lifted a shoulder. “He performed the task I set for him.”

The chief of security rose slowly, deliberately provoking. “It would be my honor to take this branch. You never fucking deserved it, Graves. You’re a fucking pussy, no better than a matriarchal man. You needed me to hold Joseph down while you killed him. Who do you have strong enough to hold me down?”

Graves pointed with his stick. “You underestimate the enhancements to my magic.”

Muso cackled maniacally. “Choose your prize, Charles. A reward for your service all these years, for your loyalty to me. It’s more than Graves has done, but then he’s a thief, a coward and a weakling.”

“I claim the pet.” Charles snatched Tulah from her seat. He dragged her numb body in front of his so fast she couldn’t find her balance. His thick arm wrapped her, pulled her bottom tight to the erection he wielded like a weapon. He thrust against her, his hand sliding down her belly to press hard against the top of her mound.

Tulah struggled without success. She twisted, kicked back at his shins. Ice froze her brain and time slowed so the moment was drawn out in incremental drips of fear and humiliation. But she knew the seconds were flying by, events piling on top of themselves before anyone could halt the runaway train.

Muso leaned over the table and screamed in Graves’ face. “Give me what I want and I’ll give you what you want.”

Desperation thrummed in Daniel’s voice. “Gentlemen, please. We must be rational!”

No one listened. Graves hefted the stick and the emerald exploded with green fire. In the flash, Muso vaulted the table.

Chapter Thirty

Adam

Adam rocketed from his chair the moment Charles hauled Tulah to her feet. Strong hands gripped him, muscled arms tried to hold him back. A green explosion had his captors staggering. Adam fought free of the weakened hold, roaring over Muso’s screams and pushing blindly against the human barriers that stood between him and his woman.

Rage engulfed his skull like fire. His heart sizzled in his chest, his blood pumped painfully as electric currents coursed through his body. Another flash of green stole Adam’s sight, but not his determination. He pushed through the panicked crowd as they rose en masse and headed for the door.

A body knocked into him, but Adam shoved it out of his way, catching sight of white tuxedo tails at the edges of his crimson-washed vision. He heard a roar, a scream and a snap of furious magic. Pressure poured over him, popped in his ears and clutched his head. He pushed through it while casting his own spell, intent on reaching Tulah.

He tripped over a chair, kicked it out of his way. A cold spear of air passed in front of his face, the tingle of magic racing by. Some Ngozi witch stumbled into him. Adam shoved him and another witch caught the man, throwing him onto a table. Adam danced out of the way of the fight and forged onward.