the only ones hunting.” Adele smiled, but it didn’t touch her eyes. “I told you I need a patron.”
“Be careful.” Lena squeezed her gloved hand. The duke and duchess had disappeared. Giving Adele one last smile, she hurried after them.
The duchess had been wearing a deep aubergine gown that set off the color of her coppery hair. Lena exited the ballroom. Peering over the balustrade of the second floor, she raked her gaze across the white tiled entry below. An enormous staircase took up most of the foyer. Over a dozen men and women lined the stairs and the entry, gowned in a variety of brilliant colors. From the warmth of their skin and the dark, raven locks on a pair of them, they were most likely human, none of them high enough in rank to receive the gift of infected blood. Only those of good bloodlines and standing went through the blood rites at the age of fifteen. It was a sign of status, of prestige.
It took more than being a blue blood to be considered part of the Echelon. Any other unfortunate who was accidentally infected was considered little more than a rogue. Such blue bloods were either drafted into the Nighthawks, offered a place in the Coldrush Guards that protected the Ivory Tower and the Council, or were killed.
Humans could navigate the shadowy edges of the Echelon—like her—but they were never truly a part of it. They had their place, either as thralls or potential consorts, if their bloodlines were good.
Avoiding the soaring marble statue of an angel, she peered down the hallway. Two dozen of Lord Harker’s distinguished relatives glared down at her from the walls. Lena swept across the top of the stairs, her peacock green skirts rustling. There was another hallway on the other side.
She was just passing the enormous grandfather clock that held pride of place at the top of the stairs when a hush fell over the foyer.
Two footmen held each of the main doors open, their faces impassive. Blade strolled in, swinging an ebony-tipped cane. He tossed his top hat to a waiting footman and saluted the gaping group on the stairs. Another footman swept past with a tray of blud-wein, and Blade stole one, examining the foyer with interest.
Will stalked in at his heels, his shoulders straining the black coat he’d obviously borrowed. He wore a gray waistcoat, carefully brushed, and his boots had been scrubbed. Candlelight gleamed off the coppery highlights in his hair, and he towered over the hovering servants. Despite their training, two of them bolted out of his path like frightened rabbits. Will’s hungry gaze followed them as if he were considering giving chase.
Lena’s breath caught, the heat draining from her face. “Will,” she whispered. What the devil was he doing here?
Will stopped in his tracks, his head lifting like a lion scenting gazelle, the brilliant, burning amber of his gaze locking on hers. His lips curled in a threatening smile, and Lena took a step back.
“ Later ,” he mouthed.
She tore her gaze away, her heart pounding madly in her chest. For a moment she’d thought he was here for her, but that was foolishness. Not with the price on his head. What was he doing in the heart of Echelon territory? They considered his kind fit only to be caged or chained. If he’d gotten himself in trouble…
“Sir…Blade,” the butler recovered himself well. “Master Will. This way, if you care. Lord Barrons is waiting for you.”
Leo. Her half brother had something to do with this. Lena’s hands unclenched from her skirts. Why would Leo invite them here, when he could just as easily have visited Whitechapel? He was one of the few members of the Echelon Blade trusted enough to grant passage to Whitechapel.
The butler led them across the foyer and into one of the lower hallways. Just before he disappeared, Will looked up, shooting her one more blazing look. It scorched all the way through her, igniting a mixture of fear and nervous anticipation that she couldn’t quite
“Be careful.” Lena squeezed her gloved hand. The duke and duchess had disappeared. Giving Adele one last smile, she hurried after them.
The duchess had been wearing a deep aubergine gown that set off the color of her coppery hair. Lena exited the ballroom. Peering over the balustrade of the second floor, she raked her gaze across the white tiled entry below. An enormous staircase took up most of the foyer. Over a dozen men and women lined the stairs and the entry, gowned in a variety of brilliant colors. From the warmth of their skin and the dark, raven locks on a pair of them, they were most likely human, none of them high enough in rank to receive the gift of infected blood. Only those of good bloodlines and standing went through the blood rites at the age of fifteen. It was a sign of status, of prestige.
It took more than being a blue blood to be considered part of the Echelon. Any other unfortunate who was accidentally infected was considered little more than a rogue. Such blue bloods were either drafted into the Nighthawks, offered a place in the Coldrush Guards that protected the Ivory Tower and the Council, or were killed.
Humans could navigate the shadowy edges of the Echelon—like her—but they were never truly a part of it. They had their place, either as thralls or potential consorts, if their bloodlines were good.
Avoiding the soaring marble statue of an angel, she peered down the hallway. Two dozen of Lord Harker’s distinguished relatives glared down at her from the walls. Lena swept across the top of the stairs, her peacock green skirts rustling. There was another hallway on the other side.
She was just passing the enormous grandfather clock that held pride of place at the top of the stairs when a hush fell over the foyer.
Two footmen held each of the main doors open, their faces impassive. Blade strolled in, swinging an ebony-tipped cane. He tossed his top hat to a waiting footman and saluted the gaping group on the stairs. Another footman swept past with a tray of blud-wein, and Blade stole one, examining the foyer with interest.
Will stalked in at his heels, his shoulders straining the black coat he’d obviously borrowed. He wore a gray waistcoat, carefully brushed, and his boots had been scrubbed. Candlelight gleamed off the coppery highlights in his hair, and he towered over the hovering servants. Despite their training, two of them bolted out of his path like frightened rabbits. Will’s hungry gaze followed them as if he were considering giving chase.
Lena’s breath caught, the heat draining from her face. “Will,” she whispered. What the devil was he doing here?
Will stopped in his tracks, his head lifting like a lion scenting gazelle, the brilliant, burning amber of his gaze locking on hers. His lips curled in a threatening smile, and Lena took a step back.
“ Later ,” he mouthed.
She tore her gaze away, her heart pounding madly in her chest. For a moment she’d thought he was here for her, but that was foolishness. Not with the price on his head. What was he doing in the heart of Echelon territory? They considered his kind fit only to be caged or chained. If he’d gotten himself in trouble…
“Sir…Blade,” the butler recovered himself well. “Master Will. This way, if you care. Lord Barrons is waiting for you.”
Leo. Her half brother had something to do with this. Lena’s hands unclenched from her skirts. Why would Leo invite them here, when he could just as easily have visited Whitechapel? He was one of the few members of the Echelon Blade trusted enough to grant passage to Whitechapel.
The butler led them across the foyer and into one of the lower hallways. Just before he disappeared, Will looked up, shooting her one more blazing look. It scorched all the way through her, igniting a mixture of fear and nervous anticipation that she couldn’t quite
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