Read Online Revelations by Melissa de La Cruz - Free Book Online

lush, warm and brutish. It had been a surprise: she’d assumed he would smell like ice—like nothing—and she liked that he smelled coarse and real. He was not a dream.
    She knew that what they were doing was wrong. Lawrence had warned her that vampire bonds should not be broken. Jack was sworn to another. She had promised herself to stop, but she had also promised Jack she would always be there for him. They were so happy together. They belonged to each other. Yet they never spoke about the past or the future.
    Only this existed, this little bubble they’d made, this little secret. And who knew how long they had?
    When she was in his arms, she felt sorry for Mimi.
    It had started right after she’d settled into that palace of gilt and marble the Forces called home. The place was part fortress and part Versailles. There were rooms and anterooms filled with magnificent antiques polished and theatrically lit on display. Oceans of expensive fabric swathed the windows, and a silent crew of servants moved around the house, dusting, cleaning, offering its occupants tea or coffee on silver service trays.
    She had sat on the princess bed in her designated room, kicking at the battered trunk that was the only remnant of home she’d allowed herself to bring. Lawrence had promised that he would get her out somehow, that she would return to her rightful home soon. He knew Charles would not allow him to have contact with her, so they had agreed they would use Oliver as a (she smiled a little) conduit between them.
    Lawrence had driven her to the Forces’ town house himself. Had helped carry her bags to the front door, where a gloved butler took over. Too soon, her grandfather had left, and Schuyler was alone again.
    Charles had given her a quick tour of the house: the sparkling Olympic-size pool in the basement, tennis courts on the roof, the gym, the sauna, the Picasso room (so called because it contained one of the two mural-size black-and-white studies of the masterpiece Les Demoiselles d’Avignon). He’d told her to make herself comfortable, to avail herself of everything in the kitchen. Then he’d laid down his rules. Schuyler had been too angry and annoyed to do more than dumbly nod at everything.
    So she’d decided to kick her trunk. Stupid trunk. Stupid trunk with the broken lock.
    Stupid ugly trunk that was one of the few things she’d kept that her mother had owned. It was an old Louis Vuitton traveling valise, the kind that, when stood upright and opened, revealed a mini wardrobe. She kicked it again.
    There was a soft knock on the door, and then the door was pushed open.
    “Do you think you could…um…keep it down a bit? I’m trying to read,” Jack said, looking bemused.
    “Oh! Sorry.” She stopped kicking the trunk. She’d wondered when she’d see her cousins. The complicated ties of vampire families still eluded her, but she knew that she and Jack weren’t technically blood-related, even though Charles was her uncle. Someday she’d have to ask Lawrence how it all shook down. “What are you reading?”
    “Camus,” he said, holding up a copy of The Stranger. “Have you read it?”
    “No, but I like The Cure song. You know, the one that’s based on that book?”
    He shook his head. “Nope.”
    “I think it’s on Three Imaginary Boys. Their first album. Robert Smith, he’s a big reader too. Probably an existentialist like you,” she teased.
    Jack leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, regarding her thoughtfully. “You hate it here, don’t you?”
    “Does it show that much?” Schuyler asked, pulling the long sleeves of her sweater over her hands.
    He chuckled. “I’m sorry.”
    “You’re sorry.”
    He put the book down on a vanity table. “It’s not so bad.”
    “Really? What’s good about it?”
    “Well, for one, I’m here,” he said, coming over to sit next to her on the bed. He picked up a tennis ball that had rolled out of her trunk. She’d brought it to practice her