Read Online The Van Alen Legacy by Melissa de La Cruz - Free Book Online Page B

baron talking to? Who are those two? They were becoming

conspicuous. They needed to melt away before anyone noticed them.
    “Don’t worry? But then I would

be out of a job,” Oliver said, raising his eyebrows.
    “I can handle it,” Schuyler

insisted.
    “That’s what I’m worried

about,” Oliver sighed.
    He squeezed her bare shoulder.

His hands were rough and callused from travel and work. They were not the soft hands of the boy

who used to spend his afternoons in museums. The Oliver whom Schuyler had known had never stayed

in anything less than a five-star hotel in his life, let alone the fleabag hostels where they now

found themselves residing. She had seen him argue the price of instant noodles in Shanghai,

haggling over five cents.
    “I’ll be fine,” she promised,

then murmured softly so the baron could not hear. “I have a feeling this is the only way I’m

going to get to see the countess.”
    “Let me talk to him again;

maybe he’ll listen to me,” Oliver whispered, looking from the baron to Schuyler. “If

anything happens?”
    “I won’t be able to live with

myself,” Schuyler said, finishing his sentence. She removed his hand gently. “I’m scared too,

Ollie. But we agreed. We have to do this.”
    Oliver gritted his teeth. “I

don’t like it,” he said, glaring at the baron. But he let her go.
    Schuyler followed the baron

out of the courtyard and into the main hall of the palace. He led her through an

enfilade , a series of rooms all in a row, past the library and the many function rooms. At

the end of a long hallway, he opened a door to an anteroom and led her inside. It was a small

room, tiled with gold mosaics, empty save for a red velvet bench in the middle.
    “ Arr’te .”

Wait.
    He left, and the door locked

behind him.
    Schuyler looked around. There

was another door in the back of the room. That one must lead to the countess’s office. Schuyler

could feel the wards in place, guarding the room. There was no way out except for the two locked

doors. One of Lawrence’s lessons had been to sense the invisible protections in one’s

surroundings so that you could figure out how to get out of them. Escape was ninety percent

preparation and ten percent opportunity, he liked to say.
    Schuyler waited for what

seemed like hours alone in the small chamber. The room was completely insulated from outside

noise. She couldn’t hear anything from the party. At last the door opened.
    “Baron de Coubertin?” she

called.
    “Try again.” The voice was

heartbreakingly familiar.
    No. It couldn’t be. Schuyler

felt paralyzed. It was as if the past were taunting her. Someone was playing a sick joke. There

was no way he was here. The one person in New York whom she had tried so hard to forget . .

.
    Jack Force stepped inside.

Unlike the other revelers, he was dressed simply, all in black. A Venator’s uniform.

His platinum hair was cut short, in military fashion, making his sharp aristocratic features look

even more striking. He moved with a natural grace, stalking the edge of the room like a dangerous

animal circling its prey.
    How handsome he was’she had forgotten. Or maybe she had only imagined she had forgotten. They had

not seen each other since their last night at the  Perry Street  apartment. The night she had told him she loved another. How it hurt to see

his beautiful face, so grave and serious, as if he had aged a lifetime in a

year.
    The hurt was like a physical

pain, a longing that she had repressed, suddenly flaring up again: bright and red and angry,

surprising in its intensity. An impossible wanting: a hole in her heart that yearned to be

filled.
    No. Stop. Don’t go there. She

was furious at herself for feeling this way. It was wrong, and incredibly disloyal to the life

she had lived for a year. A betrayal to the life she and Oliver had built together. If only there

was something she