Where Love Survive The Blood

Rain drummed against the tall windows of the Ashford Grand Hotel. Within, the ballroom shimmered with golden light as hundreds of wealthy socialites laughed and swigged champagne, unfazed by the man whose ballroom this was. Seraphina Ashford practiced a beaming smile, the one her mother had taught her to wear. Small. Modest. Vacant. "Smile more," her brother Dominic murmured. "Father is watching." "I am smiling." "No, you're baring your teeth." She would have snorted at his remark, if she hadn't learned long ago that Dominic was the only member of their family capable of making such comments. He wore his black tuxedo like armor, his eyes darting around the ballroom. On the stage, her father, Victor Ashford, held a glass of whiskey in one hand, silver hair catching the chandelier's glow, sharp gaze pinning every guest in the room. To the outside world he was a philanthropist - the owner of the successful hotel chain that funded the hospital he volunteered at. To the underground world, he was the kingpin of the east side, and nothing happened in that district without his say so. Seraphina had learned both lessons well, and she had learned to keep her questions to herself. Tonight was her birthday, a fact she was rather indifferent to. Six years ago, on a night much like this one, she had lost the only person in her life who had truly mattered. She had stood in this same ballroom, clutching a small, black leather bag to her chest. Waiting on a boy who never came. "Ladies and gentlemen," her father intoned, silencing the ballroom as the guests turned to face him, "thank you for coming tonight, as we celebrate my daughter's coming of age. Seraphina is now a woman fit to be a wife to any man," there was a polite round of applause as Seraphina lifted her glass in turn, her smile pasted on, "and more importantly, tonight I have exciting news." Seraphina stiffened as her father's glass tipped dangerously close to spilling. A tall man in a gray tuxedo appeared on the stage, flashing smile as he scanned the ballroom. Julian Cross - the owner of the north dock, and the man whose family had been responsible for the murder of her parents. Seraphina knew, because her father had just reminded her. The Ashfords and the Cross's had been bitter enemies for as long as anyone could remember, and now she understood why her father had been so generous to her this past month. Julian Cross was her future husband. "Dominic," she whispered, her eyes narrowing at the man's back as he stood silently behind her. He was smiling. "Why do you think I've been so kind?" Her father's voice boomed in her ears as she set her glass on a nearby tray and turned to leave. She kept her spine straight and her pace unhurried, for the guests who stared as she passed. She made her way to the balcony doors and escaped into the cool night air. The city lights stretched out before her, damp from the rain. Somewhere out there were normal people living normal lives, dating and choosing their own husbands instead of having one chosen for them by their fathers. "Breathe," Seraphina instructed herself. "Just breathe." She gripped the stone railing and studied the silver bracelet on her right wrist. It had been six years since she'd gotten this particular accessory, though no one had ever asked her who'd given it to her. Zane Whitlock had, the night he'd practically kidn*pped her from the library. She'd been eighteen, sneaking out the back entrance of the library to avoid her father's birthday party. Zane had been nineteen, drenched from the rain, and lying to the librarian about needing to return a book that he clearly hadn't even opened. The son of Marcus Whitlock - her family's most loathed rival, and the very man who had been responsible for her parents' deaths. She knew this the moment she saw the name on his registration form. He knew she was her the moment he saw her face. And yet they'd somehow talked each other into doing it again the next day, and again, and again - until they were sneaking out to meet each other in abandoned cafes and on top of rooftops, laughing at the inconveniences of their parents and the impossibility of their love. "One day," he used to whisper against her hair, "we'll leave this place and never look back. No more families, no more guns, just us." And, for a brief and incredibly naïve moment, she believed him. She believed him well enough that she packed a bag and stood outside the train station on the night he was supposed to come for her. Marcus Whitlock's body was found on the pavement outside his mansion the following morning, a bullet in his skull and the scent of gunpowder in the air. By afternoon, the entire city was gossiping about the murder, and Zane's family was blaming the Ashfords. Seraphina's father locked her in her room for three days, and by the time he let her out, she was at the station. Zane never came. He had disappeared, and no one knew where. Some said he was dead. Some said he'd gone into hiding. Seraphina had spent six years wondering which was the more horrifying possibility. "You always did hate parties." The voice came from behind her. Seraphina turned sharply, her heart hammering against her ribs It was deep, calm, edged with a roughness that reminded her of the creak of old door hinges. She knew this voice. She had dreamed of it for so long that familiarity was etched into her very bones, because she had recognized it the moment it started speaking. It couldn't be real, she reminded herself, staring into the familiar gray eyes that were studying her. It couldn't be him. "I'm sorry, but I think you have me mistaken," she said, backing away. "If you're looking for someone else, I'm sure he's not here." A shadow loomed over her and she gasped as a man stepped out of the darkness, his tall frame blocking out the moonlight. He was impossibly handsome, with broad shoulders and a weathered coat that clung to his frame. His black hair was windswept and his strong profile was shadowed by a five o'clock shadow, but his eyes - those storm cloud gray eyes - were the same. "Zane," she breathed. "Hello, Sera." Her heart was beating too fast, and she could have cried with relief or screamed in rage, but she couldn't move. "You're alive," she whispered. "You're really alive." "Disappointed?" "Where have you been?" A sudden wave of dizziness overcame her and she stumbled forward, her tears blinding her. "I waited, I waited for you! I thought you were coming and-and I-I packed a bag! I tried to leave!" I know where you were. The final words were laced with a chill that sent ice clambering up her spine, and Seraphina swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. He was always so warm, always so light, always teasing - the boy she'd grown up with had a gentle voice that always seemed to be on the verge of bursting into laughter. This man, this stranger with her father's eyes, spoke in the measured tones of a man accustomed to dealing in death and betrayal. "Zane," she whispered, tears burning hot against her cheeks, "what's wrong with you?" He took a slow step closer, and the ballroom's light spilled over his face, revealing the cruel smile curving his sensuous lips. There was no love in his gaze, only the coiled patience of a wolf circling its prey, and he stopped an arm's length away from her to regard the bracelet on her wrist. "You still wear it," he said, "That's almost amusing." "I wear it because it's the only thing I had of you." "Is that what you tell yourself?" Zane's eyes swept up to hers. "Do you want to know what I remember about that night, Seraphina?" The music in the ballroom stopped abruptly, and the guests began to murmur amongst themselves. A woman gasped, and Dominic's voice rang out in stunned shock. Zane didn't turn around. "My father didn't die because of an assassin," his voice was quiet, but Seraphina could feel the menace in each word. "Someone told the Ashfords where he would be that night. Someone close enough to know where he went when he left the party." He paused to meet her horrified gaze. "Your father had a name and an address. I found the proof, Sera. It was your handwriting." "What?" Seraphina felt her heart stop altogether. "That's not possible! I would never-" "I came back for one reason," Zane continued silkily, closing in on her until his breath ghosted across her cheek. "To take everything the Ashford family holds dear, piece by piece - your father's empire, your brother's reputation, and your future husband." Seraphina's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Zane's smile was the slow unfurling of a serpent's grin. "And I'll start with you." The lights in the ballroom went out.