Kraving Dravka by Zoey Draven

Chapter Three

“Walk straight,” Valerie’s aunt hissed as her high heels clicked on the Old World cobblestones, which lined the pathway leading to the grand, palatial home in the Garden District.

Madame Allegria was strangely on edge that afternoon. The sun was shining bright overhead, making Valerie squint. Yet, they were both dressed in extravagant evening gowns, with tall heels and curled hair. The makeup that was plastered all over Val’s face made her eyes water and her nose tickle. She suppressed the urge to sneeze.

Bewilderment and unease had risen within her chest all throughout the morning after her aunt had whisked her away from the brothel in a driverless car. She’d taken her to High Street, where they’d both gotten their hair and makeup done. When they finished, Madame Allegria had led her down a few shops to a dress store with an elegant and dazzling window display—of a floor-length dress encrusted completely in diamonds.

Madame Allegria had been warm and inviting with everyone they’d encountered that morning. Practiced charm and practiced interest in others, and Valerie had clenched her jaw tight as she watched the same act over and over again. Madame Allegria had even smiled at her, numerous times, announcing to everyone that she was her beloved niece, all the way from Genesis.

Which only made more dread fill her.

Because in the five years she’d been on Everton, Madame Allegria had never told anyone about her. Not even the clients that frequented the brothel knew that Valerie was related to the infamous madame.

Word would get out.

Which led Valerie to wonder just what in the universe her aunt was up to.

Now, looking at the Garden District mansion that was coming into view, with its white columns and grand staircase entrance, Valerie was close to vomiting her nerves all over the cobblestoned walkway.

Madame Allegria’s sharp nails cut into the skin at her elbow as they hurried along. In front of the house, she saw people socializing. They were drunk, laughing loudly in broad daylight, and stumbling across the bright, emerald-green lawn with shimmering flutes of teal-colored champagne clutched in their hands.

The long dress that encased Valerie’s body got trapped underneath her heels, causing her to stumble. It was bright pink—garish and harsh—but it was the height of the current fashion on Everton, or so the shop girl had proudly claimed. As Valerie got a better look at the partygoers, she saw the girl had been right.

Madame Allegria snagged her up, her nails digging so deeply into her arm that Valerie bit her lip in pain.

“Don’tembarrass me,” her aunt hissed, a smile plastered to her red-rouged lips, her white teeth flashing underneath the bright sunlight. She lifted her hand. “Oh there you are, Nadia! So lovely to see you again. Love that dress. The mayor’s wife on Genesis wore a similar shade during the Kibredian charity dinner last week.”

Nadia—a large woman with color-altered eyes and blonde hair too light and cool-toned for her complexion—simpered, practically oozing her thanks all over the cobblestoned walkway. Madame Allegria never stopped walking, tossing over her shoulder that they must get drinks soon and catch up.

“Keep up,” Madame Allegria snapped. “And do everything I say once we are inside.”

“Where are we?” Valerie finally managed to ask, her heartbeat thrumming in her throat, making her feel like she would choke. “Why am I here?”

Madame Allegria ignored her. There were two men manning the two doors to the regal house and they bowed low before swinging the white doors open.

Valerie’s eyes went wide.

A massive foyer greeted them, teeming with people. It was a ball, she realized. Couples were dancing in the foyer, old music floating from somewhere unseen, echoing around that massive space, coupling with boisterous laughter and the clinking of glasses.

That wasn’t what surprised her, however.

Inside, it was night.

The foyer was warm and inviting as projections of bright, silver stars twinkled overhead. Dark, wispy clouds floated in front of the stars every so often, giving the foyer the illusion of being outside at nighttime. It even smelled like the crisp air at midnight, lingering scents of dewy grass and pine trees from the Lake District.

Hundreds of Old World candles, dripping in thick, silky white wax, lit up a chandelier in the very center of the foyer and more lined the walls and the tables that were laden with food and drinks.

It was beautiful.

Heads turned to regard them as they entered the makeshift ballroom, Madame Allegria stepping in front and Valerie falling into place behind her. She felt uncomfortable, like one of the Old Earth possessions that her aunt bought from traders, something to be scrutinized and turned and studied and bought. Hundreds of eyes crawled over her flesh, over her hair, over her dress—one that bared her cleavage and her arms but kept her back entirely covered. One that kept her scars covered.

All Valerie wanted was to be with Dravka right then.

What she wouldn’t give to go back in time a few months, when she would creep into his room in the late afternoons and they would smile at one another and whisper about things Valerie couldn’t even remember as golden sunlight crept across his walls.

Longing went through her and she stumbled after her aunt unseeing, a blur of faces passing by, her aunt’s voice lilting and beautiful as she greeted everyone around her.

Her aunt seemed to have a destination in mind since they never stopped. She was heading for the back of the foyer, to a small group of people talking and laughing in a circle.

An older man from that group, dressed in a lilac suit, saw Madame Allegria first and a grin spread over his face.

“Derek,” Madame Allegria greeted, going to him first, kissing him on the cheek three times—telling Valerie they were friends. “What a wonderful party you throw. I’m so glad the sky projections turned out so beautifully.”

“With your help, they turned out spectacularly. I can’t thank you enough,” Derek said. He had a head of thick, black hair, though Valerie spied a little grey peppering through the temples. He was handsome, though he had the look of altering, especially around his eyes. “And is this who I think it is?”

His eyes came to her. His teeth were blindingly white as they flashed in the low light. There were three others among the group. An older couple to her aunt’s right and a woman with blonde hair at Derek’s side, her arm looped in his.

A woman Valerie realized she recognized.

Mrs. Larchmont.

Mrs. Larchmont’s lips were pressed tightly together as they locked gazes. Her crystal-blue eyes—unaltered in color and beautiful—were widened but the woman recovered quickly, plastering on a small, even, pleasing smile that Valerie recognized. It was often one she used herself.

Mrs. Larchmont was a regular client of Ravu’s. She came to Madame Allegria’s brothel every two weeks, usually on Thursday nights. Valerie had just booked her another visit with Ravu a couple mornings prior on her way out.

Belatedly, Valerie realized her aunt was introducing her to the group. All she managed to catch with her blood rushing in her ears was niece and death and Genesis, which had been her home colony.

Madame Allegria, with her clawed nails digging into her arm, pinched her in warning and said, “Valerie, this is Mr. and Mrs. Larchmont. Our hosts for the evening.”

Valerie didn’t know how she managed to do it but she managed to give them both a half-smile and a pleased to meet you.

When her aunt pinched her harder, Valerie’s spine straightened and she said softly, “You have a beautiful home. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a chandelier so eye-catching.”

Her aunt’s pinching lessened, meaning she was pleased. As was Derek—Mr. Larchmont—because his smile widened.

“It is from Genesis actually,” he said, though Valerie’s mind had already begun to glaze over his words. “I managed to snag it at a charity auction. Let me introduce you to Gabriel. I regret that you have not met until now, but, well…there is time to get to know one another afterwards. Naturally.”

Gabriel?

To a passing waiter carrying a tray of the blue-colored champagne, with bubbles that glimmered and fizzled gold, he ordered, “Find my son. Bring him to me.”

“Right away, sir.”

The older couple, whose names Valerie couldn’t recall, floated away after Madame Allegria had subtly edged them out of the circle, leaving them with the Larchmonts. Mrs. Larchmont still hadn’t spoken a single word and her gaze kept straying to the dancing couples on the floor. If not for the white-knuckled grip around her delicate champagne flute, Valerie would’ve thought she was the picture of calmness and ease. Any more pressure around the stem, however, and the glass would snap in half.

“Your aunt was quite right, Valerie,” Derek murmured, giving her a wink when she refocused her gaze on him. “You are a great Everton beauty. I think Gabriel will be most pleased.”

Her blood started to rush harder in her ears. She didn’t know what made her more uneasy: the fact that her aunt had called her beautiful to a stranger, or why this Gabriel would be pleased because of it.

Though she feared she knew the answer to that and suddenly, the room seemed to sway as black dots erupted in her field of vision.

Valerie must’ve unconsciously taken a step back because Madame Allegria’s hand tightened and kept her from stumbling.

A large body in a dark blue suit with white, glittering lapels emerged at Mr. Larchmont’s side.

“I believe I was summoned,” the man said, a wide grin as big as his father’s spreading across his face. He had blue eyes—his mother’s eyes, Mrs. Larchmont’s eyes—beautiful and shimmering in the candlelight, and a lock of dark hair fell across his forehead, curled slightly.

He was tall and handsome, no doubt a very popular bachelor among the Everton female population, though Valerie had never seen him before—though of course, she had no reason to. She rarely left the brothel. Her room was in the basement, after all. And given the tracker implanted in Valerie’s shoulder, Madame Allegria would know if she left. She’d be displeased.

Gabriel’s gaze was on her, those bright eyes trailing across her flesh, down the dip of her breasts, over her slim hips, and then back up. Nausea built in her belly, saliva pooling in her mouth.

“Gabriel, this is Valerie,” Derek said. “And of course, you know Madame Allegria.”

Gabriel’s gaze lingered on her aunt in a way that made Valerie’s neck prickle. She recognized that look, one of possession and longing.

“Yes, of course,” Gabriel murmured, flashing a megawatt smile, leaning forward to give her aunt three kisses.

Then his blue eyes returned and he stepped into her. His lips brushed Valerie’s flesh and she felt the heat of his palm rest at her waist.

“So pleased to meet you. Finally,” Gabriel murmured across her cheeks, a low tone, only meant for her ears. “You look very much like your aunt.”

Valerie’s face felt hot. Her whole body felt overheated. She had the strangest sense that she was a doll, a shell of a person, and she was watching herself move from outside her body. Like a puppet with strings, being tweaked and jerked.

“Pleased to meet you as well, Mr. Larchmont,” she managed to stumble out and she would never know how her words sounded so effortless. But working for Madame Allegria, plastering on a small smile and making pleasant small talk with women who fucked the male she loved all while she was screaming inside…surely, she’d had enough practice faking it.

Valerie was a liar and a coward and she was the first to admit it. She was the first to admit she hated the person she’d become.

“Call me Gabriel, please,” he said, stepping back, though his hand lingered at her waist. “You don’t have to be so formal considering the circumstances.”

Madame Allegria was smiling broadly when Valerie met her gaze, though she swore she could see a hint of annoyance lingering under its surface.

Then that annoyance turned to mockery when her gaze flickered to Mrs. Larchmont.

“What do you think, Celine?” Madame Allegria murmured, in that husky purr of a voice, a small smile on her lips. “Should we plan for a summer wedding?”

Valerie’s knees trembled briefly. If not for her aunt’s grip on her arm, she would’ve fallen.

Celine Larchmont took a sip of her teal champagne, regarding Madame Allegria over the rim. When she swallowed the liquid, she was smiling.

“I think a summer wedding sounds lovely.”