And then blushed in embarrassment when every pair of eyes in the room darted to and from me so quickly it almost seemed imagined.
The party’s host, Vladislov, greeted his—or as he continued to remind me, our—collected guests with a smile. “Welcome to our little soiree. As each of you has been given explicit instructions addressing the theme of tonight’s fun, I will not insult you with a repetition of the rules. Only to say this. If anyone touches or so much as brushes up against my bride, I will end you and your entire bloodline.” Jolly, completely unconcerned with the level of violence just threatened, his smile grew. “Are we clear?”
Cheers came as if such an insane declaration only enhanced the drama and pleasure of the handful of vampires in attendance.
“To Pearl!” A man bearing silvered hair and a thin moustache raised his glass—one filled with a far more viscous red liquid.
And cheers arose, my plain name sung as if in praise.
These creatures were as crazy as their king, holding up crystal goblets full of pungent blood. As the only person in the room who ate or drank food, as a Daywalker, what they drank would make me ill. And what I drank was done in private.
Servants in black-tie, tails, each bearing a platter with a single hors d'oeuvre, entered, leaving Vladislov to amend his singular warning with another. “If any of you try to eat any of the special treats for my Pearl, you won’t care for those consequences either. They are not for you, no matter how tempted you may be.”
How often did this man threaten to kill his friends?
Again, no open animosity on the faces of the twenty or so gathered in the apartment’s grand room. Only attentiveness as they looked me over, as they lightly chatted and touched one another a great deal. A brush of the arm, a peck on the cheek.
A staged production where every last player was dressed as if they were patrons of the finest club from the 1920s. The ladies: beaded gowns. The gentlemen: starched waistcoats, white bowties, satin lapels in perfectly tailored tuxedos. The music, coming from a source I could not find, was no record. Instead, it was clear as if the singer sat at the empty piano seat across the room to entertain us all.
“Ahh, live music would have been a nice touch. I’m sure someone here has some talent at something.” He handed me the stemmed glass of white wine, brushing his fingertips over mine as I took it, because I needed a drink. The host, just as spectacularly dressed as the room, eased ever closer. “Olivia, the one in the red dress, dear. She was some kind of performer a decade here or there, though I have no idea if she was even awake during the 1920s.”
“The music is fine.” This whole charade was already too much.
I was even wearing a dress so exquisite I’d been nervous just to put it on. Nervous of leaving my strange room. Or standing next to Lucifer—
“My name, darling, was never Lucifer. And as much as I am trying not to be insulted, considering the situation, I really…” He paused, rubbed his thin lips together, and chose his next words as if they were foreign on his tongue. “I really beg that you think of me as Vladislov. Or anything kinder than comparing me to that prick.” For good measure, and while tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, he added—as if infinitely proud of himself, “Please.”
And the room was enraptured.
“I, um.” I put the glass of wine to my lips and drank, fortified by cool, crisp nectar of the gods. “I um, don’t know how you…”
How he kept reading my thoughts as if such a thing were natural.
And in my distraction between wine, embarrassment, nerves, and general sense of being completely overwhelmed, I allowed him to grasp my fingers and bring my knuckles to his lips for a kiss.
“I have many talents, as do you. As do my guests this evening. Normal talents you’ll navigate beautifully with a little practice.” Flicking his fingers, he summoned a servant bearing a beautiful tray with a single treat on top. “Canape?”
“Vladislov.” I’m not sure if I had ever spoken his name before.
I couldn’t do this. Be here with demons playing dress-up, who I had been told would be dining in their usual style when humans were brought in for sampling later.
“Deep breath. Drink your wine. Look at me.” The orders were effortless. The way he subtly squeezed my fingers, familiar.
Those eyes….
Lifting the snack from the tray, he held it to my lips. “So long as I am with you, my soul, there is nothing ever to fear.”
I ate, unsure what a canape was. I ate from the hands of Luci—
“Vladislov.” With a wink, he smirked. “We’ll work on it.”
Acidic tomatoes, something savory I couldn’t place. The flavors on my tongue paired with the wine and left gooseflesh on my arms, because a drop or two of the host's blood brought all the culinary glory together. Almost as delicious as the various immortal blood vintages I had been served over the weeks.
Probably from the very donors in this room.
“You look lovely, Pearl. The most beautiful woman ever to walk the earth. And I would know,” he added with a chuckle. “I’ve walked it for ages. Never thought I’d be quite so pleased to be robbing the cradle.”
Men only gave compliments when they wanted something, most likely to lure a girl into sex.
“As much as I would love to lure you into bed, that was not my goal in the praise. I love you and simply cannot help myself.”
Bed? The last memory I had of a man taking me to bed was so utterly awful the canape was about to come up.
Like a snap of fingers in my mind, what was in one instant horrible and so real I could smell the damp of the cell and feel the burn between my legs, was gone. Just gone.
“Now that, I will stop. I’d rather not fiddle where too much has already been done, but no thoughts of that nature will ruin your party.”
The book. The journal. All the entries and explanations of a mind wiped clean each day.
Another mental snap.
“Not tonight, Pearl. All of this can be discussed tomorrow. Tonight, be in the present. Get to know your kind. Feel safe.”
And instantly, I did.
Contrition was in his voice, in his countenance. “I apologize. Really, I’d prefer not to, but you require a bit more than handholding to progress into our future.”
A servant appeared to pour more perfectly chilled wine in my glass. Wine I drank staring over the rim at my host… Vladislov.
Who smiled an extremely beautiful expression on an interesting face. “Well done, brave queen.”
“She really is a vision.” A female interloper. One who approached so regally I felt the need to call her ma’am. And would have had Vladislov not clearly unh-uh’d me under his breath.
“Maya, might I introduce my bride? This is Pearl.” He kissed my fingertips, met my eyes, and finished, “Pearl, she was meant to be your breakfast.”
The statement was so utterly ridiculous that I snorted a quick laugh. Mortified an instant later. Cheeks flaming, I faced the insanely beautiful woman, and said, “Hello.”
Insane had to be the perfect word for all of this. All of me. The fact that my hand was still caught in the clutches of the name I would not think.
To which he laughed, full-bellied and thoroughly amused. When glittering eyes left mine, after an improperly long stare, he addressed the patiently waiting woman. “She’s shy.”