The limousine draws closer, and I accept the mask Noah offers me, eager to hide behind it. According to tradition, everyone must remain anonymous until the great unmasking at midnight… but my hope is to be long gone before that point.
There’s a line of other cars making their way around the fountain. Vampires from every district and bloodline loiter on the front steps, glittering in their finery, their smooth, immortal skin gleaming in the moonlight like glassy lakes. I search their faces, dreading and hoping to see one of my siblings, but they’re all unfamiliar. I do see some three or four of my cousins, none of which I’m close to.
Our limousine stops and, a moment later, the door opens. I try to ignore the anxiety growing inside me.
Gravel crunches under my heels when I tentatively step out, and as I straighten, I take several fortifying breaths. Within a moment, Noah appears at my side. A black mask now hides half of his sharp-edged face. I know I’m staring, but thankfully, his attention has gone to the entrance. Counting the guards, maybe, or searching for someone to go home with after the event. I bet Beatrix would oblige him, I think sourly, spotting my sister through the wide doorway. She stands at the base of the staircase, white teeth flashing as she laughs at something Cain says.
Startling me, Noah slips an arm round my waist. “Easy, there, baby vampire,” he mutters under his breath. “Wearing a mask doesn’t hide the hate in your eyes.”
Worried someone will recognize my voice, I bite back a vicious response. I can feel the monster just beneath the surface, watching, waiting for her chance.
As I work to school my expression, Noah and I glide toward the front doors, where a slave waits with a tray of crystal glasses. I reach for one without hesitation and toss it back, enjoying the familiar burn of drinking champagne too quickly. I can feel Noah’s eyes on me, but he doesn’t comment. Not yet, at least. While he hands a second slave his official invitation to this event, I set the empty glass back on the tray, pick up my skirts, and walk inside like a soldier heading into battle.
Even here, barely over the threshold, I can hear a string quartet playing from the ballroom. The sound is like something from a dream, reminding me that the last time I stepped through these doors, I was someone else. Someone who had faith in her father. Someone who had not seen the darkest parts of the city.
Someone not nearly as determined to survive.
Several of the Vampire Kings’ wives have taken up positions in the foyer, greeting every guest that arrives. Blood vials gleam on their chests or at the hollow of their throats. Normally, my mother would be among them, and I feel a pang of grief in realizing that I’m probably the only one to notice her absence.
“Carpe noctem,” one of the wives murmurs, drawing my attention to her. Her garnet-colored eyes flicker in the light from the chandelier, unmistakable even through a mask. Evangeline. She’s the king’s favorite, and everyone knows it. Her disregard for human life is matched by her thirst for power.
She’s also Henry’s mother.
“Carpe noctem,” I say in return, knowing she won’t recognize my voice. Despite the years we lived beneath the same roof, Evangeline rarely deigned to speak with me. Once I grew older, I realized it was because she didn’t see me as a threat. However much the king may have loved me, I would never rule or accomplish anything greater than a lovely garden.
I wonder if she would view me as a threat now.
She’s already forgotten me, though, in favor of extending a greeting to Noah. There’s a subtle change in her voice, a touch of cloying flirtation. The bounty hunter’s face doesn’t need to be on display for his beauty to be obvious—it’s in the hard lines of his body, the strong set to his jaw, the light that burns in his dark eyes, constant as the moon in the night sky.
As he replies to her, bending to brush a kiss across the back of her hand, a hiss of jealousy sounds in my head. Mine, the monster snarls. Thankfully, Noah and Evangeline don’t seem to feel my glare. I manage to turn away, grateful once again for the mask. It may very well be the thing that saves my life tonight.
Standing beyond the line of wives, there’s a small crowd near a table. Velvet fabric gives off the softest of gleams, protecting the real wood I know hides beneath. Antique candelabras and tall red candlesticks shine over small drawstring bags. Party favors. When there’s a celebration at the mansion, it’s done in style. Doubtless there will be some chocolate kisses—chocolate has become a hot commodity since the end of the world—and highly-sought after electronics from Lancaster.
“Start doing the rounds,” Noah mutters, coming up from behind. He flattens his palm against the small of my back and I try to ignore the thrill that goes through me. “Remember, when you’re trying to gain someone’s trust, don’t ask questions. Create a monologue. Oh, and nod a lot, too. That seems to help.”
My heart lurches. When I’d imagined this night, facing my family and trying to figure out which one to hand over to the Vampire King for certain death, Noah had been at my side through all of it. “Remember? You’ve never told me this before,” I hiss.
“Haven’t I? Could’ve sworn I mentioned it in the car.”
I glare at him for the thousandth time, but the bounty hunter doesn’t even notice, because he’s walking away. “Noah, where are you going?” I shout-whisper at his retreating back. He’s heading in the opposite direction of the ballroom.
“There’s someone I need to talk to,” he tosses over his shoulder. Then he disappears around a corner.
Fuming, I stand there for a few seconds. When I feel curious stares on me, I make my way toward the ballroom, pretending to be fascinated by everything else. I step through the double doors and immediately recognize Beatrix’s flair. The cavernous space has been decorated in themes of black, red, and antique silver. Moonlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows and doors. Along the sides and in the corners, there are intimate, silk-wrapped alcoves, meant to provide privacy for those who prefer to feed without an audience.
The Vampire King’s throne stands at the far end, a monstrosity made of silver. Relief whispers through my heart when I see that it’s empty. He won’t come until much later, of course—the king has better things to do with his time than attend yet another party.
Laughter and conversations fill my ears, then, and I tear my eyes away from the throne. There are vampires everywhere. So many colors, swirling skirts, and flashing teeth. Thankfully, the air smells only of food and humans—vampires typically avoid perfume and cologne, as our senses are so enhanced. At a party like this, the scents would be overwhelming.
To my left, along the wall, there’s another table, this one much wider and longer than the one by the entrance. Placed strategically among the dishes are vases with marbles and beads. My eyes roam over the enormous offering of food, prepared by a five-star chef, no doubt. Blood cookies, stuffed mushrooms, crab puffs, baked artichoke squares with sun dried tomato pesto, avocado wrapped in prosciutto, gourmet cheeses cut into diamond shapes served with water crackers, spiced walnuts, caviar with toast points, skewers of cherry tomatoes with fresh basil and mozzarella drizzled in balsamic reduction. There’s even a chocolate fountain, with cake and strawberries on the side.
Then, a few seconds later, I spot them. My favorite chocolate ganache mini cupcakes, always topped with fresh blood drops. At that moment, it hits me—I miss this. I miss the mansion and the decadence. I miss the security of knowing I’m amongst my own kind and the warmth of unquestioned acceptance.