Page 25

They’d been outside the boutique while I cooed over the floating bat charm, pretending to examine window displays.

When we visited the crystal accessories store, they’d lingered by the fountain, their designer shopping bags suspiciously few for an afternoon at Crystal Palace.

Even during our brief stop at the beauty counter, I’d caught glimpses of them browsing nearby shelves with too-casual interest.

Now they entered the café like they owned it, designer heels clicking against marble in sync.

They moved like a perfectly choreographed K-pop group, if K-pop groups wore couture and radiated pure social superiority.

Up close, their predatory intent was unmistakable—they’d been waiting for this moment all afternoon.

Their leader scanned the café like a queen surveying her domain. The moment she spotted our table, her perfectly painted lips curved into a smile.

“Alpha Archer,” she practically purred, leading her group toward us. All five women dipped into elegant curtsies. “What a lovely surprise.”

“Lady Isabella.” Archer’s usual playful tone held a careful politeness that made me sit straighter. “Enjoying your afternoon?”

“Always.” Isabella smiled, her gaze sliding over our shopping bags before landing on me. Her perfect eyebrows arched just slightly. “And who might this be? I don’t believe we’ve been introduced to your… companion.”

The way she said companion made it sound like something you’d scrape off your designer heel. In my old life, that tone would have sent me shrinking into my chair. But something about it—so similar to how Ms. Rodriguez used to dismiss me—sparked an unexpected fire instead.

“Allow me to make proper introductions,” Archer said, his usual playful tone carrying an edge of formality. “This is Luca Valentine.”

“Valentine?” Isabella’s perfectly plucked eyebrows rose as she gracefully claimed the chair next to Archer, her followers spreading their designer bags across the neighboring table. “I don’t believe I’m familiar with that family name. Are you perhaps from one of the smaller territories?”

“Oh!” One of her friends brightened. “Isn’t he that official’s son? From that trading company the Whitlocks are working with?”

Isabella’s smile turned sympathetic, though her eyes remained calculating. “How considerate of you, Alpha Archer, taking time from your busy schedule for business connections. It must be so tedious, having to entertain every minor associate’s son.”

I took another sip of my blood latte, remembering all the times Ms. Rodriguez had used that exact same dismissive tone. At least now I had fangs to back up my irritation, even if they came with certain… dietary restrictions.

My gaze lingered on Sylvie’s chocolate eclair, its glossy sheen taunting my vampire senses. My stomach might be dead, but my inner foodie was wailing like a banshee at a funeral. The latte was good, but did it compare to the sinful promise of that eclair? Not by a long shot.

Archer caught my look and his smile turned impish. “Surely there’s a better option than daydreaming over pastries, isn’t there?” He tilted his head slightly, deliberately baring his throat where his pulse teased beneath the skin.

I swallowed hard, heat rushing to my cheeks. “I’m not about to sink my fangs into you,” I whispered fiercely.

Isabella’s keen eyes narrowed at our exchange, a hint of gold flashing in their depths as she leaned closer to Archer. “So, Alpha Archer,” she began with a purr that could smooth wrinkles from silk, “I heard the latest acquisition went through splendidly.”

Her hand found its way up his arm, and her friends twittered like birds high on fermented berries. She dropped snide remarks like breadcrumbs for her hungry followers, each one laced with assumptions about my supposed lowly status.

“Your father must be so proud,” Isabella simpered in my direction, “having his son invited shopping with the Whitlocks.”

Sylvie’s retort was swift and cutting, a rapier thrust disguised as social niceties. “Oh Isabella, it’s so refreshing to see someone cling to traditional hierarchy. Tell me, how is the eighteenth century treating you?”

The café’s atmosphere crackled with tension, charged with our verbal volleys. Isabella reminded me of Ms. Rodriguez in too many ways—another power player who thrived on diminishing those around her. But here and now, she wasn’t my boss holding the guillotine over my job.

“Speaking of tradition…” Isabella’s smile could have frozen hellfire. “I heard the most fascinating rumor about your family’s latest… business arrangement.” Her gaze slid to me like an oil slick. “Something about securing ties with lesser territories?”

But I was ready—no timid Luca Bennett trembling in fear of unemployment.

“Lady Isabella,” I started with saccharine sweetness that could rot teeth on contact, “you’re absolutely right.

It must be such a burden for Archer to engage with every individual personally.

” I batted my lashes innocently. “I can only imagine how taxing it must be for someone of your… extensive experience.”

Her eyes widened in shock at my jab—her perfect mask slipping for just a moment to reveal the surprise beneath.

Archer’s grin was a private sunburst just for me as he watched me spar without mercy or hesitation. It seemed this vampire prince had finally found his fangs—and not just the literal kind.

“At least my experience is with the right social circles,” Isabella recovered, her smile brittle as spun sugar. “Unlike some who are merely… visiting from the provinces.”

“Speaking of visiting,” Sylvie cut in with delicate precision, “how is your cousin’s new nightclub doing? The one in that charming little corner of the Kingston territory? So brave of her to open it despite the location.”

Isabella’s perfectly manicured fingers tightened on Archer’s sleeve. “Blood Moon is doing wonderfully, actually. In fact?—”

“Oh yes,” Sylvie continued, her voice dripping with honeyed venom, “I heard it’s almost as popular as the service entrance of Crystal Palace. Almost.”

One of Isabella’s friends actually gasped in shock, while another frantically tapped at her phone, probably checking the club’s social media stats.

“Now, Sylvie.” Archer’s eyes danced with barely suppressed laughter as he carefully extracted his arm from Isabella’s grip. “Play nice. I was just about to explain about Luca?—”

“Really, there’s no need.” Isabella waved her hand dismissively, though I caught the slight tremor in her fingers.

“We understand perfectly. The Whitlocks have always been… generous with their attention to lesser connections.” She turned to me with a smile that wouldn’t melt butter.

“It must be so thrilling for you, getting these little glimpses into our world.”

I took another leisurely sip of my blood latte, letting the premium O negative warm my throat. “You know what’s really thrilling?” I smiled, channeling every ounce of Sylvie’s elegant savagery. “Watching someone try so hard to mark their territory when they’ve already lost the plot.”

Isabella’s face did something fascinating—like she was trying to sneer but her perfect supernatural glamour wouldn’t let her. “I hardly think someone of your… background… is qualified to comment on territory marking.”

“Oh, but I find it fascinating,” I continued, warming to my role.

The premium O negative had given me a pleasant buzz, or maybe it was just the thrill of finally having fangs—metaphorical and literal—to bare.

“Like watching a nature documentary. Though usually, the territorial displays are more subtle.”

Sylvie nearly snorted her cappuccino, while Archer’s grin grew wider.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Isabella’s friend huffed. “We’re simply showing proper respect to Alpha Archer.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Sylvie mused, examining her perfectly polished nails. “And here I thought you were auditioning for the New Vale Society Weekly . Social Climbing: A Lesser House Guide, perhaps?”

Isabella’s cheeks flushed an interesting shade of pink. “At least we understand proper etiquette. Unlike some who probably learned their manners from… where was it your father’s company is based again?”

“You seem very interested in my background,” I noted, letting just a hint of fang show in my smile. “Almost as interested as you are in Archer’s arm. Though I have to say, watching you try to climb him like a social ladder is much more entertaining than any nature show I’ve seen.”

Archer actually choked on his coffee this time, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

“I never—” Isabella spluttered, her composure cracking like cheap foundation. “How dare you imply?—”

“Oh, he’s not implying anything,” Sylvie interjected sweetly. “He’s stating facts. Unlike those rumors about Blood Moon’s VIP list. Now those are implications.”

Something hot and possessive curled in my stomach as Isabella’s hand crept back to Archer’s sleeve.

An unfamiliar voice in my head growled mine , which was ridiculous because Archer was my brother—well, sort of—and definitely not mine in any way that would justify wanting to bare my fangs at Isabella’s perfectly moisturized throat.

“Speaking of VIP lists,” Isabella continued, practically purring as she leaned into Archer’s space, “I’d love to hear more about the Whitlock Enterprise’s latest ventures. Perhaps over dinner?”

The growl in my head got louder. My fangs actually ached .

“I’m afraid my schedule is quite full,” Archer said smoothly, shifting away from her touch in a way that made my inner vampire purr with satisfaction. “Family obligations, you understand.”

“Family?” Isabella’s laugh tinkled like cheap crystal. “Oh, you mean your little… business arrangement?” She glanced at me with false sympathy. “How sweet that you take such good care of your connections.”

“Connections?” Sylvie’s smile could have cut diamonds. “Isabella, darling, your desperation is showing. Almost as much as your roots.”