Page 164 of Loreblood

“Turns out you’re the biggest bodyguard of all.”

He snorted. “Emphasis on biggest.”

I laughed, my voice tinged with hysteria from my near-death experience. “This is incredible.”

His face betrayed no humor, no relief—just naked truth and a hint of concern. “I also believe it is time, and I think Skar will agree. We’ve been at this for months.”

“Time? Time for what?”

“For us to thrust you out of the dark. To introduce you to the people of our cause.”

Chapter 51

Skartovius found it appropriate to have a shadowgala in my honor. For the first time since joining the trio, I would be unveiled to the court of Manor Marquin and would step onto the ballroom floor as opposed to sneaking in through the back gate.

“My hope is, after this night, you will be welcomed and call this stronghold your home,” Skar told me early that evening as we watched from an upstairs balcony.

Below, carriages rolled into the courtyard. The ornate covered wagons had family crests carved into the wooden hulls denoting the particular family attending.

Vallan surveyed the scene silently on my other side, his stoicism heightened for the occasion. His arms were crossed disapprovingly and he grunted as elegant vampires began to step out of the parked carriages.

“Not all will welcome her, brother,” Vall said ominously. “Her blood will entice and excite them. Others will find wrongness in a human by your side, aiding noblebloods.”

Skar frowned across at his bulky, towering brethren. “Getting cold feet, Vall? This was your idea, remember.”

“My idea was to bring her out of the shadows and into society. Not to have a party celebrating such an occasion. This is ostentatious.”

I let them argue over the merits of having a shadowgala in my name. My eyes narrowed on the attendees as they stepped from their carriages and toward the front doors of the mansion, where Garroway waited for them.

My dhampir mate was dressed in a tight tunic that hugged his body well, and I found myself watching him greet the guests more than I watched the guests themselves. “Why does Garro have to humble himself to these pretentious bloodsuckers and act as your butler, Skar?”

“Optics, love. My graybird understands his place in the hierarchy. It is not a disgrace for him to act as my servant or champion in the fighting pit. He understands his role.”

I glanced over at him, quirking my brow. “And what is to be my role?”

Skar shot me a roguish smile. “As you’ve always been, little temptress. You will be my queen. The Lady of Manor Marquin. When we go downstairs to greet our guests, you will sit beside me on the dais.”

I worried my lip and turned to the bustling scene below. Easily two dozen vampires flocked toward the front of the manor, between the colonnade, looking ravishing and pale in the moonlight with their fine gowns and expensive tunics.

To match the occasion with my prior shadowgalas, all vampires attending wore gold masks of varying shapes and sizes. Some had gold horns sprouting from their masks or twisted visages and monstrous appearances to strike a certain note with the assembly.

This was to be a masquerade until Skartovius did the honor of unmasking the group to “reveal” me to his subordinates.

“Yes,” I muttered wryly, “as Vallan pointed out, I’m sure this hasno chanceof going sideways.”

Skar wrapped a slender hand around the nape of my neck, making goosebumps break out with his cool touch keeping me close, possessing me. “Do not fear, love. Your anxiety is normal. These people will learn to fearyou, and if they do not fall in line, then they will find themselves extricated from my court and their unholy hearts vacated from their chests.”

My head whipped over. “You’d murder members of your own court simply for not accepting me?”

“For you?” His smile took on a wicked bent, slashing across his face like a sword wound. “I’d murder anyone.”

I sat on an ornamented chair next to Skartovius on the raised stage, surveying the mingling court of bloodsuckers in front of me. It was all I could do to keep from fidgeting and bouncing my knee nervously.

The tables were aligned much how I remembered during my first two shadowgalas. Noblebloods glided from table to table, their gowns and robes sweeping the floor as they gracefully moved and greeted each other. White-robed slaves hurried through the wide space with trays of blood-filled goblets for the attendees.

Where the blood came from, I didn’t know. I didn’t ask.

Eyes swiveled in my direction every so often, scrutinizing and dangerous behind the gold masks. For the most part, I remained a novelty. The throng was distracted by introductions and busying themselves with other revelers, keeping the attention away from me. At least in the beginning.