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Chapter Two

LUCIEN

Some called The Crimson Veil a lounge. I called it leverage.

Everyone who stepped through its doors owed me something—status, loyalty, secrets. Sometimes all three. Entry wasn’t a right here. It was a privilege, and one I never granted lightly.

The desperate climbed over each other for a chance to be seen here. The powerful came to remind themselves—and everyone else—why they mattered.

As for me? I watched it all unfold from the upper terrace with a drink in my hand and a smile on my face.

Because I was a St. Germain. The eldest son of the oldest vampiric bloodline in town. The heir to a legacy so long-standing, even the witches whispered our name with care. My reputation was the sort that didn’t just open doors. It built them.

The Veil thrummed tonight. My staff moved like clockwork, polishing every glass, setting in place every velvet rope, wiping every surface. They were my worker ants, if ants wore black silk waistcoats and cufflinks worth more than the average rent in town.

I demanded—and exacted—perfection.

I leaned on the railing and watched, my gaze sweeping the floor. Everything had to be perfect. That was the deal here. I didn’t cater to tourists or casual drop-ins. This was where everyone came to make something of themselves.

My assistant, Elias, hovered by the entry podium, double-checking names on the list I’d curated myself.

No one entered without my approval. Not the mayor’s latest fling.

Not the werewolf socialite still clawing her way back from last week’s scandal.

And certainly not the gossipmonger who dared call my lounge “depressingly pretentious” at last week’s brunch.

I’d crossed her name off with a stroke of my pen so sharp it’d practically cut through the paper.

One of the newer servers passed beneath my gaze, tray balanced, posture impeccable. She didn’t look up. None of them ever did. Not out of fear—though I wasn’t above cultivating that emotion—but because they knew better. Distraction was for patrons. Precision was for staff.

Elias shuffled the papers back into order, then tapped them once against the podium to straighten their edges. Once he had them nice and neat, he slid the list into a leather folio and headed up the stairs toward me. He passed everything over without a word.

I took the folio but didn’t open it. “How are we looking tonight?”

“We’ll reach capacity,” he told me. “The waitlist is already spilling into next week. The James family sent word—they want to hold their annual masquerade next week. I told them to reconsider so that they avoid competing with your Thursday showcase.”

“They’ll reschedule,” I said flatly. “They always do.”

“I made a few changes to the list, based on recent events,” Elias told me.

I opened the folio and quickly scanned the pages. Names, titles, affiliations. Some underlined, some circled, a few neatly scratched out in red ink. Nothing surprising.

“The witch twins?” I asked.

“Confirmed. Arriving at ten sharp. They’ve requested the left booth near the fireplace.”

I clicked my tongue. “They can have the booth. But no summoning during service hours. Last time, the scent lingered for days.”

Elias nodded, already making a note. “The shifter envoy has also returned. Apparently, he wishes to extend an olive branch after last month’s…disagreement.”

I arched a brow. “Is that what we’re calling it? Disagreement? I recall broken bones and blood on the floor.”

“He’s very sorry.”

“I’m sure he is,” I said. “Tell him The Veil accepts his apology. And remind him what happens to those who mistake my forgiveness for weakness.”

Another nod.

I closed the folio with a soft snap. “Anything else?”

“One more matter, sir. From your father.”

I finally turned, just enough to meet his eyes.

Elias hesitated. “He’s requested your presence at the estate. Tonight.”

Of course he had.

“When?” I asked.

“Immediately, sir.”

I exhaled, then dragged my hand down my jaw. “Very well. Summon the driver.”

“I already have.”

“What would I do without you, Elias?”

He didn’t answer. Just inclined his head and retreated, leaving me alone once more at the railing, my gaze sweeping across the floor.

My father ruled with the quiet, unflinching authority of a vampire who’d spent centuries shaping this town into something worthy of our name. Where others scraped and clawed for power, he cultivated it. Ignoring a summons from Ambrose St. Germain wasn’t something one did. Not even his sons.

I rapped my knuckles against the railing, then straightened to leave. I’d barely taken a step when a tall woman dressed in an expensive midnight-blue suit appeared at my side, her stride instantly matching mine.

Juliette St. Germain. My younger sister and second in-command.

Once The Veil’s floor manager, now its backbone, she was the only person I trusted to keep it running in my absence.

She didn’t smile, didn’t fawn, didn’t pretend to like people she loathed—traits she’d learned from me.

And traits that made her both efficient and thoroughly entertaining to watch.

“Heading out?” she asked.

I offered her the folio. She took it without comment, then flipped it open and scanned the contents. A moment later, she shut it with a snap. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone die here tonight. Unless they deserve it, of course.”

“Try not to let the shifter envoy bleed on the marble again. It’s vintage.”

Juliette smirked. “Then maybe he should stop trying to growl his way up the social ladder.”

“See?” I said, already turning to leave. “This is why I keep you around.”

She gave a mock bow. “Because I’m terrifying and have impeccable taste? Or because you love me?”

“Because you don’t bore me.”

Her laugh chased me down the stairs, but she didn’t follow, her mind likely already on her many tasks for the night.

Out back, my town car already sat next to the curb, engine idling. Elias stood by the rear passenger door, eyes on his phone, the screen casting a cold light over his pale vampiric features.

He didn’t glance up, but he did open the door as I approached.

“I’ve informed your mother of your impending arrival.”

Ah. Messaging my mother, was he? Brave man.

“Thank you, Elias,” I said as I slid inside the car. The interior was all smooth leather and a quiet calm. A bottle of bloodwine waited in the chilled holder by the armrest, untouched. I didn’t reach for it, suspecting I’d need to maintain a clear head tonight.

As the car pulled away from the curb, I leaned back in the seat and released a slow breath.

Outside, the streets of Eternity Falls flew past. I barely noticed the late-night cafés and potion shops, nor the shopping district, now closed for the evening.

The only thing that caught my attention was the Luminara Clock Tower, which sat in the very center of town.

The tower was a sort of magical barometer that allowed us to gauge the town’s overall wellbeing.

It changed color based on quite a few factors, but few understood how or why.

Tonight, though, the clock face pulsed a deep violet purple. A color we didn’t often see.

There was no manual for understanding this thing, but at least purple didn’t scream danger. In fact, the last time we’d seen this particular shade, the Ravenspell sisters had botched a town-wide séance and accidentally summoned their great-great-aunt—who’d been dead for a couple hundred years.

Had someone new arrived in town? Or were the witches causing trouble again?

We pressed onward, leaving the town square behind. We drove past the nearby glowing waterfalls and up into the hills where unending forest and a good deal of old magic surrounded the edges of town.

From there, we followed the winding road that led through the trees, toward my family estate. Thick foliage mostly hid the manor from sight, but now and then, I caught a flash of its silhouette through the long-reaching branches.

Eventually, we pulled up to a wrought iron gate, and my driver braked for a brief moment until the gate’s enchantments responded to my bloodline and opened. We drove onto the grounds, then parked beneath the arched portico.

I stared at the estate through the window and took a few moments to compose myself.

Speaking with my parents always devolved into a battle of wills.

I loved them, but they also exhausted me.

I couldn’t hide in the car all night, though, so I stepped out, adjusted my cuffs, then headed for the front door.

Before I could knock, it swung open, revealing Henrik, the estate butler.

“Master Lucien,” he intoned, bowing his head respectfully. “Your mother awaits you in the west salon.”

“Not the parlor?” I asked, already moving past him.

“She said the lighting was better in the salon, sir.”

I nodded and began the trek through the foyer and into the hallway that would eventually lead to the west salon. Along the way, I passed every ancestral painting. Every St. Germain since our founding, all the way down to me, my brother, and my two sisters.

Evangeline’s frame, slightly askew from the last time she threw a dagger at it, still hung off-kilter. Astounding that no one had fixed it yet. Or perhaps, and this seemed more likely, my sister kept it purposely off-center, just to annoy our mother. That was her style, after all.

Sebastian’s likeness hung straight, likely purposefully so.

He was the calmest of the four of us. His portrait was also the only one that contained a book, held loosely in his hand at his side.

His expression, serene and thoughtful, mirrored his life exactly.

My mother had always called him the calm to our chaos.

He preferred to study tomes and magical books, and even now was cataloging texts in some dusty old university’s archive.