Page 11 of The Vampire Curse

The closest vampire is the one from last night. Mr. Harkstead. His blond hair is tied back by a leather cord at the nape of his neck. It’s odd howhumanhe looks.

He nods in my direction. I almost falter at the lack of intimidation in his demeanor. From the short conversation we had in the library, I had expected him to try.

Behind him on one of the sofas is a woman with black hair cut into a chin-length bob—red jewels around the neckline accent her black gown.

She doesn’t bother looking up. A man, barefoot and shirtless, kneels on the floor before her, arm raised, her mouth pressed to his wrist. She strokes his cheek as she opens her mouth and bites down.

My stomach churns.

The other two male vampires stare at me as though they can see straight through me.

The man with silver blond hair holds a woman to him. She is nearly limp in his arms, her head lulled to the side, neck exposed.

The last vampire is a man with short hair that is a mix of gold and umber. Two women sit at his feet, grasping at his legs. One looks weak and sickly pale, blood streaks down her neck, soaking her dress from the collar down her chest. The other has several puncture marks along her arms. Neither seem to notice anything else—they only want his attention, his touch. Their desperation is nearly palpable.

But he is looking at me like he has yet to drink his fill. The red rings around his irises are so thick they almost seem to glow even from across the room.

Demons and saints, what in the Otherworld have I walked into?

I wonder if any of the humans in this room will make it out alive, or if they will all be dead long before the sun rises.

The door closes behind me with a soft click, leaving me locked inside a veritable viper’s nest.

“Clara,” Alaric’s voice drawls to my right.

My gaze drifts to him. One second he is standing beside the piano, in the next, he is closing the distance with long strides. His arm wraps around my waist and his mouth crashes down on mine. My first instinct is to pull away, but I can’t.

I let myself melt into him, returning the embrace as if I mean it.

He ends the kiss then he offers me a glass filled with a red liquid. I take it without hesitation.

Obey… obey…

A quick sniff of the contents tells me it’s wine. I take a sip, watching Alaric through my eyelashes. Then I take a longer drink, and another, until my glass is empty.

The murmuring conversations resume. I can feel them watching us, looking for any sign of weakness.

Alaric snaps his fingers and a woman with bite marks along her wrists hurries over, carrying a silver platter with several more filled glasses. He takes my empty cup and sets it down on the tray, retrieving a full one and handing it to me.

His fingers linger on mine a second longer than necessary, then he bends his head down, nuzzling my ear and whispers, “You will want to pace yourself, my dear Clara. There are still the introductions to be made.”

He leads me to a settee. Despite his warning, I empty my second glass before we are halfway across the room.

We turn to sit, but there is already a vampire standing before us.

“Mr. Harkstead,” I blurt.

I have absolutely no idea if I should have spoken or if I'm expected to talk only when given permission. There are so many unknowns to this night.

“Please,” he says with a genuine smile. “Call me Lawrence. It is a pleasure to finally meet you,LadyValmont.” He emphasizes the false title, with a surprising lack of mockery.

Then the three of us make small talk. I am stupefied at how normal this feels. Alaric’s fingers press into my waist in a comforting gesture.

“I look forward to seeing you around, Clara,” Lawrence says.

He takes a step back but stops when the female hooks her arm through his and leans her head on his shoulder. Out of the five vampires in this room, she is the only female among them.

“Don’t be rude, Lawrence,” she admonishes.