Page 63 of The Vampire Curse
Except, it is different. Now I don’t seek a way to escape. Now, I know this isn’t a party but a gathering. Nothing more than Alaric entertaining his guests.
The first time I had naively thought it was a party, but after my short time back in Littlemire, among the upper class, I know better.
Alaric stands at the window across the room, talking in low tones with Mr. Harkstead. The light of the moon lines his silhouette in silver.
A human man sits at the piano playing quiet songs, filling the room with dark, subtle sounds. Not enough to drown out what little talking there is.
I hold my wine glass in one hand and keep my heartbeat slow and steady. This time I will keep my wits instead of drowning my nerves. I will be the perfect picture of calm.
Next to me, Cassius grins a smile meant to accentuate his elongated canines.
“I must say,little bird, we had begun to think our Alaric had no hold over you,” he says. The corners of his mouth lift upward. “Lawrence doubted your return more than anyone else, it made me wonder if you were perhaps not marked after all.”
The snake curled around his shoulders moves slowly, its silver tongue flicking at the air, metallic, dark green scales glinting in the candlelight. Red eyes watch me, but I do my best to ignore their presence.
I list my head to the side and blink up as though I have no idea what he’s talking about. They know the truth, but that will not stop us from playing this game.
“He was so generous, allowing me to go to my sister for her wedding, and at such an inconvenient time for him.” My words are coated in honey and innocence as I speak the practiced lines.
“Mmmm,” he hums in agreement.
A woman with a tray of glasses filled with a dark, red liquid saunters by. Cassius reaches out and snags one, drinking the entire thing in a single gulp. He wipes his mouth, trying to hide his grimace.
I raise a brow in question.
He grunts. “Prepared blood just doesn’t compare with fresh from the vein.”
Cassius rubs his chin and, slowly, red forms around his irises. He licks his lips. Blinking several times in a row, he seems to break out of a trance and straightens. He clears his throat and says, “Allow me to refresh your drink.”
He saunters across the room and deposits my unfinished cup of wine on the piano, then crosses toward the human man standing against the wall with his tray of wine glasses.
A snort of derision comes from behind me. I whirl and am inches from the man, my eyes level with the knot of his cravat. I lift my chin and look into the eyes of Victor Connors. He leans over me.
I take a half-step back so my neck will be at a more natural angle. But I don’t create much space, nothing that will hint that I’m retreating. His eyes seem muddier than I remember, darker. Dark lines move through his irises and almost seem to leak into the whites.
He smiles, but there is nothing friendly about it.
“Cassius has been hogging your attention. The rest of us are starting to get a bit jealous,” he says.
A frog croaks at my feet and I jump back, startled. No, not a frog, but a fat, wart covered toad. The demon hops forward until it’s touching the hem of my dress. Usually, I wouldn’t think twice about such a creature, but this one sends gooseflesh racing up and down my arms.
I swallow hard, fighting the urge to take several more steps back.
“Here you are, Victor,” Lawrence drawls, seeming to come from nowhere. He shoves a glass of blood into the other man’s hands while throwing an arm around his shoulder, then he looks to me and adds, “Alaric sends his regards.” He tips his head toward where he stands by the window, looking over Cassius’s shoulder at me. “He will be a few moments more.”
While his words are perfectly civil, the subtle hostility in his tone grates on my nerves. Alaric had been confident that Lawrence wouldn’t be a threat to me. Except with that look, he seems to be the one vampire in this room that would like to separate me from my blood the most.
I don’t have time to contemplate further before Della slips between the two men and pouts up at Lawrence.
“I’m feeling neglected, Sire.” She bats her eyes at him and sighs.
Lawrence scoffs. “You are fine, Della, there are plenty of mortal men to keep you busy.”
She harrumphs, then turns her piercing eyes on me, so dark they appear almost black. With a sneer, she scans me from head to toe before turning back to Lawrence.
“I don’t know what everyone’s fascination is with something so plain and…” She cuts a glance to me again, her eyes lingering on my uncovered arms. “Ruined.”
I narrow my eyes, refusing to be ashamed of the scars that run over my arms. These scars mean that I fought for my life, that I am not dead—burned on a funeral pyre, and ash scattered on the wind. They mean that I am still alive.