My lip curled at the insinuation. I’d been doing my best to ignore the scent of blood perfuming the air. The mortal men and women present were all from families that dated back nearly as far as the vampires here. Like their ancestors, they had been groomed to be the ideal companion in hopes of making a match with a vampiric bloodline. For humans, they were remarkably attractive. The families of familiars spent years cultivating their best-looking and most talented children to catch our attention. Most matches between vampires and familiars were temporary arrangements that might last years, perhaps decades. But the Rites made things a bit more interesting. These humans were vying for marriage and the chance to help produce an heir.
As if the world needed more vampires.
“Why on earth are we still participating in this cattle call?” I asked him.
Boucher’s dark eyebrows bunched in surprise like two wiggling caterpillars. “Didn’t your mother tell you?”
“She’s been avoiding me,” I told him. I hadn’t seen her since my arrival. I’d been informed of tonight’s event by an engraved invitation and tuxedo waiting in my apartment downtown.
“Sabine does love her games.” He downed the rest of his drink. “A party isn’t the place to speak of serious matters, but the Council has decided an influx of new blood is in order.”
“Don’t you mean babies?” I said sourly.
“Seriously?” he asked. “You sound like you don’t like them.”
“What’s to like? Diapers? Crying?” Pureblood vampire babies only differed from mortal infants in their diet and life expectancy. The rest was grotesquely similar.
“Your mother has her work cut out for her. I don’t think she’s avoiding you,” Boucher said with a laugh. “I think she’s devising her battle strategy.”
Our conversation was interrupted by a group of musicians who stopped a few feet past the entrance to gawk. I rolled my eyes at Boucher who merely laughed as we watched them in the bar’s lighted mirror. A row of bottles lined up like an army of soldiers blocked me from seeing them all. Why did all pretentious bars need a mirror? But the humans didn’t hold our attention. Boucher’s dark eyes moved to follow the more interesting vampires and familiars scurrying behind and between the bottles like a macabre rear view mirror.
“Shouldn’t they be compelled?” I asked him, my mind still on the humans. It was customary to mentally prepare any human attendants before large events. A group of vampires was far too supernatural to ignore.
“The Council is getting progressive,” he told me. I could tell what Boucher thought of this by the distaste coating his words. “Compulsion should only be used in extreme cases.”
I grimaced. “Next, they’ll cut off our balls.”
“No one will let it come to that,” he said darkly. But before I could press him for more information about the Rites or Council’s sudden humanitarianism, he picked up his gloves. “I’m afraid I need to make the rounds. You won’t hide here all evening, will you?”
“I expect at some point, I’ll leave,” I said as he drew the gloves back down his fingers. I pulled my own leather ones from the interior pocket of my jacket. It was a necessary precaution in mixed company, but I hated wearing them.
“It wouldn’t kill you to have some fun,” Boucher reminded me while he finished adjusting his cuffs. He left me to join the throngs chatting and fawning over one another.
It wouldn’t kill me. That was the problem. It was merely torture with no end in sight. But Boucher was right. I could have fun in San Francisco–as soon as I left this boring party. I made up my mind to find my mother and get her lecture about family duties and obligations out of the way so I could leave. Turning, I deposited my glass on the bar, dropping the gloves, to reach for my wallet. The bartender stared as another large bill made its way into his bucket. It was too easy to forget that small amounts of money to us were much bigger to mortals. In the past, compulsion had eliminated any curiosity on their part regarding this. But now there were new fucking rules that made no sense. It was just like vampires to change the wrong behavior to be on the right side of history.
But before I could turn around, a scent rose like a warning in the air.
Blood. But not just any blood.
I smelled her before I saw her.
Crushed rose petals drifting over Marie Antoinette’s dinner party. The burnt sugar and velvet of violets dabbed on a porcelain neck. The warmth of a fire blazing in a Venetian hearth. The sweet almond scent of a woman’s thighs wrapped around my neck. It was as if my life had been marked by her absence as much as this moment was marked by her presence. It took effort–more than I had exerted in centuries–not to turn to trace the path she made through the room. Patience was not one of my defining characteristics. But following her would imply interest, and I couldn’t allow that.
Her scent grew stronger, and I cursed myself for bothering with a drink. I should have left here before now and avoided all of this. Was this part of my mother’s schemes? Had Sabine Rousseaux finally succeeded in securing a familiar I couldn’t possibly resist?
My fingers sank into the polished bar top as if it was carved of butter, my gloves lay forgotten on the counter. The bartender’s eyes widened even more than they had at my tip, and I groaned. Later, I needed to ask Celia what qualified as an extreme enough scenario to warrant compulsion. For now, I was pretty sure sticking my hands through solid wood counted.
“You’re getting me another drink,” I told him, and he went still as our eyes locked. “You found the counter with these marks, but you didn’t worry about it. You were too distracted by the huge tips you’re making this evening.”
He nodded and turned to pour another Scotch in my glass. Behind me, music began playing and I relaxed momentarily. Withdrawing my fingers from the wood, I studied the gouges I’d made in the antique wood. I made a mental note to ease my guilt by making a sizable donation to the arts center in the morning.
I pulled my gloves on quickly before I accidentally maimed something else and accepted my fresh drink. Another round would take the edge off. Whoever’s scent had caught my attention would be gone by the time I was done, along with the familiar herself, lost amongst the many scents mingling in the room.
But when I turned around, the scent hit me again. A dark urge swelled inside me, something primal taking over as my eyes searched the room for its owner. I dared to take a step toward the crowd, only to find my attention pulled away from the mass of partygoers. I turned instinctively, and my gaze landed on the string quartet. I barely noticed the male violinists. Even the voluptuous brunette playing the viola hardly registered. Instead, I found the source of my sudden, predatory urges tucked in the back of the group. She sat at an angle, cello between her legs. Her dress was worn and shabby, and she lacked the polish of the other woman in the quartet. Her head remained tilted in concentration, preventing me from getting a good look at her face. But a single strand had escaped the tight knot of hair perched on top of her head. It curled at the nape of her neck unwilling to be held captive. She struck me as equally unmanageable. Historically, that was a dangerous sign in a woman.
Altogether there was only one word to describe her: human.
She was definitely not the result of my mother’s matchmaking schemes. But her blood was potent. Others would smell it. She’d be lucky to get out of here missing a few pints of blood and suffering from short-term memory loss. Customarily, vampires didn’t kill people, but there was a tendency to cut loose during the social season.
I lost track of how long I stood and considered what to do with the fragile creature. The longer I stood the more I became aware of something else. Her talent. Unlike the others, she played with her whole being, and all of that would be lost if the wrong vampire got his hands on her tonight.
I hated my whole bloody species. I hated the posturing around me. I hated that I’d been dragged out of my self-imposed exile to join them.
And I hated her, most of all, for forcing me to stay at this party. Because there was no way I could ever let her out of my sight.
I was still watching her when the group announced they would take a break. No one in the room seemed to notice or care. The other three musicians exited quickly, but she lingered as if stuck in the sheets of her music. Weren’t humans supposed to have some sense of self-preservation? How could she sit in a room of vampires, unguarded, like a snack? Couldn’t she sense the danger?
Suddenly, her eyes snapped open and looked directly into mine. Her mouth formed an O and I heard a gasp only audible to my supernatural ears. It wasn’t the first time a human had reacted that way when encountering our kind unexpectedly. I narrowed my eyes, determined to scare her away. She had no business being here. I glared until blood pooled in her cheeks, locking my legs to keep myself from moving toward her. She turned away to gather her things and exposed her slender, bare neck in the process.
My body interpreted the movement as an invitation–an invitation I was already moving to accept.
Whoever she was, it was too late for her now.
CHAPTER FOUR
JULIAN
I hadn’t killed a human in forty years. That record would end tonight. It wasn’t that I wanted to kill her. It was that I knew one taste of her would never satisfy me. Her blood sang to me across the space. Its intoxicating lullaby luring me closer. She was young. I didn’t care. She was talented. I didn’t care. One word with her, and I’d be able to easily compel her to leave with me. Losing control here could get messy.
