“Where are you, Crimson?” Murad asks, sipping his glass of blood.
“I’m simply savouring my triumph,” I reply. Then I cock an eyebrow playfully. “And the thought of Waylan, bound in silver, suffering miserably in a locked coffin in the dungeon, without his most prized possession.”
“Are you sure it was wise to keep him animated?” Murad asks, his expression becoming serious again. “He’ll be furious whenever you let him out.”
“Let him be furious. I don’t want to stake him just yet.”
Murad regards me thoughtfully. The moment stretches out between us, just a little too long. Finally, he speaks. “You aren’t like him, you know. You don’t have to be.”
He’s not referring to Waylan. I frown at the other vampire. “I know, Murad. And I don’t need you to tell me what I can and can’t be.”
“He’s gone, now. Don’t let yourself be haunted by his ghost.”
An uncomfortable pit lodges itself in my core, and my fingers tighten over my glass. I rise from the couch irritably. “I should go back to the celebration. Tonight is about my ascension. I plan to spend it with my clan.”
“As you wish,” Murad replies, but there’s a note in his tone that tells me he can see right through me. But before I can snap back at him, he rises as well. “Let me join you.”
We rejoin the party, which has grown to fill the hallways and most of the main floor of the mansion. Our celebrations tend to intensify as the night progresses. There’s a scantily-clad breather seated on top of one of the side tables in the hallway, his back up against an impressionist painting, his legs spread wide. A vampire, one of our younger ones, stands before him, pressing him against the wall, her fangs deep in his chest as she drinks from him.
“Watch that Renoir,” I tell her curtly. “It’s one of my favourites.”
She quickly pulls her canines from him, and gives me an obedient nod. “Of course, Crimson! Sorry!”
“Do you really appreciate fine art?” Murad asks me, as we enter the lounge. “Or do you just enjoy throwing your weight around?”
I roll my eyes at him. “Why can’t it be both?”
If the hallway was rowdy, the lounge is an absolute riot. The music has taken on a low, bass-heavy tone, dark and sensual. There’s another breather seated on one of the standing tables, her light brown hair in a bun at the top of her head. Three vampires are drinking from her at once: one at her neck, one at her wrist, and one at the artery in her thigh. The look of transcendence on her face whets my appetite, and I start to regret sending that breather to bed early.
Now that her scent is in my head, it’s difficult to concentrate on anything else. I only had a small taste of her blood, but it was delectable. Blood from living humans all tastes different, like a signature scent. Her’s was subtle, floral, sweet…
If she hadn’t stopped me, I certainly would have enjoyed her thoroughly. I picture her in my mind, recalling the gentle wave of her ink-black hair, the generous splash of beauty marks upon her pink cheeks, the softness of her brown eyes. She has the sort of beauty that settles on you slowly, working its way into your bones, aging like a rare wine. And there’s a natural submissiveness in her personality that’s undeniably…tantalizingto someone like me. I wonder if she’s fully aware of it. If she’s allowed herself to explore that side of herself.
And she’s never been bitten before…
Murad catches the eye of one of his favourite donors, who’s spread out enticingly upon one of the couches at the back of the lounge. He gives me a nod to indicate his leave, and disappears into the thick haze of the lounge.
As I circle, the unoccupied breathers arrange themselves eagerly in my line of sight, accentuating their throats and thighs temptingly. I can sense their heartbeats fluttering, their pulses pounding with a mix of desire and fear, the sweet smell of adrenaline evaporating from their skin.
I spot one of the newborn vampires, Thomas, laid out across a velvet couch. He’s the last new vampire Xavian created before he was staked. He has reddish-blond hair and his pink skin is still vibrant and lively. It hasn’t yet taken on the telltale pallor of the undead. There’s almost a flush across his cheeks as he kisses the woman beneath him, his hands traveling nervously across her body. When he pulls away from her, I can see his irises are tinged red with bloodlust, his fangs arching over his lips.
He locks eyes with the woman below him, her long lashes fluttering. But he’s a new vampire, and he’s still getting used to his abilities. I can see him struggling a little to complete the glamour.
I hand my half-full glass to a nearby server, and I come up behind their couch. I lean over the couple, putting my hand on the back of the young vampire.
“Don’t force it,” I tell him firmly. “She’s willing, you only need to capture her with your spell. Try to relax, and imagine the space between your gaze and her’s.”
“Yes, sir,” he says. Then he meets her eyes again, but more softly now, more confidently. The woman sighs pleasurably as he glamours her, her pulse slowing slightly.
While she’s still clear-headed, I ask her directly. “What would you like him to do?”
“Oh,” she says breathlessly. “I…I’d like him to bite me.” Her cheeks deepen in a rich, dark pink and her heartbeat quickens. “And…more, if that’s all right.”
I look at Thomas. He nods, a little bashfully.
“You’d like him to fuck you?” I confirm with her.
“Oh,yes, please,” she sighs.
