Be ready in an hour.
“Be ready,” she whispered. “Be ready forwhat?”
In eight weeks, she’d worn nothing other than the standard-issue white uniform. She hadn’t gone anywhere. She hadn’t done anything. What game was Harrington playing?
Eventually, curiosity won out. She unzipped the black bag to reveal a long-sleeve black ball gown in her size. She shoved the bag away from her. Why would Harrington want her to go to a ball? After his warnings and introducing her to B, why would he feel the need to extend an olive branch?
With a frustrated sigh, she relented and headed to the bathroom to get ready. She didn’t want to play into his hands, and she knew that she needed to be on guard, but she was too curious not to go.
With only five minutes left before she was supposed to be picked up, she slid into the dress and zipped it up the back. It rested just off her shoulders and had lace sleeves that hooked around her middle fingers, but while the black satin material plunged to a deep V in the back, the front covered her collarbones with a surprisingly prudish neckline. In the bottom of the garment bag, there was a box containing black heels with red soles. Everything fit her like a dream.
If only she weren’t living a nightmare.
Promptly an hour after the dress had been left on her bed, the same vampire guard who’d been there when she’d tried to escape arrived. He stood in the doorway looking imposing. He handed her a blindfold.
She took it without a word and slid it over her eyes. Maybe Harrington wasn’t letting up on her after all.
Once secure, the guy grabbed her by her upper arm and marched her out of the room. This guy must have been ex-military, because his pace was bruising and it wasn’t a short trek. She didn’t know if he was taking her the long way on purpose, but she wouldn’t have been able to find her way back.
Finally, the guard escorted Reyna up a flight of stairs and then opened a door and pushed her through ahead of him. The door closed and locked behind her.
She ripped off her blindfold and found herself in a small conference room. A buffet of delicious-smelling food was laid out against the back wall. A television hung suspended to her right and a projector on the left. A table for one was set up against the wall across from the television with an unopened bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket, two empty glasses, and a single lit candle. She was surprised to find it had an actual flame.
But what was the point?
She was circling the room, searching for clues, when the door sprang open. She stumbled back a step and then straightened her spine. No matter what, she had to remember this was a con. It had to be.
Harrington entered, dressed in a crisp tuxedo. His cane was tucked under his arm, and his eyes flashed brightly. She’d never noticed how crystal blue they were. She usually only saw his inhumanity, but today he seemed almost human. It unnerved her.
The door slid closed behind him, and he smiled. This unbelievably powerful vampire smiled at her. This was bad…very bad.
“What is this?” she asked.
“Ah, I knew that dress would suit you. You look like the queen you shall be.”
Okayyyy.
“Have you tasted the buffet? I had it prepared with your favorites in mind.”
She didn’t answer. How would he know what her favorites were? And since when did he care?
He laughed when she didn’t answer and walked across the room. She followed him with her eyes. He reached for the champagne and looked down at the label. “Champagne is also your favorite, no?”
Still she said nothing.
“This is my favorite vintage. It’s a rosé from this little vineyard in Reims I used to frequent in the early years after I was turned.”
Oh God, he just wanted to hear himself talk again. He made her get all dressed up for this?
“I purchased the property when it was clear that the French Revolution was going to destroy everything good about France.”
Reyna’s eyes widened slightly. The French Revolution. He was bornbeforethe French Revolution?
“America’s fault, of course,” he said as he popped the top of the champagne. He poured two full champagne flutes. “If it hadn’t rebelled, where would France be now?”
“Are you French?” she couldn’t help but ask. Even when he droned on, he never talked about himself.
“Certainly not,” he said. He walked back to Reyna and handed her a flute. “Taste it for yourself.”
