Part of me bristled at his presumption. The fact that the pendant perfectly matches the blue-green silk of my dress is beside the point.
‘What’s wrong with my necklace?’ We come to a stop before the double doors. The guards either side go to open them, but I gesture for them to wait.
‘Nothing.’ Michael’s smirk deepens, his gaze travelling down the plunging neckline of my gown.
‘Oh! You are infuriating! I should?—’
‘We should go in. They’re expecting us.’ He’s still smirking. I don’t know whether to smack him or kiss him. But the double doors are opening, guards at attention. I smooth my hands down my dress. My mother, already in the room, clad in her customary red, claps her hands once, twice.
Everything stills. The vampires stop moving so perfectly it’s like a film being paused. Then, as one, they bow and curtsey as Michael enters the room, followed by me.
I keep my head high, my expression neutral, nodding to the occasional person as we cross the room. I pause at a couple, the man dressed in dark robes. He’s tall and lean, his head shaven, his dark-skinned face seemingly sculpted from bone, deep lines at either side of his mouth. Anbesa, head of Lion. I incline my head, while Michael bows. Darkness, I’m relieved to see Anbesa here, though I wonder how it feels for him to be in the room where his son died. I wish I knew what to say. The woman at his side is voluptuous, her figure encased in layers of bright fabric, counterpoint to Anbesa’s darkness. Her skin is the smooth brown of a chestnut, her face beautifully angular.
‘Greetings, Emelia,’ Anbesa says, his deep voice musical. Sadness lurks in his dark eyes. ‘May I present Tau, my lieutenant.’
The woman with him smiles, coming to take my hands. ‘Birthday blessings,’ she says. ‘And thank you for inviting us.’
‘It’s a pleasure to see you both. This is my lieutenant, Michael.’ He comes forward, bowing again. Unease ripples across Anbesa’s previously impassive countenance. Shit. Michael, of course, is Mistral’s son. And Anbesa’s son, Daniel, is dead because of Mistral.
The music starts again, vampires whirling in perfect unison. My mother comes to join us. When she heard about what happened in the War Room, she was so angry she wanted to throw Joaquin and his entourage out of the house. A compromise was reached; Joaquin’s people are gone, staying at another Raven property. Only Joaquin remains here.
My mother takes Anbesa’s hand, graceful as a willow. ‘Will you dance, my lord?’
He smiles, inclining his head. ‘It would be an honour, my lady.’
Michael steps forward, holding his hand out to Tau, who takes it. I try not to feel disappointed.
‘You wore it.’ Joaquin, resplendent in black silk, open to the smooth V of his chest, steps into my path. His tailored trousers highlight his long muscular legs. I swallow.
‘I did. Thank you.’ I dip my chin. ‘It matches my gown perfectly.’
‘I know.’ Joaquin smiles, his dark gaze liquid with desire. His hand comes to my waist, his violet and musk scent tantalising. ‘Shall we dance, beautiful one?’
I nod, letting him pull me close.
‘Perhaps,’ Joaquin murmurs, as he brings me into the twirling throng, ‘we could venture into the gardens again. I would like to take you there. You remember Versailles, don’t you?’
I blush, unable to help it, at the innuendo in his words. ‘I remember,’ I whisper.
‘I know. That dress of yours hides nothing.’ He grins. My blush deepens. My nipples are hard beneath the silk, pressing into him, my heart beating wildly.
‘Shall we?’ He dances me towards the long windows at the edge of the ballroom. I remember pulling the old wooden shutters across, my feet and dress sticky with blood. I place my hand between us, on his cool hard chest.
‘I can’t. Not tonight. This ball is for me, and to leave after one dance would be rude.’
He frowns, covering my hand with his as we sway. ‘Of course. I’m honoured, though, that you chose to have your first dance with me.’
I didn’t choose that at all. The music comes to an end, the dancers pausing.
‘If I may, Prince Joaquin.’ Michael stands there, tall and stern.
Joaquin can’t refuse, not without making a scene. He releases me, his smile tight. ‘Please, enjoy.’ As though he owns me and is lending me out.
But then I’m in Michael’s arms, the music starting once more. Darkness, this is torture. I can’t look at him as we move around the dance floor, weaving in and out of the dance.
On the pretext of twirling me, he pulls me close. ‘I want to talk to you. Alone,’ he murmurs in my ear, before spinning me away, our fingers the only point of contact. The layers of my silk skirt billow out, twining around my legs as I come back to him, my body full against his for a moment.
‘I can’t leave.’ I keep my voice a breath, conscious of being in a room full of people with preternatural hearing.
