“Mm-hmm.” He sounds unconvinced. “So the issue is that you dislike me as a person?”
I know he’s teasing, but a small, frustrated huff escapes me. “Please. I think I’ve made it quite clear by now that’s not the case.”
“Well…” He’s starting to smile, the slow curl of his lips peeling away his aloof expression. “I suppose that’s true after…” But the sentence dies, along with his smile, as he looks toward the other side of the room.
I follow his gaze to see Ambrose, dressed all in exquisite white, surrounded by a small coterie of beautiful vampires who are all looking our way. When Ambrose catches Claude looking, he beckons with two fingers, and my stomach drops.
Claude stiffens at my side before heading over, crossing the room in slow, measured steps.
“Wait,” I whisper, tugging on his arm. Claude turns to me questioningly, and I fumble in my purse, past painkillers and extra tampons and all the other things I carryjust in case, until I find a pair of sunglasses. I stand on my tiptoes to place them on his face, smoothing his curls back behind his ears before pulling away.
He tilts his head, his eyes hidden behind the lenses. “It’s nighttime,” he says. “And dark in here besides.”
“It’s a fashion statement,” I say. “Or perhaps a way to disguise a hangover.” Or a way to hide that sadness in his eyes. Something tells me the vampires of the Vulpe Court will be eager to see it, and I don’t want them to.
After a moment, he dips his chin in the slightest nod, and we continue ambling along to Ambrose and his coterie, taking our sweet time to get there.
“Claude,” Ambrose says, his voice a drawl that makes my skin prickle. “I’m surprised to find you here tonight.”
“As if I could ever decline an invitation from you,” Claude says, his tone deceptively mellow.
“Such a dutiful little fledgling. If only you were as mindful of the rest of my expectations.” He swirls a finger, gesturing to the gallery around us. “This could all be yours, if only you weren’t so stubborn.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to hold back a retort. He isn’t even bothering to be subtle about why he invited Claude here. Even the sexual nature of the display feels… pointed, now that I know Ambrose is aware ofthatclause in our contract. Another jab at something that Claudecouldhave butdoesn’t.
I glance around the circle at the other vampires, who are quiet but watching with thinly veiled amusement. There’s a flicker of hot anger in my chest at the thought that this is part of tonight’s entertainment for them.
“Is the artist here tonight?” I ask, butting in as if unaware of the tension crackling through the exchange. “We’d love to meet them.”
Ambrose’s lip curls as he looks at me as if he just realized I’m there and is displeased by it.
“Lady Elizabeth is in the back lounge,” one of the other vampires offers, perhaps taking pity on me. But then Ambrose turns his gaze on her, and she shrinks back, as if realizing she made a faux pas.
“Oh, we should go see her, Lord Claude, please,” I say, tugging on his arm.
“Very well.” He dips his head in a small show of respect to Ambrose. “Lovely to see you, as always, sire.”
I only manage to relax once we’re out of eyesight of that horrible little group. “God,” I say. “Sorry, we don’t really have to go see the artist, but I couldn’t stand being there a moment longer.”
Claude squeezes my hand. “I’d like to meet her.”
The back lounge is filled with the low chatter of a small crowd of vampires and valentines. A bartender serves drinks in one corner, both blood-infused and otherwise. It’s easy enough to find the star of the night, since people keep approaching to congratulate her. She’s a petite Black vampire who appears to be in her early twenties, and quails under the attention each time, deflecting compliments with an embarrassed smile.
Something about her seems strange, though it takes a few minutes of studying her to put my finger on it. Most vampires are sostill, but she’s fidgety, and— “She’s… breathing? I thought she was a vampire.”
“She is. Very freshly turned, though.” Claude’s hand rests idly on my side, fingers tapping my hipbone. “It takes a while to forget that muscle memory.”
Claude waits for a break in her line of admirers before heading over.
“I’m sure you’re getting tired of hearing this, but the exhibition is delightful,” he says. “Truly extraordinary. Congratulations.”
“Oh, thank you,” she says, smiling. If she could blush, I’m sure she would.
“Is this your first gallery showing?” I ask.
“My first of this size, definitely,” she says. “And my first since being turned. I confess, I’m not so used to all of the attention. Usually I get less compliments and more weird looks.”
“Well, I hope there are many more to come,” I say, smiling. “Gallery showings, I mean. Not weird looks.”
