He’s wearing an immaculately tailored suit. It’s not his usual anachronistic style, but a fashionable cut with modern lines in a crisp, soft fabric. He must’ve paid a fortune to have it made so quickly to his exact measurements, because this suit hugs him so perfectly it should be illegal. The flickering light from the candelabra in his hands makes the sharp lines of his cheekbones stand in high relief. He’s too beautiful to be real.
And he’smine.
“Most Reverend Winifred.” His eyes widen to black holes. “You are exquisite. No one will be able to keep their eyes off you tonight.”
“Or their fangs,” Arabella supplies from behind me.
“They wouldn’t dare,” Alaric growls.
“Yeah, it’s justournecks on the line,” Isis chirps.
Alaric holds out the candelabra to me. “I brought you a gift. In case you need to run away.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I thought you ran out of these? On account of all the maidens?”
“I had Reginald order several more. A certain professional organiser has made us appreciate the value in being prepared.”
Alaric tucks my hand under his.
“Don’t leave my sight,” he whispers. “Remember, to the guests in this room, you are food. The only thing stopping them from biting you is the fact that I have claimed you.”
“Have you?” I whisper. “Claimed me?”
“Sweet Winifred, it’s you who have claimed me.” Alaric draws my hand to his mouth, pressing my knuckles to hiscool lips. The way his eyes roam over me makes me feel like I’m wearing nothing at all and he’s kissing something much more intimate than my fingers. “In this dress, I am utterly at your mercy.”
As we weave our way through the castle, the murmur of voices rises from below. Alaric’s portraits and suit of armour are back in their places on the walls, freshly dusted. I love being surrounded by these depictions of him from different times – tiny windows into his life.
Reginald is at the door, greeting guests and taking their coats. Gideon sweeps them through the house, talking a mile a minute so no one has a chance to peer into any of the adjoining rooms and see the mess that we haven’t yet cleaned up. I’m excited to get stuck into those rooms once tonight is over.
Because I’m staying.
Black Crag is going to bemyhome, too.
I’m giddy with the idea of it, and terrified. I don’t know what I’m going to do for money. Faye’s become hostile ever since I suggested that she do the show alone and not use Winnie Wins. But Alaric’s creative energy is infectious, and he has my head spinning with ideas. Maybe I’ll write a book, like Marie Kondo. Maybe I’ll put a desk beside his in the study and we can spend our evenings in a frenzy of creative energy, as long as everything is tidied away at the end of the night.
As we drop the girls at the kitchen and glide along the hallway together, I twist my head, admiring what we’ve achieved. The hallway is empty of boxes and art supplies. Everything is clean and tidy andperfect. The golden threads of Alaric’s tapestries glitter in the candlelight. Voices and laughter and music drift from the ballroom, and, despite the danger beyond those doors, I find myself excited to be on Alaric’s arm in Arabella’s pretty dress.
Alaric doesn’t look quite as excited. This is a big step for him, to go from seeing practically no one to hosting an extravagant ball. And that’s aside from the danger of tonight’s plan. His eyes gaze forward, hardened and resolute. If this is what he looked like before striding into battle, he must have sent his enemies running in terror before even drawinghis sword.
I squeeze his arm. “You can do this. I’m right here at your side.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Alaric sucks in a deep breath and pushes open the doors.
We sweep into the room, carried by the swell of the music and the rush of voices. I gasp as I take in the finished ballroom. I hadn’t had a chance to see it since Gideon and Alaric finished decorating.
I don’t recognise the dusty, cramped space I encountered on my first night here.
In the centre of the floor, a raised dais draped in ivy and golden fronds houses a lively band playing galloping music on fiddle, double bass and a couple of wind instruments I don’t recognise. The musicians play naked, their bodies painted with glittering gold, their hair pinned beneath golden wreaths. Around them, couples and groups spin and twirl in an ocean of swirling colours beneath a canopy of glittering fairy lights and glowing spheres.
Alaric’s golden-threaded tapestries line two walls. Vampires crowd in front of them, snapping photos using the electronic photo booths Gideon set up. Apparently, that thing about vampires not showing up in pictures is false.
The butterflies in my stomach flutter nervously as I take in Callista’s guests. I had no idea to expect so many vampires. Everywhere I look, my eyes are drenched in the sight of rich, sumptuous gowns and impeccably tailored or excessively flamboyant suits – some fiercely modern, others pulled from the trunks of ancient royal wardrobes. Even without fangs on display, there is something otherworldly about them – their skin is too flawless, their eyes are too bright, too sharp, and their smiles far too smug.
The raw, primalpowerin the room has a heaviness that makes me feel drunk, even though I’m too nervous to touch a drop. My fingers tighten around Alaric’s arm.
I’m going to be eaten alive. What are we doing?
