"Because they found something worth the upheaval." His gaze held mine. "Something they never expected to find."
My heart raced, and with it, the lights in the ballroom pulsed gently in rhythm. I couldn't tell anymore if it was my poweraffecting the systems or if I was simply becoming attuned to the manor's own heartbeat.
The air between us shimmered with heat. Not from the lights, but from something older. Wilder. Waiting for one of us to surrender.
"I need to finish the final checklist," I said, breaking the moment.
"Of course. Professional first."
As he turned to leave, I called after him. "Malrik."
He paused, looking back.
"After the Gala," I said. "We'll talk after. I promise."
He nodded once. "Until tomorrow, then."
I watched him leave, the ballroom feeling suddenly too large and too empty. For a moment, I stood motionless in the center of all our careful preparations—the perfect lighting, the precisely arranged seating, everything designed to showcase Malrik's power.
His power. The same power now running through my veins.
I moved to one of the tall windows overlooking the grounds. Outside, the night was perfectly clear, stars scattered across the sky like diamonds on velvet. Tomorrow, those grounds would be filled with supernatural beings from across the country, all gathered for the most exclusive event of the year.
And I would be at the center of it all, carrying a power I could barely control, facing a decision that would change not just my life, but Malrik's as well.
I caught my reflection in the window glass. For a brief moment, my eyes flashed golden, and delicate traceries of power shimmered beneath my skin before fading again.
Time was indeed running out.
10
MALRIK
From the shadowed balcony overlooking the grand ballroom, I watched the final preparations unfold with a precision that would have impressed even the most fastidious angels in heaven. Not that I was on speaking terms with that particular demographic. At the center of it all stood Charlie.
"Move the ice sculpture three inches to the left," she instructed a pair of servers. "And please remind the blood fountain attendant that 'aesthetically pleasing spurts' is not specific enough. We need consistent eight-inch arcs."
I smirked. The woman could make even vampiric refreshments sound like a technical specification.
In mere hours, the most powerful beings would gather beneath this roof. The Scorched Gala had always been a display of my influence, a reminder of my position in the supernatural hierarchy. A chance to make lesser demons squirm and vampires reconsider their claims of being the apex predators. Yet this year felt markedly different. For the first time, I foundmyself concerned with something beyond the impression I would make.
I was concerned with her.
Even from this distance, I could feel the resonance between us. My power, carried within her mortal frame, had continued to integrate at an alarming rate. The crimson traces beneath her skin appeared more frequently now, no longer fleeting shadows but deliberate patterns. When she gestured emphatically at a lighting technician who'd dared to question her specifications, I could have sworn sparks danced between her fingertips.
Tomorrow she would make her decision. Whether to embrace this connection that had formed between us or sever it completely. I was reduced to anxiously awaiting a mortal woman's judgment. My demonic ancestors were surely spinning in their sulfurous graves.
Below, Charlie looked up suddenly, as if sensing my thoughts. Our eyes met across the distance, and for a moment, the connection between us flared bright enough that the chandeliers dimmed in response. She offered a brief, professional nod before returning to her work, but the message was clear.
Not yet. First, the Gala. Then, us.
I adjusted my cufflinks. Tonight, I would host the Scorched Gala as I had for years. I would welcome guests, dazzle them with supernatural displays, and remind everyone exactly why they feared and respected me.
And perhaps, if I was very lucky, I might even impress a certain mortal who had proven remarkably resistant to my considerable charms.
"Everything is in order, sir," Paz announced, materializing at my side with a clipboard that rivaled Charlie's in obsessive detail.
Below us, the grand entrance hall had begun to fill with vampires in vintage formalwear that actually dated from their living years. Fae aristocracy trailing gossamer light. A delegation of elemental beings who had taken physical form specifically for the occasion, their skin shimmering with contained power.
