Dimitri nodded absently at Lerina as she turned to walk off, her hand sliding along his arm. “As I assumed.” He picked up the bottle of brandy Voss had left, then set it back down. Perhaps it might be best if he stayed away from thesalvi.
A short time later, Dimitri happened to look over just as two figures emerged from one of the shadowy alcoves that had been built to provide privacy.
His body went cold, then hot with anger, when he recognized them both. Cezar Moldavi and Lerina.
He was still watching when Moldavi looked over and met his eyes boldly, sending a message of smugness.
Dimitri tensed, his jaw setting. Now he understood.
And as the two strolled closer, he saw the marks on Lerina’s left shoulder. The one that had been pristine and smooth earlier tonight. Confirmation of his suspicions.
Fury suffused him and his fingers curled around the arm of his chair. Such blatant disrespect couldn’t go unchallenged—for everyone in the place knew Lerina was marked by him. Dimitri rose to his feet.
The room swayed much more than he’d expected, and he paused to bestow yet another curse on Voss for tampering with his mental faculties tonight. The chest with the ruby-studdedgoblet had been closed and taken away, but thesalviwas quick, deep, and strong…and, apparently, very long-lasting.
His knees nearly buckled, but Dimitri allowed no weakness to show. With great effort, he kept himself upright and steady and focused his attention on Moldavi. In another moment, he’d walk over to the man and confront him…
But as it turned out, that wasn’t necessary. Moldavi certainly knew what he was doing, and he released Lerina as he drew near Dimitri. Sparing only a brief, cold glance at his mistress—as of now, former mistress—Dimitri focused on his past business partner. Now, he allowed his fangs to show and his eyes to burn.
Without either man saying a word, the room became hushed and tension stretched. Cards were laid on tables, drinks set down, chatter stopped. This was going to be a battle before witnesses.
“For one who arrived uninvited, you’ve gone even beyond that disregard,” Dimitri said, his voice calm and cold. His hand clenched and the room tilted a bit, but he was steadied by fury. “Your insult is inexcusable.”
Moldavi said nothing. He merely stepped closer, leaving his companions, including Narcise, to cluster behind him, watching. “Perhaps if you had placed more value on the lovely lady, it wouldn’t have come to this.”
Dimitri flickered a glance at Lerina, and saw the combination of horror and shame on her face. What had likely begun as a petulant bid for his attention had turned into a grave mistake on her part, as well as that of Moldavi’s.
He would deal with Lerina later.
“Leave,” Dimitri said to him. “Or I’ll see that you do myself.”
Moldavi flashed his gold-flecked fang. “I should have been invited tonight. This was my investment as well, and your ridiculous sensibilities cost me a great deal of money. It’s you who have made a grave insult. I merely repay you in kind.”
“I’ll not do business with a child-bleeder.” Dimitri stepped toward him, and the next thing he knew, Moldavi was lunging.
With a stake in hand.
Dimitri dodged, still unsteady and fighting the spinning of the room, and then dove at his attacker. They bumped into a chair and table, sending them tumbling, as Dimitri smashed a fist into Moldavi’s face.
The stake arced toward him, and he caught the glimpse of a countenance tight with fury and desperation as a powerful arm brought it down toward Dimitri’s torso.
A shift aside, and the weapon slammed into his ribcage, the point burying deep. Pain shot through him, but at least he was feeling it and not dead—which was what a stake to the heart would do to a Dracule. Instant death.
Enraged, Dimitri grabbed Moldavi’s arm and yanked it, then whipped him across the room. The bone snapped as he released him and the other man tumbled into a heap.
Dimitri turned to see three of Moldavi’s companions aligning themselves toward him, but before he needed to respond, Yfreto and four other footmen stepped in between them.
“Get out,” Dimitri ordered, taking a menacing step toward Moldavi.
Somehow, the room had righted itself…but he saw through burning eyes that everything was coated in red. The scents of fear and smoke filled his nose, and he turned just as someone screamed.
“Fire!”
It was all over after that.
Even now, Dimitri remembered the sudden hot blaze, the smoke, the rage of the flames.
The fire had been started during the altercation with Cezar—someone had knocked over candles or an opium bowl and the rich fabric had shot up in flames.
