I wanted to live, after all.
I strolled into my bedroom with more confidence than I probably should have had over meeting him alone. But I needed to get dressed. One did not meet the oldest vampire in just a robe. Too much flesh visible for them to get any ideas about how my blood might taste if I did something wrong—which was always a possibility.
Damn my mouth.
* * *
With the invitation tightly held in my right fist, I stopped in front of Lord Belshazzar’s door—after obtaining directions from the sentinels guarding the other council members’ private chambers. I cleared my throat, peered up to the guard on the right, and extended the invitation to him, to the vampire who probably had more deadly training years than I had days living. I stated simply, “I have an appointment with the lord. My name is—”
He waved off my words. “I know who you are.” The guard opened the lord’s door without fanfare. “He arrived only ten minutes ago, but go on in.”
I nodded and swallowed on a dry throat. I could do this. There was nothing to be afraid of—it was merely the next Challenge. Strange how the simplest challenge was the most worrisome. I stepped inside with purpose and managed not to flinch as the guard shut the door behind me with a jarring thud.
Instantsilence.
I blinked and turned around in a circle.
The room itself was nothing like my apartment. The lord’s private space was set up more like a regular bedroom—very modest. An enormous bed with red and black satin sheets sat on my left. To my right, a couch and chair were in front of a fireplace. An actual freaking fireplace where logs were burning, a glow of flames licking up into the black cavernous rock. And there was no smoke billowing inside the room. How he had managed that inside a mountain, I didn’t even venture to guess.
But the silence had my brows rising.
The lord’s room was soundproof.
No wonder he’d wanted to have this discussion here.
The only noise heard was the sprinkle of water.
I cleared my throat again and stuffed the invitation into the right pocket of my black leather pants. Then I fussed with my white sweater and called to the dark wooden door directly across from me, “Lord Belshazzar? I can come back if you aren’t ready.”
The shower continued in the bathroom.
Though his voice was clear. “I’ll only be a minute. Make yourself comfortable.”
I ran my fingers through my own slightly damp hair and walked toward the bookshelf on the far wall next to the couch. I even took my boots and socks off to feel the brush of the fur rug on my bare feet, the rug warmed by the fire. The vampire had said to get comfortable, after all. And with that man’s black hair, just like mine in length and color, I knew he wouldn’t only be a minute.
I ran my fingers over the old tomes lining the bookshelf. No dust coated my skin. The cleaning people here were amazing. Each book was treated better than most people, with love and a tender touch.
My head cocked and my brows furrowed, as I eyed an interesting development to my curiosity. A hidden panel in the bookshelf, slightly open—a compartment opened and hastily closed. I cast my gaze to the bathroom. The water was still running, tinkling on the tiles. I stood very still, contemplating my next actions.
I cracked my neck.
Dammit. Temptation was a bitch.
I quickly opened the panel wider.
I quickly gazed at the many books inside. Each one older than the next. Some were mere olden notebooks, the colors long faded with time. I scratched my cheek in slight confusion, though.
The spines of the books—the volumes that still had spines—were all in the ancient druid language. I’d only seen one before in my lifetime, in my grandfather’s collection. He hadn’t been able to read it, but had been extremely proud to own it. No one knew how to speak the forgotten language, much less read it.
Well, an Original druid probably could.
Asshat.
But the most puzzling problem about this view…
I jerked the invitation out of my pocket and held it up to the most legible of the spines. My gaze flicked back and forth between the two, the handwriting on the spine and the handwriting on the invitation.
Oh my dear fuck.
