The ceilings were too low. Everything carried a musty scent. Including the wine. Not to mention it was underground. And while Tyson was a vampire lord, born into a life where old age wasn’t something he needed to worry about, he had a secret fear of death, a fear his mother had instilled in him long ago.
Another pesky thought flashed across his mind, and he plugged his nose and took a sip of wine. It was easier to act as if nothing bothered him when all the voices in his head were being drowned in alcohol. But the sour wine was the worst thing he’d ever put in his mouth, and he promptly spit it out.
For the first time, he told himself the buzzwasn’t worth it.
Natalia, who was sitting across from him at the rough-hewn table, let out a disgusted snort. “Do you mind?”
“How does anyone drink that?” he wondered aloud.
“It’s the house specialty,” Natalia answered, returning to the journal she always kept with her, scribbling down whatever she thought was important.
He set the tin cup down on the table and pushed it away. “More like the house tragedy.”
She lifted her eyes to his. “It’s a mix of wine and herbs that’s supposed to keep onevirile.”
Tyson sputtered out a laugh. “If that’s what I had to rely on for virility, I’d let one of those werewolves throttle me. Gods.”
Natalia studied him for a long moment. She’d already washed the blood from her face and hands, and re-braided her long brown hair. It draped over her clean white shirt and black vest.
“Be careful what you wish for,” Natalia said, reverting to her writing.
Tyson swallowed hard, the taste of the sour wine lingering on his tongue. He’d met his cousin only once before coming to Château Rose. The only thing he’d known about her was the rumors that circled around court.
But Tyson had always thought the world of his Uncle Bastien. The unmarried uncle who refused to obey court politics and scared the piss out of everyone he met. He’d grown up hearing Uncle Marius tell stories of Bastien’s great victories, including his first one. The one that earned a wayward second son from a small coven more votes than any other witch at The Choosing.
Natalia snapped her journal shut and tucked it back inside her vest. “They’re coming.”
Tyson sat up a little straighter in his chair and reluctantly moved his wine cup closer to him.
“Remember what I told you,” Natalia warned. She pointed a finger at his chest. “You might be heir, but I am second in command. I speak for Uncle Bastien when he is away. You will keep your mouth shut.”
The door to the small receiving room burst open, revealing a copper-haired witch in a tightly laced corset and a long, gauzy black skirt. Her lips were painted red, and her nails were painted black. Dark tattoos that resembled snake scales crept up both her arms.
Natalia stood, and Tyson did too.
“My Uncle thanks you for your hospitality,” Natalia said.
The Dark Witch smiled in a way that made Tyson think she found Natalia’s formalities funny. He grinned right back at her.
She gave him a long, unimpressed look, then promptly addressed Natalia. “Bastien thanks me with your mouth? How unlike your uncle.”
Tyson couldn’t help himself. “He would thank you with his own mouth, but it’s swollen shut at the moment.”
Natalia glowered at him. Then quickly forced a smile, addressing Chastity. “He was gravely injured in the battle to liberate the tunnels. And is resting as we speak.”
“Bastien? Resting?” she replied, studying her long black nails. “Didn’t he bring a blood bag with him?”
Tyson hid his laugh behind a cough. He thought the joke was funny, but his uncle wouldn’t.
“She was also injured,” Natalia forced herself to say. “My uncle is nothing if not chivalrous. He waits for her to be well enough to feed. Which is why we’ve come to treat with you in his place.”
Chastity sighed and frowned. “Well, if he is unavailable.”
She snatched the chair at the head of the table and spun it around. With a flourish of her skirts, she widened her stance and lowered herself onto it slowly, revealing stocking-cladlegs and knee-high leather boots. She crossed her arms, leaned forward, and arched her brows, letting a slow, knowing smile hang in the air. “Well, go on. Treat then.”
Tyson fell in love. Well, not actuallyin love. He didn’t think it was possible for him to love anyone. Because no one ever saw past his perfectly crafted façade. And no one ever would. But his cock was another matter. He fell in love with many exquisite creatures over and over again.
And the fact that she was ignoring him was the cherry on top. He needed to turn his game up a notch. Because being charming and wooing lovers was just as good a distraction as liquor.
