Inside, the vibe is pure cyber-goth. Blacklight paint, metal cages, leather, and neon smashed together in a fever dream. Our suits stick out like silk at a soup kitchen, which makes us even more noticeable.
Almost immediately, a woman in a gown that probably costs more than my car glides toward us. Pale skin, luminous eyes.One of those ageless beauties who doesn’t need an introduction, doesn’t need words. Her presence is the greeting.
She doesn’t ask who we are, doesn’t waste breath on pleasantries. She just pivots gracefully, red silk whispering with the movement, and expects us to follow.
And we do. In places like this, hesitation isn’t a luxury; it’s another neon sign.
She leads us down a hidden stairwell, through a door that opens into a cathedral.
It’s massive. Arched ceilings, carved stone, gold-plated alcoves. Candles flicker in sconces, throwing shadows and gold across the chamber. It looks like Alibaba’s tomb. My breath catches. This place is far too beautiful to be buried underground.
While I’m still taking all this in, another door swings open, revealing an ultra-modern reception area. Glass walls, chrome counters, sterile light. A secretary sits behind a desk, typing as if this is any corporate tower uptown.
“Whoa,” I mutter before I can stop myself.
The receptionist looks up expectantly. She doesn’t say a word as she waits for us to announce ourselves, as if she gets paid by the keystroke and we’re robbing her of her income.
“We’d like to see Alaric Faustus, please.”
She blinks at us like we’re dirt smudging her marble floor. “Is Mr. Faustus expecting you?
“No, but?—”
“Then I’m afraid I can’t let you in.”
Fine. Two can play that game.
I step forward, spine straight, voice cool and edged with poison. “Esmerelda Lovell. Head of my family’s business as of one week ago. I’m here to discuss a merger with your leaders—or at the very least, those present. It’s vital. You’ll relay the message.”
The title tastes strange on my tongue, still new, still heavy, but I make sure it lands like a weapon.
The receptionist pales. Actually pales. I didn’t think that was possible when you were already half-dead. Her eyes flick wide, mouth opening and closing before she manages a stammered, “Y-yes, of course.”
Then she scurries off, heels clicking too fast.
The corner of my mouth twitches. Power looks good on me.
We’re ushered into a side chamber that drips with wealth. Polished wood, velvet seats, wine poured into crystal like it’s meant to impress. Plates of fine food appear as if by magic, gleaming silver lids lifted with a flourish.
We don’t touch a thing. We sit rigid, eyes sharp, every muscle tight. This is a vampire stronghold. We don’t trust anything.
I know the history of this place. A place where shifters were once bound as hunting dogs. The chains might be gone, but the scars aren’t. The room may smell of spice and wine, but underneath, I swear I catch the ghost-scent of iron and blood.
And it makes my skin crawl.
Belvedere lifts his glass, eyes glittering with mischief. “Well done, darling. That was a performance worth a standing ovation.”
I roll my eyes, though my lips threaten to twitch. Trust Belvedere to turn a diplomatic power play into theater. To him, every room is a stage, every move a performance. Part of me wants to argue, but damn it, he’s not wrong.
I lean back, my pulse finally beginning to steady, though the wineglass in my hand trembles faintly. It wasn’t a performance. It was desperation dressed up in a suit and sharp words. And I just hope it works. Because if it doesn’t, all I’ve managed to do is paint a target brighter on my back.
28
MARCUS
Istretch, my muscles stiff from dozing off in the chair, joints protesting as I force myself upright. Fatigue clings to me, but I drag my focus back to the room. Esmerelda is curled on the couch, her head tipped into her hand, lips parted slightly in sleep. Stray strands of dark hair have slipped free, softening her usually sharp edges. She looks so peaceful that it disarms me, easing the tension that’s been housed in my chest since we arrived.
For a moment, I almost regret the impatience gnawing at me, the restless urge to get this meeting with the coven leaders over with. Watching Esmerelda like this makes me want to hold on to the quiet. Part of me wishes I could call it off, just let her sleep, let her have this one rare moment of peace. But this meeting is too important. We can’t afford to walk away. Not now.
