I haven't been able to think about anything else since.
She executes a spinning kick, and her tank top rides up, exposing a strip of pale skin at her waist. The same skin I touched in the war room. The same skin that trembled beneath my palm as I slid my hand lower, lower, until I found where she was slick and wanting.
My hands curl into fists at my sides.
"Are you going to stand there all night, or are you going to tell me why you're here?"
She hasn't turned around. Hasn't broken her form. But she knew I was watching. Of course she did.
"We need to talk," I say, stepping into the room. My voice comes out rougher than intended. "The meeting is set. Tomorrow night, nine o'clock."
Now she turns. Her eyes find mine across the training room, and something shifts in the air between us. The same electricity that's been crackling since our interrupted moment. The same tension I can't seem to escape, no matter how hard I try.
She's flushed from exertion, the telltale sign that she's fed recently. A faint pink blooms across her cheekbones, her throat. I remember pressing my lips there. Remember the sounds she made when I did.
"That's fast," she says.
"I rarely make requests. That probably means something." I move closer, stopping at the edge of the mat. Maintaining distance. If I get too close, I don't trust myself. "Four of the fivelords agreed to meet. Santos didn't respond, which likely means she's either with Konstantin already or staying neutral."
"So we need to convince the other four."
"Three of the four. Chen will likely follow Dmitri's lead. They have history. If we can get Dmitri and either Vivienne or Okonkwo, we have a majority."
She nods, appearing to process. "What do I need to know?"
This is why she's valuable. No panic, no hesitation. Just immediate focus on what needs to be done.
And yet I can't stop noticing the way her chest rises and falls with each unnecessary breath. The way her lips part slightly as she listens. The way her tongue darts out to wet them, and I remember those lips opening for me, remember the taste of her mouth, remember the sounds she made against my tongue while my fingers worked inside her.
"Maximus?"
I blink. She's watching me with raised eyebrows, waiting.
"Lord Dmitri is formal," I say, forcing my mind back to the task at hand. "Russian aristocracy, turned in the 1600s. He values tradition, protocol, respect for hierarchy. Address him as 'Lord Dmitri,' never just 'Dmitri.' Don't speak unless spoken to first. And never interrupt him."
"Got it. What about Vivienne?"
"The opposite. French court, turned during the Revolution. She despises formality, considers it a mask for weakness. She'll try to provoke you, test whether you can think on your feet. If you're too deferential, she'll dismiss you. If you push back intelligently, she'll respect you."
"And Chen?"
"Careful. Patient. He thinks in terms of centuries, not years, and he won't commit to anything without considering long-term implications. But if he does commit, he's absolutely loyal."
Celeste nods, filing it away. "Okonkwo?"
"West African nobility, turned in the 1700s. He values honesty above everything else, considers deception beneath him. Don't try to manipulate him. Don't dance around the truth. Just tell him what you need and why."
"Four ancient vampires with completely different approaches to politics." She almost smiles. "Should be fun."
"It's not a game, Celeste."
"I know." Her expression sobers. "I also know that walking into that room scared is the fastest way to get eaten alive. So I'm choosing not to be scared."
"It's not that simple."
"Isn't it?" She tilts her head, studying me. "You taught me that. In the training room, my second day here. Fear is a choice. You can acknowledge danger without letting it control you."
She's quoting my own words back at me. I'm not sure whether to be impressed or annoyed.
