Page 17 of You’re So Vein

“Kael and Alaric have a longstanding feud,” Gideon explains to me. “And he hasn’t been a fan of mine since I beat him to a bloody pulp in an East London barfight.”

“You did nothing of the sort. It was I who picked you up before Kael could skewer you like a kebab.”

“And then you hurled me at him, knocking his sword from his hand!” Gideon grins. “I saved the day. I expect statues erected in my honour.”

“As long as you aren’t carving the statues. Let us not forget the sculpture garden incident.”

“Hey, my statue may have looked like a lesson on ‘How Not to Sculpt’ by someone recently separated from both their arms and their eyes, and it may have nearly cost me my testicles, but at least I finished it, unlike some people—”

Alaric and Gideon bicker good-naturedly while I sip my blood and silently panic. Kael is even more ancient than Alaric. He’s a Celtic warlord famous for his love of old vampiric traditions, and a frequent guest at the Dusk Court when I used to live there, where he met with our conservative factions. He had many clashes with my parents over matters of law. He will not be sympathetic to Alaric’s love.

If he discovers the real reason I’m fighting for reform, he’ll slice me into so many pieces that not even superior vampire genetics will heal me.

“For the Midnight Court, the Empress of the Archives, Irene of the Blood Delassane.”

“Now I feel more confident.” Gideon sloshes more blood into his glass. “She knows by heart every obscure book of Upyr lore. The Conclave believe they have the weight of history on their side, but Irene values intellectual investigation above all else. Her challenge will involve something bookish, and we can win her over with logic and scientific evidence.”

“Two areas of study you excel at,” Alaric says dryly.

“I’ll leave Irene and Kael’s challenges to you and Augie,” Gideon purrs. “Let Arabella and me take care of the parties. Who is our third representative?”

“The Dusk Court sends Dante di Sangro, of the Blood Medici.”

I start at the name.

Not him.

Anyone but him.

Dante di Sangro was born in Italy during the height of the Renaissance to a family of famed vintners. He lived an idyllic life in the countryside until the vineyard was destroyed during a siege. He was Kissed while defending his cellar, but although he embraced his new vampiric tastes, he never left his craft behind. Dante became the Dusk Court’s blood sommelier, and a vintage bearing the di Sangro seal is considered one of the finest.

He’s also a rake, a liar, a user and a scoundrel.

I can’t do this.

I can’t beg Dante to listen to our case, no matter how much is at stake.

I cannot meet those mischievous mossy green eyes and not recoil with shame—

“Most excellent news.” Gideon leans forward. “I’m a huge fan. I wonder if di Sangro will agree to create a special Sanctus vintage. Perhaps a Dominican Friar blended with a peaty Railroad Worker… Oh, Arabella will be pleased—”

“We can’t have di Sangro.” My fingers dig into the flesh of my arm. All the anxieties I’ve fought to hide bubble against my skin. “You must use all your powers of persuasion and make them send someone else.”

“Why? Di Sangro is better than we could have hoped for.” Alaric frowns. “He’s spoken for reform. I predict he can be swayed.”

“You don’t know him as I do,” I snap.

Gideon raises an eyebrow. Alaric’s eyes fall meaningfully to his sword.

As fellow vampires, they don’t bother to ask what Dante di Sangro has over me. We’ve all lived long enough and been forced to make hard choices to survive. We all guard our secrets closely.

But they’re also counting on this Conclave visit to go well.

“We don’t want di Sangro on our side,” I hiss, knowing it’s pointless but desperate to convince them anyway. My feet carry me in short, sharp steps from one side of the hearth to the other and back again. “He’ll ruin everything. We have to go back to Dusk Court and say they must send someone else—”

“Di Sangro volunteered.” Alaric’s fingers twirl around the hilt on his sword. “Perhaps he is excited to see you.”

No. He wants to torture me.