Page 12 of A Game of Love and Betrayal

No one seemed to like vampires, probably because they were Made, not born. Unlike the other species who would Fade after centuries of life, Isvana’s children were truly immortal.

Those violet eyes drilled into Brynleigh as if daring her to respond. With every passing second, the vampire’s anger grew. Was Valentina purposefully baiting her? Wanting her to lash out?

Brynleigh’s spine straightened, and she drew a few dark wisps from her veins. They gathered around her palms, and she slowly placed her wineglass on the nearest surface.

The other ten women glanced between Brynleigh and Valentina before taking a collective step back. The tension in the room ratcheted up as the seconds passed.

Valentina raised a manicured brow and snorted. “Do you have nothing to say, leech? No way to defend yourself? How very typical.”

Brynleigh snarled, and she clamped her mouth shut. A sharp burst came from her mouth, and she tasted blood as her tongue came too close to her fangs.

Get a fucking grip, she chided. You’re not a Fledgling anymore.

Although technically, that wasn’t exactly true. Jelisette had worked closely with Brynleigh to help her overcome the initial urges of being a new vampire, but she was still less than a decade old. The danger with Fledglings was that since they were newly Made, they were less in control than other, older vampires.

Historically, hundreds of Fledgling vampires had succumbed to bloodlust, embarking on murderous rampages that ended with stakes shoved through their hearts.

Definitely not the outcome Brynleigh desired.

With help from Zanri and Jelisette, along with a significant amount of meditation, Brynleigh had successfully kept her murderous impulses under control. That was one of Z’s main jobs as her handler: ensuring she only killed the right people at the right time.

Too bad he wasn’t here right now. At this moment, there was nothing Brynleigh would love more than to dig her fangs into Valentina’s pale neck and teach the fae a lesson about respect. Unfortunately, that would have to wait. Brynleigh had a bigger kill in mind than some fae with definite mean-girl vibes.

Still, Brynleigh would keep an eye on Valentina. One day, when they weren’t in the middle of a competition for love, she would destroy her.

“I have nothing to say to you.” Brynleigh finally broke her silence.

Her mother, the gods be with her soul, had always taught Brynleigh and her sister that remaining silent was the best course of action if they didn’t have anything kind to say. It had never been more difficult than it was at this very moment.

Valentina scowled. “Whatever. I’m going to keep an eye on you, bitch.”

Brynleigh’s nails dug into her palms, cutting open the flesh as she forced herself to remain still.

Thank Isvana, the gong above the door rang once more. This time, an older woman entered. She had silvery hair, her face was worn with age, and her cerise pantsuit matched the red theme of the room. The look would’ve been garish on anyone else, but somehow, this woman made it seem normal.

She strolled into the middle of the room, either oblivious to or ignorant of the crackling tension that had been building.

“Welcome to the Two Hundredth Choosing.” The woman—a human—smiled at each participant in turn. “I’m Lilith, your Matron.”

Brynleigh murmured a greeting along with the others.

“I see the gods have selected well for this year’s Choosing,” Lilith said. “The men will be blessed, no matter who they pick.”

Yvette giggled into her wineglass, the drink clearly having gone to her head.

The Matron smiled kindly at the Death Elf before continuing, “Now that you’re all here, tonight’s itinerary is simple. Eat, drink, and get to know each other.” A white brow rose to her forehead. “You’re all adults, so I won’t be enforcing a curfew. I trust you can behave?”

It was Valentina who smoothly replied, “We certainly can.”

There was no trace of the earlier cruelty in the fae’s voice, but Brynleigh wouldn’t be fooled that easily. She would keep an eye on Valentina. In Brynleigh’s experience, the worst types of people were the ones who waited in the shadows for the perfect moment to strike.

“Wonderful.” Matron Lilith strode to the bar, picking up the last unclaimed glass of sparkling wine. “You’ll be expected to hand over your cellular devices tonight, and your clothes will be delivered by breakfast tomorrow.”

“We won’t be able to contact anyone at all?” the werewolf asked from her position on the couch. Her orange eyes glowed.

“No.” Lilith shook her head. “Outside interference in the Choosing is strictly prohibited. Is that clear, ladies?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Brynleigh said, along with the rest of the group.

---