Page 157 of Filthy Rich Vampires: For Eternity

And then take a minute to digest whatever it showed me.

“Should I...?”

“No. Stay.” Alone, I might not work up the courage.

My fingers trembled as I picked up the mask and raised it to my face. Magic knit around me, its strands forming a glittering cocoon. Heat kissed my skin as the spell wove its enchantment. A pang of panic rocketed through me when smoke flooded my nostrils, choking my throat with its acridness before depositing the taste of ash and sulfur on my tongue. Something was on fire. No. Not something. Me. I was on fire. I was burning. Magic licked down my body in living flame, and I twisted against its hold as Aurelia shouted my name.

This wasn’t the time to panic. I needed to think, which was hard to do while burning alive. Closing my eyes, I listened until I heard it. Smooth notes spilled into my ears, calming me despite the magical inferno that engulfed me and, with a deep breath, I gave into its stranglehold—gave into the music and trusted it.

The final notes rang out like bells in the dark, clear and bright, and I opened my eyes to find Aurelia staring.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

JULIAN

The carnival began long before midnight and would undoubtedly continue until dawn. Most of the guests had arrived and donned their own masks by the time we made our way into the courtyard. The night was a swirl of creatures, some from myth, some of the earth. Globes of light hung in midair, illuminating the shadows below, and the wind carried the salty brine of the lagoons on the air to mix with the thick scent of the court’s roses. Nude servers dusted in gold powder offered canapés and cocktails and even their bodies, judging by the bite marks on a few we passed. A ring hung overhead, a male and female twisting and contorting their bodies as one in ways that suggested the evening’s debauchery was only beginning.

But the real entertainment was the guests themselves. At their heart, each remained a vampire or a familiar, but tonight they’d been transformed into creatures both elegant and primal, feral and beautiful. Under their masks and beneath magical guise, they might do anything they pleased.

“This could get interesting,” Lysander muttered to me as we passed a group clad in downy capes, their masks and clothing pure as the driven snow.

I wondered what bloodlines they hailed from that they remained so innocent amidst the creatures stalking the carnival. We shared a look. “Lambs to the slaughter, it seems. Maybe you should...”

A growl rumbled from my brother and I held back a smile. With his fur cloak rippling in the moonlight, he moved like the predator the mask had unveiled. It had contorted his features into a beast, his dark hair now untamed and streaked with more silver.

“It fits you.” It suited his broad shoulders and warrior build, suited his ability to move between our family—our pack—and his quiet life hunting through ruins.

“I look like a bloody werewolf,” he bit out.

I said nothing, didn’t dare, because it was not entirely untrue.

“Do you see anyone?” Lysander scanned the crowd, looking for signs of our family. Everyone should be here by now. Just Benedict remained in London, maneuvering relations with other magical factions in case we needed allies.

But I was only looking for one person. Thea hadn’t entered yet. I would know her as soon as I saw her. I tried not to think of what she would see in me, though. Of what the mask had revealed.

I hadn’t dared look in the mirror at my metamorphosis, not when I spied the leather clothing that clung to me like rough scales, or when the velvet draped over my shoulders fanned out like silken wings. I was darkness incarnate. I was the beast that prowled beneath my flesh. Death. Vengeance. The forgotten Prince of the Underworld reborn.

“I think that’s Sebastian and Thoren. What the fuck are they wearing?” Lysander frowned, and I followed his gaze to find my brothers. Both of whom were clad in ordinary brocade capes, gilded masks perched over their eyes.

“Halloween came early, huh?” Sebastian saddled over to us, Thoren close behind.

“You aren’t wearing the mask.” Lysander pointed an accusing finger at his own. “How the hell did you get out of this?”

Sebastian shrugged, his smug smile on full display under his ordinary Venetian carnival mask. “Thoren is a master of negotiation.”

“How?” Lysander gritted his teeth, looking at Thoren for answers.

“I pointed out that it might be a good idea if some of us kept our heads this evening,” Thoren said in a calm voice that held none of the mocking undertone Sebastian’s had, even if his lips twitched. He scanned Lysander. “We can’t all run around acting like wolves.”

“You two couldn’t have negotiated on our behalf?” Lysander closed his eyes beneath his lupine mask. “Bastards.”

I frowned. “What about me? If anyone needs to keep their head, it’s the one with a pregnant mate.”

“You’re both taking The Rites,” Sebastian said. “You don’t have a choice.”

“And why aren’t you?” Lysander crossed his arms.

“You’re really getting into the role, huh?” Sebastian rolled his shoulders. “Mother only seemed interested in making sure you two participated. She said since Julian is spoken for, you should—”

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