Page 48 of Hot Vampire Next Door: Season Four

Ramona clucks her tongue. “Then which one?”

“Get her the Winter Court dress.”

Ramona goes still.

“Now,” Bran orders.

“Absolutely not,” she says.

“Ramona.” His tone leaves no room for negotiation.

My insides spin and dammit, my pussy clenches when he uses that commanding voice.

I cannot fucking wait to have him alone.

Ramona levels her shoulders, bracing for an argument. “Forgive me, but…the Winter Court dress…the message it would send–”

“I know what fucking message I want to send, Ramona,” he says.

She licks her lips, diverts her eyes, and nods as she turns away. “Very well.”

What the hell is the Winter Court dress anyway?

And what message do we want to send?

Ramona opens a cabinet and soft light turns on, activated by the doors opening.

And nestled inside is a dress made of the finest white fabric with a high collar that curves away from the form’s neck, making the collar look like the pointed curves of fairy wings. The skirt is scalloped around the hem, but long enough that it would trail behind me like a train. A heavy belt is secured around the waist, with more jewels and ribbons woven into it.

The dress is beautiful, but it’s damaged. And more than that, it appears to be bloody.

There is a tear above the left breast. Dark red has stained the white fabric and the color spills down the front of the skirt where it pooled at the wearer’s feet.

“She can’t wear that dress,” Ramona says.

“She can and she will.”

I take a tentative step toward it, a cold sweat beading at my spine. “What happened to it? What’s the story?”

“We don’t know the story,” Bran answers, suddenly behind me. “But I bet Arion will.”

My stomach turns sour.

The cold sweat races over my shoulders.

Just because this dress belonged to someone from the Winter Court doesn’t mean I was related to them. I do know that fae courts are just as diverse as the Houses of Midnight. There is some family, yes, but primarily the courts are made up of unrelated fae that came together because of magic, power, and similar beliefs.

But even knowing that, and even though my brain wants to say I am far removed from this macabre dress, something in my gut says otherwise.

Bran reaches around me and lifts a bloody length of fabric to his nose.

I swallow hard as a lump forms in my throat.

Without warning, Bran grabs my wrist and pierces my flesh with his fangs. “Hey!”

There’s no pain though, just surprise as he takes a shallow pull of blood.

“This isn’t time for a snack,” I tell him beneath my breath.

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