Page 54 of Hot Vampire Next Door: Season Four

In the far, dark, deep trenches of my mind, my conscious brain thinks, oh shit.

But my fairy-bombed brain thinks, yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.

Arion gulps down his entire goblet then lifts the cup. “To the princess!”

The fae rise, and hoist up their own goblets if they have them and shout, “To the princess!”

“Now,” Arion says, “drink and be merry.”

The music picks up again, this time a punchier tune clearly meant for lively dance.

I take another drink of wine. Then another. And another.

Arion waggles his fingers at a passing servant with a glass decanter of the bright red drink and orders the man to refill our glasses.

This is bad, my conscious brain says.

This is good, my primal brain says.

Bran upends his second goblet.

“Another!” Arion shouts, gesturing to the servant. Bran’s glass is refilled again.

“You said this was safe,” Bran says, his mouth curved in a devilish smile, his eyes bleeding to that bright gold. “Why am I drunk? Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“It is safe,” Arion answers. “You are standing on two feet, are you not?”

“Fae tricks,” Bran says, but he’s laughing now and I’m laughing right next to him.

“Enjoy yourselves tonight.” Arion tips his drink at my dress. “It’s a nice touch.”

“Wait.” I grab him by the arm and pull him to a stop. He looks down where our bodies meet. “We should talk. Right? Isn’t that why you asked us here?”

Arion smiles at me. I’m taken aback by how dazzling he is when the lighting is better and there’s a little fizz and pop in my veins.

Are all the court fae this gorgeous? And how come I didn’t get this gene?

“Slow down, princess,” he says. “There will be plenty of time for talking. Enjoy the party for now. Get to know your people. We’ll meet up later.”

“Okay, but—” I say, but the crowd quickly swallows him up.

I turn back to Bran. He’s on his fourth (fifth?) glass of wine. His fangs are protruding from his mouth, which tells me he’s in a very, very good place.

The dancers twirl in and around us and the great hall glitters with light and merriment.

“Dance with me,” Bran says.

“What, now?”

He gives his glass to a servant scuttling past, then takes mine too.

“I don’t want to dance. This dress is too long.”

“I’ll catch you if you trip.” His pupils are blown wide, his smile wider. It’s hard to tell him no when he’s like this. Bran very rarely gives in to indulgence. Unless it’s my body.

I place my hand in his outstretched one and as soon as he has hold of me, we’re spinning through the crowd. It’s like I’m a child again on a carnival ride, the world blurring beyond my nose.

Bran wraps his arm around my waist, keeping me upright and close to his body as he guides us through the music and the crowd.

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