Page 51 of Hot Vampire Next Door: Season Five

She swallows and gives me a nod and I let go.

The anteroom has a domed ceiling with more vines. Tendrils of moss grow along the thicker branches. Lanterns are fastened to the wall every six feet giving the hollowed room a bright golden glow.

The furniture is elegant and gilded, the furniture of royalty.

If only Arion knew he had more of a right to the throne than Maven does.

If all goes as planned, he’ll know by sunrise.

At the far corner of the room, the wall pops open revealing a door.

The fae lord steps through.

He’s in full battle gear. I know this for the tactic it is. He wants us to know he means to follow through.

I have no doubts about him or his intentions.

He scans us. “Where is she?” he asks. “And why bring a dog?”

The dog growls.

“This is the Midnight Alpha,” I tell him. “Have some respect.”

Now he’s on guard. His shoulders rock back, his fingers twitching at his side. “Last I knew, the vampires and the shifters were not cooperative.”

“We’ve had a change of heart,” I answer.

“That change of heart have anything to do with a fae princess and impending war?”

“Don’t all changes of heart start with war?”

He tilts his head, regarding me. I can tell he wants to reach for his sword but won’t risk war right here in his pretty little grotto.

“And the witch?”

“I don’t trust your fae,” I say and nod at Baspin. “I needed some kind of magical intervention just in case.”

“She’s no match for me,” he says.

“I have no doubt.”

“So, you come to speak of a truce. Speak.”

It’s ironic, really. Speak we shall.

“Baspin?” I say.

He smiles at his superior. Even I can tell the smile is loaded. Is Arion really so oblivious that he never noticed Baspin’s ambitions?

“My lord,” Baspin says and bows ever so slightly. And as he does, he reaches inside the pocket of his pants and produces the flower with a flourish.

Everything hinges on this moment, this magical flower. And for a brief second, I worry that Baspin has tricked us all. That somehow this plant will do nothing but earn us a laugh from both fae, but the look on Arion’s face tells me all there is to know. It’s a look of horror.

He tries to bring his hands to his ears, boxing out the sound, but he’s not quick enough.

Mouse’s voice slithers from the petals. The stamen glows, the anther pulsing, the filaments stretching.

The command comes in a whisper, a ribbon of words curling in the air.

---