Page 63 of Blood Match

I spot Arabella Ravenscroft across the room. She catches my eye and nods, her face unreadable. I make my way over, steeling myself for the conversation ahead.

“Darick,” she greets me, her voice carrying easily over the music. “Good to see you.”

“Arabella,” I reply, bowing my head slightly. “It’s good to see you, too. I trust you’re well?”

She smiles warmly, nodding a greeting to Marcus beside me. “As well as can be expected. Have you spoken with Lucien yet?”

I shake my head. “Not yet. I’m sure he’ll make his presence known soon enough.”

“Lady Ravenscroft. Greetings,” a voice interrupts us. I turn to see Victor Valmont approaching, his dark eyes gleaming with barely concealed curiosity.

“Darick Drake,” he says, clapping a hand on my shoulder. I force myself not to stiffen. “Your display yesterday was pretty impressive.”

Arabella glances at me curiously, but I keep my attention on Valmont. “Victor. I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

He shrugs, a smooth motion that speaks of centuries of practiced grace. “Lucien’s invitations are hard to refuse. Besides, I wouldn’t miss this…gathering… for the world.”

I give a tight nod, wondering what that could possibly mean, but don’t press for details. I’m certain I’ll find out soon enough.

“Lucien certainly has a knack for the dramatic.” Arabella laughs lightly. Outside of Assembly meetings, it’s hard to think of her as our Grand Elder. She couldn’t have been more than thirty when she was turned. The pale hair is deceptive.

As if summoned by his name, I feel a familiar presence at my back.

I spot Lucien across the room, and my jaw clenches involuntarily. He’s on a raised dais, holding court like some demented king. His silver suit gleams, hair slicked back in a way that makes him look more reptilian than ever. Half-naked young women drape themselves around him, giggling and fawning.

It makes me sick.

“God, what an ass-hat,” Marcus mutters beside me. I grimace in agreement. I’d rather not look but if I’m going to be here, I have to keep an eye on him. So I watch as he beckons to one of the women, tilting her head to expose her neck. She shivers in anticipation as he sinks his fangs into her flesh. As he begins to drink, she clings to him, her moans audible over the thump of the music.

My stomach turns. These “blood groupies” are a relatively new phenomenon, humans who get off on being bitten. Lucien’s made it into a spectator sport.

His eyes meet mine over the woman’s shoulder, and a smirk plays across his bloodstained lips when he lifts his head. He crooks a finger, summoning me. Reluctantly, I excuse myself from Arabella and Victor, making my way through the crowd.

Showtime.

“Darick!” Lucien’s voice booms as I approach. “So good of you to join us. Care for a drink?”

He gestures to the array of willing victims surrounding him. There’s a blonde, a brunette, a redhead, and a girl whose hair appears to be pink.

One in every color.

My throat constricts, the Bloodbane making even the thought of drinking from them nauseating.

“No, thank you,” I say coolly. “I find drinking from flesh…distasteful these days.”

Lucien’s eyes narrow, a knowing gleam in them. “Oh, come now, surely you’re not above a little indulgence? Or perhaps…” he pauses dramatically, “there’s another reason you’re abstaining?”

I force myself to remain impassive, though inside, I’m seething. He’s trying to bait me, to expose my weakness in front of everyone. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

“Some of us prefer to maintain a certain level of decorum, Lucien,” I reply, not bothering to conceal my distaste. “But by all means, continue your little…performance.”

The woman he’d been drinking from has sagged to the floor, thighs splayed, staring up at Lucien like he’s some kind of god.

“You’re sure I can’t tempt you?” Amusement flickers in his eyes. “Babette over here is AB-negative.” He slides his palm up the thigh of a nearby woman in red silk. “Very rare.”

“I told you I’m not interested, Marlowe,” I growl. Arabella and Victor have moved up to join us. Victor sinks into a black velvet armchair, crossing an ankle over his knee. A woman settles onto the arm of the chair, simpering at him. Arabella raises an eyebrow.

“Really?” says Lucien. “So interesting.” He stands and walks over to me. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to offend me.”

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