Page 77 of The Vampire's Bride

I am?I glance at my husband, but his expression is impassive. I thought we were just here to have the Greyvale sigil sewn into dresses I already own.

Doubt fills me. Perhaps my clothes are not fine enough for him. Maybe he finds them too simple for the wife of someone of his station.

As if sensing my troubled thoughts, he turns to me. “It will be cold for the next few weeks, back at the castle, until spring arrives. I thought you might wish to purchase warmer clothing while we’re here.”

Relief fills me. He’s simply being considerate and caring. Like he always is with me. “All right. I’ll pick out a few things.”

The clothier turns to me. “If you’ll please come with me to the back, I will take your measurements and show you my selections.”

Before I can follow her, Valaric takes my hand. “I will return shortly.” He presses a tender kiss to my knuckles. “Purchase as many outfits as you wish.” He looks at the clothier. “My wife will need the Greyvale sigil sewn into each item. And make certain it is easily visible.”

“Of course.” She dips her chin in a subtle nod.

Valaric leaves and she leads me to the back of the store.

After she takes my measurements, she brings out several bolts of fabric in beautiful and vibrant shades of color. The material is luxurious and soft beneath my fingers.

“I can add a fur liner to this.” Lygra gestures to one of the swaths. “And I can even—”

“Where is the owner of this shop?” a booming voice calls out. “I am Lord Stryker of Blackthorne, and I demand to see her at once.”

Lygra’s head snaps toward the doors. “Excuse me a moment,” she says and then quickly rushes to the front of the building.

I trail behind her, curious to see who is yelling and why.

A Vampire steps forward. His red eyes bleed into black as he watches Lygra walk toward him, his wings twitching beneath his cape in obvious irritation. His hair is the same shade as Valaric’s but it’s much longer and tied at the base of his neck by a delicate golden chain with teardrop shaped rubies on the ends.

“Lord Stryker,” she says, stepping between him and an obviously flustered Gregor. “How can I help you today?”

Lygra nudges Gregor, and he quickly leaves, heading toward the back of the shop.

Lord Blackthorne steps to one side, and my jaw drops involuntarily as I notice a human woman behind him.

She has light brown hair, and she’s dressed in a dark blue dress that matches his cape, tunic and pants. The sigil of a raven is easily visible, embroidered on her corset in silver thread.

She worries her bottom lip as she gazes around the shop. Her brown eyes meet mine and a faint smile crests her lips, but it quickly disappears as the Vampire grips her arm and urges her forward.

“We are hosting a ball next Saturday, Lygra. My wife needs a new dress for the occasion. Can you have it done before then?”

“Of course, Lord Blackthorne,” Lygra replies before turning her attention to the woman. “What did you have in mind, my Lady?”

Before the woman can answer, her Vampire husband tugs on her arm again, turning her to one side. “Something gathered at the waist here,” he says, gesturing to his wife. “With a low-cut neckline and a deepvalong the back.”

My jaw slackens as he turns his wife this way and that, as if she were a doll he was trying to dress up instead of a human being. Her cheeks turn beet red as he describes the dress he wants made. It sounds positively scandalous.

When he’s finished, he turns to Lygra. “What of the other dress?”

“It is finished, Lord Stryker.” She plasters a smile on her face and then turns to his wife, her expression softening. “If you would please follow me, we can fit it in the back and see if any adjustments need to be made.”

Lord Blackthorne remains near the front of the shop while Lygra guides her to the back. When they reach me, Lygra introduces us. “Lady Maryl, this is Lady Juliet Greyvale.”

It’s strange that Lygra does not use Lady Maryl’s full title, forgetting to addBlackthorneat the end of her name. Maryl’s eyes fly to the sigil on my cloak before returning to my face. She offers me a polite smile and then dips her chin in a subtle bow. “It is lovely to meet you, Lady Greyvale.”

“And you as well, Lady Blackthorne,” I reply.

Her expression falters. “Just Maryl,” she corrects me. “Despite Lygra’s kindness in referring to me as such, I am not a true Lady.”

I frown. “But you are married to Lord Stryker, are you not?”

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