Page 72 of How to Dump a Vampire

My eyes dart past the twirling gowns and sharp suits, over to where the king and crowned prince hold court. They’re the picture of royal poise, but something about the set of the king’s jaw and the way his eyes track the room sends a shiver down my spine.

“Notice anything off with Tall, Dark, and Regal over there?” I murmur, tilting my head ever so slightly toward the throne.

Draven’s gaze follows mine as we continue our dance, moving with a grace that belies our vigilance. “They’re on edge. More than usual,” he says, his voice a low growl only I can hear. “Something’s brewing.”

“Fantastic,” I mutter. “Just tells me that we are right. It’s happening tonight.”

We share a look, one that says we’re in this together, come hell or high water. As much as I would rather face a mountain troll bare-handed than deal with royal vampire intrigue, I know there’s no one else I would rather have by my side than Draven.

Because when push comes to shove, if there’s a battle to be fought or a mystery to unravel, there’s no denying it. We make one hell of a team.

The rhythm of the music still pulses through me, a siren’s call to lose myself in the endless sea of twirls anddips, but as Draven’s strong hands steady me from yet another spin, a whisper in my mind halts any thought of further revelry.

Thorn.Luna’s voice echoes within the confines of my skull, her mental touch as light as a moth’s wing against a lantern.The crowned prince is making a rather sneaky exit stage left.

I blink, subtly craning my neck to see past a flock of feathered headpieces crowning the heads of nobility. Sure enough, there is a ripple in the crowd, vampires parting ways for royalty on the move.

Interesting,I muse silently back to Luna, feeling the corners of my mouth twitch with curiosity.Time to play shadow.

Be careful,she warns, a mother hen even in telepathic form. I chuckle at calling my fox familiar a hen.

Always am,I shoot back, though we both know that is a stretch of the truth.

“Where are you going?” Draven’s voice pulls me back, a thread of concern lacing his words.

“Need some air,” I lie smoothly, detaching myself from his embrace with practiced ease.

While I know we are in this together, I don’t want to require him to face down his own family. It wouldbreak me for him to have to fight or possibly kill his own father and brother, but they have to be stopped.

With a phantom kiss pressed to his cheek, I slip away, melting into the throng of bodies. My feet carry me with silent purpose, skirting the edge of the ballroom.

But as fate would have it—or just my rotten luck—a hand clamps down on my shoulder, spinning me with an unexpected force. The world comes to a screeching halt as I find myself staring into a pair of eyes that recognize me not as Thorn but as someone I once was.

“Vivian?” the voice drips with incredulous surprise, the name hitting me like a bucket of ice water.

“Ah,” I stammer, my heart pulling a drum solo against my ribs. “You must be mistaken.”

“Your resemblance is uncanny,” they insist, peering at me with an intensity that feels like tweezers trying to pluck out my secrets.

“Coincidence, I assure you,” I reply, the words tumbling out in a tumbleweed of nerves.

But inside, panic claws at my chest. Vivian is a ghost meant to stay buried, and if this specter of the past doesn’t take the hint, things will go sour fast.

“Sorry, but I really must catch my breath,” I say, offering a smile that I hope looks more genuine than it feels. “Excuse me.”

“Could it be that you’re related? You just look so much like her,” the inquisitor presses, leaning in too close for comfort. Their eyes are eager, almost hungry, and a shiver runs down my spine that had nothing to do with the ballroom’s chill.

I laugh, but it sounds like a crow cawing—an omen of bad luck. “In another life, perhaps,” I quip, sidestepping their probing gaze.

My mind is already sprinting through lies as slippery as eels. If they dig deeper, I’ll have to spin a tapestry of half-truths tight enough to snare them in confusion.

“Your features, though…” they murmur, relentless as a hound on a scent.

“Common stock. You’ll find them in any village,” I reply with a shrug that I hope conveys nonchalance rather than the screaming alarm bells inside me.

“Perhaps,” they concede, but their suspicion hangs between us, a noose waiting to tighten.

It is then that chaos erupts like a potion gone wrong. The king’s voice booms across the grandeurof the ballroom, each syllable a thunderclap of doom. “Bring her here!”

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