Chapter 1
Evie tried not to look at either the guests or her owners. Getting attention meant pain, so she tried to stay as quiet and uninteresting as possible.
She wasn’t alone in this behavior. Four other slaves sat silently in a line next to her, heads lowered and shoulders taut. Most of them were in their early twenties. Being just past thirty, Evie was an outlier. You rarely survived long in a position like theirs.
Distancing herself from the present usually came easy to her. Whenever she was summoned for service—whatever kind it was—she’d let her mind drift until she was barely present. She pretended she was somewhere else. That it was someone else’s body being ravaged. From what little she talked to the others, she knew they did something similar.
But this night, she couldn’t keep herself as distant as she normally did. The guests were far too unusual, and unusual meant unpredictable. Unpredictable meant dangerous. At least her owner was only the latter.
“We were disappointed to hear your King wouldn’t come himself. I specifically requested his presence,” Varro said.
Varro Visconti, the vampire King of the Heartlands of the United States, was an elegant man with patience for anything but the living. He had noble, south-European features and kept his emotions hidden beneath several layers of silky charm. He was over 700 years old, and the most dangerous creature Evie had ever encountered. Until these guests arrived.
“Aleksander is serving a sentence. He is Court-bound.” The woman who spoke was the leader of the new arrivals. At least that’s what Evie assumed based on the reverence with which the others looked at her and the fact that, so far, she had been the only one speaking.
The woman was tall and slender with radiant golden-brown skin and long, dark brown curls that shimmered in the firelight of the parlor. Her features were sharp and unnaturally perfect; the only signifier that she was more than human being a pair of bright violet cat eyes that shined with an energy so strong Evie couldn’t look at them too long.
She was frighteningly beautiful. She was the kind of woman Evie would have sent yearning looks out in the real world, all the while knowing she would never give Evie the time of day. Women who looked like her didn’t pay attention to someone like Evie.
Evie wondered what sort of creature she was. Definitely not a vampire, but what else could she be? Maybe a fae of some kind?
“With the seriousness of the situation, we wanted to ensure you didn’t feel slighted. That’s why I’m here.” The woman made a calming gesture. Even her movements were beautiful. “Besides, Aleksander is more useful near his throne than he is as a diplomat. He was never one for idle chatter.”
The woman smiled, and Evie’s stomach tightened at the sight. She’d seen people smile like that before. It was a smile masking a threat.
Evie looked down, suddenly afraid the woman would notice her staring.
“Then we are honored to have you. It’s no secret that these halls haven’t seen yourilkbefore, Natalya.” Varro said the word ‘ilk’ like it was a slur.
At the comment, Natalya’s eyes trailed to the young, blond man sitting immediately behind Varro. He hadn’t looked away from Natalya since she entered the room, his expression hungry and lustful. For once, he was alone. He usually had a woman with him—a woman with eyes like Natalya’s—except hers were scarlet rather than violet.
Natalya’s gaze turned venomous looking at him.
“I would hope not.” Her voice was full of hate. It only made him look hungrier. He usually looked at Evie like that, and she couldn’t help but be thankful his attention was elsewhere tonight.
“Mr. Fane is an honored guest,” Varro said. “I called on him when I learned you’d be the one visiting us. Dominic is a learned man with…uniqueinterests. He asked to observe the meeting, and I obliged him. It was the least I could do after he proved such an asset. He’s told me much about your kind, including that ‘Natalya’ is not your real name.”
“There is power in a name,” Natalya said. “Fae and fiends alike know this to be true. I have picked what I want to be called, as has my companion.”
Varro’s eyes wandered to the young-looking man in Natalya’s company. He had dusky tan skin and short, thick curls that looked like strands of gold. He was moving along one of the bookshelves, pulling out every other book, rifling through it, and then putting it back in the wrong spot.
“Control your dog. Those books are older than any of you,” Stefano said. The vampire sitting next to Varro could have been his son had there not been 500 years between them.
The golden-haired man turned, dropping a book on the floor in a way that didn’t seem accidental.
“They talking to me?” he asked his other companions, a man and a woman who looked like they would be more at home in a fighting cage than in the parlor.
“They’re just talking,” the man said. His voice was deep, near a snarl.
“I think our scent is rubbing off on you, Flea,” the woman said. She growled and did a mock pounce at the vampires present. All but Varro and Dominic started at the movement.
“Diana, behave. Cassius, keep your sister quiet.” Natalya didn’t look away from Varro. “Flea, you keep perusing. I know you love precious things.”
Flea giggled and returned to his pilfering. Natalya cocked her head.
“I’m surprised your progeny can’t tell the difference between a therian and a fae. Have you been cooped up in these dreary halls so long you’ve forgotten there’s more in this world than yourselves?”
“We keep a varied collection of company,” Varro said, smiling tightly. “Though not as varied as yours. Obviously.”
