Emory“Who the fuck invited a mangy dog to our dinner party?”Princess Opal’s words hang in the air as the rest of the room goes silent. It’s as if the rest of the guests are all waiting for me to respond to the loud, offensive statement, including Rainer, though I believe he’s just as taken aback b
I’ve never been squeamish, but having seen the state of the feeders’ dungeon first hand, and thinking about how much blood had to have been harvested to feed this many people an entire goblet full… it makes me have to look away slightly.The servant behind me stands with his hand on top of the silve
I am taking a sip of water when the question is asked, so I have to swallow before I can say, “Yes, Prince Jacob. That is correct.” Although, at the moment, I’m not sure I want to claim Bernard as my father.“And how, exactly, did you come to be here?” he continues. “Not at the dining table. I know
Kane If I open my mouth to reprimand Opal right now, a rivulet of curses will be released into the world the likes of which no one has heard before. I have already tried politely, asking her to stop verbally assaulting Emory. When that didn’t work, I ordered her with a mind message, one she clearly
Quietly, she says, “I do.” “But you have different mothers?” It’s more of a statement than a question when Jacob asks. I wonder why he suddenly knows so much about Moonraker pack. He never took any interest in them when we were actively waging war against them. I was on the battlefield nearly every
Lex, who has been unusually quiet for him, also has an completely placid look on his face I can’t quite understand, but I won’t create more problems by asking him why he’s so happy. Instead, I excuse myself from the table, ready to end this catastrophe of a dinner. *** Emory I don’t make it too
Emory The question lingers in the air between us as I stare into King Kane’s eyes, trying to figure out why he’s followed me to my bedroom. It doesn’t make any sense. Isn’t he expected to still be at dinner with the rest of his guests? If anyone from dinner were to follow me, I would’ve assumed it
“Do you need anything before I go?” he asks, his voice just above a whisper. My first instinct is to shake my head no. I don’t want to be a bother. But then, I remember there is one thing I need. I can’t ask him, though. He’s the king. He sees that I’m not being completely honest with him before m
“I’ll send him up,” she says, touching my arm. “That’s fine, Emelda.”“I need him to go to the castle first and tell Michael. The ball–he’s at the ball.” My mouth continues to move without sound as I grapple with the idea of telling Alma what he did to Faye. But my eyes glaze over the scar peeking
EmeldaI’m shaking. I quickly dab spots of dark, vampiric blood from Faye’s neck, my fingers trembling with rage and confusion as I watch her take several shallow breaths in a row. There’s been absolutely no change in her condition. She’s been still. Cold. Dead, in all honesty. Dying a slow, drawn
Michael Emelda moves like an agitated fledgling as she dusts lint from my shoulders. She swats my hand when I reach for my hair, shaking her head and scowling before adjusting a single rogue curl trying to fight against the hold of the hair gel she slathered through my tresses. “Don’t move. Don’t
MichaelLowe spins his pint of beer in a circle, his eyes scanning the run-down dive bar and its grizzly patrons. He wrinkles his nose when a duo of rough looking vampires walk by, baring their fangs at our table. “It stinks here,” he says under his breath before sipping from his glass. “The beer’s
EmeldaMichael has officially lost his mind. I edge closer to the bed, the vial I hold trembling as I raise a shaking hand. “You can’t possibly know that for sure. It’s too early. Far too early.”He looks down at the nearly dead vampire in the bed, his eyes wide and glossy with shock and the last gl
MichaelI pace the foyer, running my fingers through my hair over and over again as I listen to the voices of Emelda and Alma drifting down the staircase. Lowe walks in from the kitchen with an armful of firewood, his face drawn with fatigue. I nod at him in greeting as he walks past me toward the
“What did they do to you?” I press. I wave my hand at the mess of jars, herbs, and healing… potions, not just tonics. Actual potions. Potions made by a witch.“What didn’t they do is a better question,” she murmurs, turning away. “Emelda–”“I was a girl,” she whispers over the simmering water and c
MichaelThree hours later, in the dead middle of the night, I stand in the doorway leading into the cozy guest room I brought Faye into what must have been weeks ago. I guess that much time has passed since then. It feels like seconds, honestly. I feel like I haven’t had a chance to catch my breath
MichaelAlma and Lowe speak in quiet tones in the foyer while he helps her into her thick coat. The usual, ceaseless sprinkle of rain has finally turned to sleet–a vicious mix of freezing rain and the first hints of snow that’s going to make the village an icy mess when day turns to night. Lowe pus