Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Selena
Rocco had me.
Those dark eyes. That slow smile. The way he moved—confident, graceful, like dancing with me was the most natural thing in the world. It was as if he was weaving a spell into my heart with every step, every touch, every breath against my skin.
Oh, wait. He’d already done that. Two years ago. And no amount of distance or heartbreak had managed to undo it.
No matter how much he’d hurt me—no matter how many times I’d told myself to move on—no guy had ever measured up to him. Not even close. I’d tried dating. Tried to forget. But every time someone else held me, all I could think about was how wrong it felt. How they weren’t him.
And now he was here, his hand warm around mine, his scent still clinging to my skin.
I was so screwed.
He led me off the dance floor, weaving through the crowd, back to our table.
My heart was still racing, my skin still tingling everywhere he’d touched me.
I reached for my glass of Chosen Blood and took a long sip, letting the warmth settle through me.
Rocco downed the rest of his whiskey in one swallow and set the empty glass on the table.
After I finished my drink, he gestured to my empty glass. “Would you like another drink?”
I brushed a hair off my face. “Yes. Please. Another glass of Chosen Blood, please.”
“Sure.” He headed through the dance floor, his broad shoulders parting the dancers.
“Well, well.” Rose slid up next to me, a glass of Chosen Blood in her hand. “Here with Rocco. I have to admit, I didn’t see that coming.”
Her long blonde hair was crimped into soft waves, and she wore simple black onyx earrings that matched her elegant black dress. That was Rose—never flashy, never pretentious. She didn’t need to be. Her power spoke for itself.
I scanned the dance floor. “Where’s Valentin?”
Rose’s smile tightened. “In the corner. Trying to keep Dante from killing his brother.”
I followed her gaze across the ballroom.
Dante looked like a bull ready to charge, pawing at the ground. His fists were clenched at his sides, his whole body vibrating with barely contained rage. Guess his mother’s warning hadn’t lasted long.
Valentin stood in front of him, one hand on Dante’s chest, speaking in low, urgent tones. Trying to be a barrier between Dante and whatever violence he was planning.
I wasn’t sure it would be enough.
I scanned the ballroom for the queen but didn’t spot her. She had to still be here somewhere. And the king—where was he?
At the bar, Rocco had reached Ethan. He was ordering, his back to the room, oblivious—or pretending to be.
Dante took a step forward.
Valentin blocked his path, feet planted, refusing to budge. The two of them squared off, tension crackling between them like heat lightning before a storm.
Was this going to be like this all night? Every time Rocco moved, would Dante try to go after him?
I understood the rage. I did.
I remembered Dante’s face that night. He’d been in chains, guards holding him back, forced to watch every single blow.
Unable to break free.
Unable to stop it.
Unable to save her.
The helplessness in his eyes had been worse than the screaming.
That kind of wound didn’t heal. It just scarred over, ugly and thick, waiting for something to tear it open again.
And tonight, that something was standing at the bar ordering drinks.
Rose flashed me a curious look. “How did you end up here with Rocco? He’s been so... distant.”
I sighed. “He showed up at The Black Rose Café and asked me to the party.” I hesitated, tracing a finger along the edge of the table. Saying it out loud made it sound even more reckless than it had felt in the moment. “Before you ask—he wasn’t invited. He’s representing someone.”
Rose’s eyes narrowed. “Dimitri picked him up in Angelo Santi’s limo. So this is about Angelo.”
It wasn’t a question.
I nodded, bracing myself for the lecture. For Rose to tell me I was an idiot for saying yes—for letting Rocco back in after everything he’d done. Part of me wanted her to say it. At least then someone would be thinking clearly, because I sure as hell wasn’t.
Rose set the glass down and shook her head. “Rocco’s working for Angelo Santi now? Is he crazy?”
“I don’t know.” I winced. “He just said that Angelo asked him to represent him.”
Rose frowned, her brow furrowing. “That’s strange. Why not ask Dimitri or Enzo?”
“Good question.”
She leaned closer, her voice dropping. “Be careful, Selena. Angelo is extremely dangerous and doesn’t do anything without a reason.”
I glanced toward the bar where Rocco was still waiting for our drinks. “But what if Rocco didn’t have a choice?”
Beside me, Rose was quiet for a moment. “My guess is he didn’t.”
Rocco collected our drinks and headed back toward us. Rose stiffened beside me, her eyes darting across the room to where Dante stood with Katona. But Dante had his back turned—for now.
Rocco set my glass of Chosen Blood in front of me and turned to Rose.
“Rose.” He smiled—the same smile that always made me blush—and inclined his head. “You look lovely tonight. Where’s Valentin?”
She tilted her goblet toward the corner. “Playing referee with your brother.”
Rocco followed her gaze across the room. His hand tightened around the glass. Without a word, he lifted his glass and drained the whiskey in one long swallow.
“I’m sorry,” Rose said softly. “Dante...”
“He has a right to hate my guts.” Rocco set the empty glass down, his eyes hard. Flat. “They all do.”
The words landed like a fist to my chest. He meant it. Every syllable. He'd swallowed the guilt whole and let it poison him from the inside out — and no one, not even his own mother, had been able to convince him otherwise.
It wasn't you, I wanted to scream. You were possessed. But I'd said those words a thousand times in my head, and he'd never been close enough to hear them.
Silence stretched between us, heavy and uncomfortable.
I took a long swallow of the Chosen Blood. It didn’t help.
Costin made his way up to the stage as the band finished their song. The crowd quieted, all eyes turning toward the original vampire king.
Thank God. A distraction. I wasn't sure how much more of Rocco's self-destruction I could sit through without saying something I couldn't take back.
I stole a glance at Dante across the room — his arms crossed, his jaw set, his eyes still burning.
Please, I thought. Not during the speech. Not tonight.
“Welcome, everyone, to my beautiful wife’s birthday celebration.”
We all clapped at the table—even Rocco, though his applause was hollow, mechanical.
“Waiters will be bringing champagne around to toast my dear mate.”
On cue, waiters in crisp black uniforms glided through the crowd with trays of crystal flutes, bubbles rising in perfect columns. Rose, Rocco, and I stood with the rest of the room.
I glanced toward the corner. Valentin was still acting like a linebacker, his body a wall between Dante and the rest of the party.
Katona had finally joined them, and from the look on her face, she was giving Dante an earful.
Her hands moved sharply as she spoke, her expression fierce.
Out of anyone, she had the biggest control over him.
If she couldn’t calm him down, no one could.
I leaned closer to Rocco, my shoulder brushing his arm. “Are you okay?”
He didn’t look at me. Just shrugged, his grip white-knuckled around the champagne flute.
He didn’t have to say it. His whole body screamed hell no.
I looked down at my champagne, wondering if we should go. Rose was right. Why Rocco? I should have called her before tonight. Maybe Valentin could have gotten answers from his brother.
Before I could press him, movement caught my eye.
Trystan Hunter, the Wolf King, was heading straight for us. Of course he was. The man could probably smell trouble from a mile away—literally.
Light reflected off his long, shaggy blondish-brown hair as he moved through the crowd. His piercing blue eyes locked with mine, and I glanced away nervously. Was this going to be another confrontation? Another fight?
I scanned the room for his enforcer, Stalker. Where was he? My stomach tightened. A wolf shifter like Stalker didn’t just wander off—not unless he was hunting something.
Trystan stopped in front of our table, his attention fixed on Rocco.
“Rocco.” He gave a short nod. “Keir tells me you’re representing Angelo tonight. Anything wrong?”
“No.” Rocco’s voice was sharp. Clipped. “Nothing at all.”
Trystan’s gaze swept over him—assessing, calculating. “Still working at Bernie’s?”
“No.”
“Working with Angelo?”
Rocco set his champagne glass down with a little too much force and snagged another from a passing waiter’s tray.
“No.”
The single word dared Trystan to push further. The rim around Trystan’s blue eyes flickered gold.
My heart leapt into my throat. Wolves didn’t flash gold unless they were close to losing control.
This was going from bad to worse.
Then the lights went out.
My hand shot out and found Rocco’s arm. His fingers closed over mine—warm, steady, instant.
A collective murmur rippled through the crowd before a single spotlight flared to life, focusing on Julienne standing in the middle of the dance floor.
She looked absolutely stunning—diamonds glittering like stars against her crimson gown, her smile radiant as she gazed up at her husband on the stage. She looked every inch a queen.
And my boss. And my friend.
“A toast to my beautiful wife.” Costin’s voice carried across the silent ballroom, thick with emotion. “She’s the one who turned me from a monster into the man I am today.” He raised his champagne glass, the crystal catching the light. “To Julienne.”
“To Julienne,” I repeated with everyone else, lifting my glass.
The crowd drank. The lights came back up. Applause filled the room.
I turned to say something to Rocco—
But he had vanished.
One second his hand had been wrapped around mine, warm and steady. The next—gone. Like I’d imagined the whole thing. I blinked, looking around. Trystan still stood there, watching me with those sharp blue eyes.
“Looking for someone?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.
My stomach dropped. I scanned the crowd frantically, searching for Rocco’s dark hair, his broad shoulders.
He was gone.