Thomas (Vampires of Eden #3)

Prologue

FIVE YEARS EARLIER

Lord Cameron Dwight Ashford hated parties. Banquets, fêtes, traditional ceremonies or any other activity that required him to make trite and inevitably hollow conversation where everyone ignored the more meaningful and important aspects of life.

He didn’t want to talk about the weather. Nor the food and the ambiance. Nor how splendid everyone looked. He did not think he was above this kind of banal conversation. He simply… didn’t want to be bothered. Fruitless words, wasted energy.

Which was why he kept to himself as he moved briskly through the warmly lit corridors of the Havenwrath estate.

The candelabra lining the decorated walls gleamed with firelight.

Tiny flames flickered and danced above the heads of the high-bred vampires dressed in their finest attire.

Long silks—dresses, coats and even capes—perfectly pressed, tailored and pleated in rich, dazzling colors.

Cameron, too, was dressed to impress in a matte-black suit that sharply defined the lines of his broad shoulders, long legs and tall posture.

A matching silk tie and classic white shirt kept the whole ordeal understated, which was what he had requested of his personal tailor and manservant, Lennon.

That wily old coot, Cameron thought fondly.

If he absolutely had to leave the house, he may as well do it with style.

“Lord Ashford! What a pleasure to see you this evening,” Lord Bankroft called out cheerily, halting Cameron in his lap around the party rooms in an effort to find the least occupied and most unobtrusive corner.

Cameron stopped, straightened and plastered on a warm smile. “Lord Bankroft—a pleasure to see you as well. How are you this evening?” The man was short and slight compared with Cameron’s hulking frame, and had skin the warm tan of butterscotch. Cameron’s own shade was a darker, tawny brown.

“Mighty fine, thank you. It’s rare to have you in attendance at these aristocracy functions.”

“I keep busy with the business of running the family estate,” Cameron said, relying on his go-to answer for open-ended comments about his lack of participation within the aristocracy. Not a lie, per se. Adequate as far as explanations went.

The only reason he was attending this party was because occasionally, his parents—taking a brief pause in all their overseas travel and personal entertainment—deigned to notice his introverted and antisocial behavior, then proceeded to badger and harass him to “get out more” and “find a mate already.”

So, here he was. An obligatory night out to shut them up until their next quarterly bombardment.

At thirty-five, he should be deep in the trenches of securing a partner to bond with for the longevity and prosperity of his clan… which sounded like a pain in the ass. The possible end result being forever subjected to benign and trite conversation in his very own home. Every day.

The thought made him dizzy with stress and exhaustion.

“Ah yes, well, it’s very good to have you here—and on such a fine evening.” Lord Bankroft lifted his champagne glass. “Such lovely weather we’re having.”

Cameron raised his whiskey in turn. “Indeed, my lord.”

“Mm, and everyone looks splendid, do they not?”

“Of course, my lord,” Cameron said, clenching his jaw in another grin. “If you’ll excuse me—please, enjoy your evening.”

“Yes, yes, of course. You as well.”

Find a corner, hide in it. An hour should be sufficient. Then, even his younger sister, Rachelle, could verify his being here and serve as a witness to their parents the next time they talked. He could practically hear her voice now.

“Oh yes, Cam went to the Havenwrath party with me—I believe he stayed for a long while.”

That would do it.

When he picked an open doorway at random and stepped inside, the chandelier overhead glittered with white light.

Joyous piano music floated through the air amidst laughter and clinking champagne flutes.

A quartet of musicians was set in the far corner and some vampires danced near them.

Others were standing in clustered groups, talking loudly and animatedly.

This room was overwhelming. Too crowded and noisy.

He skirted the perimeter, nodding and lifting his glass when a vampire noticed him and called out his name. Cameron made haste, as if he were very busy and had somewhere to be. No time for stopping and chatting.

The next room over was some kind of study and thankfully, much less occupied.

The air was warm and the walls were lined with glossy bookcases fashioned in dark wood.

Above them, forest-green-and-golden art deco wallpaper stretched up to the ceiling in ornamental diamond shapes.

A large fireplace burned brightly along the back wall and was surrounded by soft leather couches.

Seated casually around an expensive-looking coffee table (tragically strewn with cocktail glasses and no coasters) were a group of vampires.

Their number wasn’t intimidating enough so as to immediately ward Cameron off, but not too few that he felt odd walking up and casually observing their conversation.

Or, you could carry on and secure your hiding spot, he thought. The cozy room and soft intimacy therein felt inviting, somehow, but the threat of tedious conversation remained.

Ignoring the pull, he stepped forward, eyeing the open archway leading to another adjoining space. But when he heard a familiar name, he paused.

“… by Aldous Huxley. It was a much different reading experience compared with Brave New World. Interesting what three decades and a plunge into psychedelics can do to a man.”

The vampires seated around the coffee table laughed. Cameron blinked. With a magnet-like force, his curiosity drew him closer to the group so he could hear their conversation more clearly.

“I enjoyed Point Counter Point and Brave New World,” one purebred woman commented as she swirled the amber liquid in her cocktail glass.

Her braids were long and dark as they trailed down her back, ending in a series of elegant curls.

Her skin was the color of mocha. “The Island felt rather… preachy, for me. A bit too pretentious in its messaging about enlightenment. Plus, the ending was dismal.”

“Ah, I disagree,” said a man seated in the solo armchair nearest to the fire.

Another man sat on the wide arm beside him, casually drinking, like the second rider of a horse but seated sidesaddle.

“The Island is a story of a broken man slowly finding redemption. It challenges the widespread, systemic acceptance of unanalyzed words—usually those derived from religious figures and philosophy. The book encourages one to question and think for themselves apart from ‘society at large,’ which is… generally not encouraged. Least of all in Eden?”

This final statement, delivered from the man with a wry smirk of his thin lips before taking a sip from his glass, was met with genuine laughter from the group. As if to say, “Yes, do tell us about it.”

Cameron’s attention was suddenly drawn to the man, his focus intensifying like a narrow beam of light.

The stranger was pale of both skin and eyes.

The latter were gray, light in color, like an overcast sky.

His hair was a very dark shade of brown and stylishly swept back.

His features were inoffensive if not unremarkable—a straight nose and jawline with high cheekbones.

He was well dressed, a chic light gray suit fitted to his lanky frame.

He wasn’t Cameron’s type. If Cameron had a type, anyway.

Taking him in, he was reminded of a greyhound, stately and lean.

Cold at first glance. But the wry smile added a disarming element to his visage.

Looking upon him was like taking a bite of some new confection that seemed bland at first but then left you with a surprising kick of spice or citrus, just at the end.

Cameron noted how young everyone seated here was. He quickly estimated that they were all likely in their early twenties. University purebreds, brimming with energy and a boundless thirst for knowledge and discovery.

Vampire Socialites, these lot were often called.

Dabbling in human literature and culture, dressing in the latest fashion trends and attending the most affluent parties of the season before their parents likely forced them into a loveless bond and all that verve and excitement died.

Snuffed out from the weight and oppression of Eden purebred responsibility.

When the man with light eyes glanced up and caught Cameron’s gaze, the latter straightened stiffly. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring.

“What do you think, Lord Ashford? Have you read anything by Aldous Huxley?”

Have we met before? Faltering, Cameron took a breath.

This vampire knew his name, but he had no idea who he was, which…

was fairly typical. His sister had once told him that he was, quote, “absolutely shit” at aristocracy politics and keeping up with who was whom. Honestly, he just couldn’t be bothered.

“I have,” Cameron said to the man and the group. “The Island was my favorite.”

The lanky vampire’s dark brows lifted in sincere interest. His eyelashes were absurdly thick. “Oh really? Do tell.”

“I found it provocative—particularly the use of drugs being permitted according to the needs and careful consent of each individual, and therefore for the betterment of society as a whole. I enjoyed the ending, as well,” Cameron said, politely glancing at the woman with braids before going on.

“It was a reminder that no matter what measures you take to preserve something precious, there are always factors outside of your control. The forces of the world can always press in and destroy whatever you’ve painstakingly built. ”

The Vampire Socialites sat staring at him, some open-mouthed. I should have kept walking. Cameron cringed internally. Did he sound boring and snobbish? He was terrible at this.

“See?” The woman with the braids lifted a palm toward Cameron as evidence. “Dismal.”

“But not untrue,” the greyhound man countered, lifting a finger. “This is an unpleasant but fundamental fact of life. These challenging truths should not be coated in sugar and roses. We’re not children anymore and should not go about the world viewing it as such.”

The sidesaddle man on the arm of the chair leaned in and flirtatiously bumped the greyhound. “I’ll coat you in sugar and roses.”

Greyhound shook his head, scoffing as he lifted his drink to his lips. “You’re insufferable.”

The young Socialites tittered. Cameron took the opportunity to casually turn and slink away. He was too old to be around this group. Although, he appreciated their conversation being centered in something more interesting than the weather.

He checked his wristwatch as he moved.

Good, only twenty more minutes left.