Chapter 4
Penelope
As predicted, this welcome party is dull as fuck. Morrigan, though, seems pleased with the proceedings, and our ‘honoured’ guests are arriving any second now.
“When they arrive, you will be polite,” my mother says.
We’re in some restaurant cum bar at the edge of the city with expensive, lavish chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.
They glitter and charm the eye. A drink will cost you an obscene amount of coin.
So the only people in here are the wealthy and the filthy rich.
Mother ensured the welcome party included the elite, the noble and the magically powerful. In other words, friends of the palace.
She didn’t want to risk an outburst or fight breaking out either, so everyone has been prepped, checked, and primed to within an inch of their lives.
Servers are dressed in a black-and-white uniform that looks like it was starched to death.
The atmosphere in here is the perfect blend of sensual rouge lighting: not too bright as to bleach the air, but not too dim you struggle to see the face you’re talking to.
The tables are full of hour d’oeuvres and there are even bottles of blood imported from Sangui.
That was a particularly well thought out idea on Mother’s part.
I’ll give her dues, she’s prepped well. I just wish the bar wasn’t full of people.
But that is a decidedly me problem. I can’t seem help myself. I piss off almost everyone I meet.
Morrigan was right about one thing; I’m more preoccupied with clothes than humans—at least they’re nice to me.
“They’re due any minute now,” Mother says, her eyes feverishly glancing to the door. She grabs a glass of champagne off a passing server’s tray and guzzles half of it.
She thought it was sensible to meet the vampires on neutral ground.
Though what is neutral about a bar full of drunk magician idiots who have consumed more Sangui Cupa than they have blood in their body is beyond me.
We’re in New Imperium for goodness’ sake.
Neutral territory would have been the tunnels.
Not that I can tell anyone I’ve been in them or know anything about them.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind the bar. My one saving grace this evening is that I look good.
And I really do. This dress hugs my body in a way that is making every man, woman and magician look my way.
Morrigan catches me checking myself out and rolls her eyes at me.
I sneer at her. “What? Some of us take pride in our appearance.” Slowly and with every ounce of poison I have in my body, I drag my eyes down her mundane black outfit.
Her mouth puckers. “Do you have to be such a bitch?”
“Maybe keep your judgemental eyes to yourself and I won’t have to be.”
“Girls, for the love of my sanity,” Mother hisses.
“Your Majesty,” Lord Mosel says as he walks past.
“Your Grace.” Mother nods and turns back to her friends.
As he moves past me, I stiffen. He was one of the Roman associates I tried to negotiate a deal with. He could well be the one sending me death threats.
He grips my arm and moves me to the side. His fingers are so tight it makes my eyes water. Morrigan, bless her sisterly soul, catches the movement and flicks her fingers, bending and contorting them while they hang at her side.
Mosel coughs, lets go of my arm and bends forward, his face blotching red.
I rub my wrist, unable to meet Morrigan’s eyes. Reluctantly, through gritted teeth I mumble, “Thanks.”
My decrepit bodyguard appears, too late to be of use.
“It’s fine,” I say and shove past him.
He flusters, useless and dithering, and proceeds to retreat back to the wall. He does, at least, follow my movements as I stride through the bar.
It stings having to thank Morrigan. But what makes my stomach curl and froth is the fact I can’t defend myself with magic like her. I’m a fucking princess for god’s sake we’re supposed to be powerful. It’s degrading.
Lavinia—a girl I’d rather not know—shoves past me.
“Watch it,” I say.
“Watch yourself, Penelope. I haven’t forgotten what you did.”
“Get over it already.”
She leans into my face, “I was in love with him, and you fucked him. And for what purpose? You could have anyone you wanted, you’re a fucking princess, and instead you went for someone taken. What was it? Spite? Boredom? Revenge for me stealing your fucking homework in year six?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Lavinia. I don’t think enough of you to bother with revenge.”
Her eyes bug wide, and she shakes her head at me. “You really are just as much of a bitch as everyone makes out you to be.”
“And your boyfriend is a womanising whore. He offered himself on a plate, and I had an itch to scratch. What can I say, still itching, so you can keep him.”
“Itching from chlamydia, no doubt.”
I huff out a snide laugh. “You’re pathetic.”
“And you’re a bitter, lonely whore. But we all have our crosses to bear.”
There’s a guy glaring at her from the edge of the room with the kind of possessive stare that a lion gives its prey.
“I’d be careful leaving your new boyfriend for too long, you never know when a bitter, lonely whore will find themselves in need of entertainment.”
She flushes red and her hand whips out and slaps me across the cheek. My bodyguard, late once again, lurches forward and grips Lavinia by the wrists, hauling her back.
Before I can go after her and kick her in the vag—and this time definitely for spite—the door opens and standing in the frame is a group of vampires.
The bar quiets. Despite the fact Mother primed everyone, the shock—along with the silence—is absolute.
No one moves.
It’s as if the entire place was flash frozen. Or perhaps, we have become the stilled vampires. This is ridiculous, they’re just people like us. Albeit gross ones that drink blood and fuck like savages—rather hot, orgasm-inducing ones. But how can I explain I know that?
I’m going to have to break the ice.
I strut up to the group and scan their faces. Octavia I recognise because of who she is. Red too. I’ve seen her with Morrigan’s friends. The others I don’t recognise. Two men, and…
Oh. Fuck.
My entire body freezes as our eyes lock.
Fuckety, actual fucking fuck with a giant, demon-sized mega fuck on the side.
There’s a moment where the earth opens up and swallows me whole. Adrenaline zips around my gut and into my limbs making everything tingle. The blood well and truly drains from my face into both my feet—and thoroughly unhelpfully, my pussy.
Dahlia.
Please don’t remember me. Please don’t remember me. Please, for the love of my sanity, don’t fucking remember me.
Her eyes narrow… and then widen.
She remembers me.
Oh my gods, I am so fucked. I am the forget-the-death-threats-Daria-and-Mother-will-just-execute-me-anyway kind of fucked.
Play it cool.
That’s what I’m going to do.
Play it real fucking arctic levels of cool and hope that she realises the political minefield she’d unleash if she blurts out that I snuck into Sangui illegally.
Her eyes glimmer, her lips curl into a smirk that could shatter hearts, and I swear I’m going to be sick.
Bile claws up my throat; I swallow, and it definitely tastes of acid. Oh gods. I’m not laying down and giving up. I take a deep breath and pray that Dahlia has an ounce of political nous. Enough to recognise that she needs to keep her mouth shut.
I thrust my palm out, fingers tingling, and focus on Octavia. “Lady Beaumont, the pleasure is mine, Princess Penelope Lee.”
I’m kind of impressed with myself when I don’t flinch as her cool fingers slide into mine. I move to her girlfriend. “Red, nice to see you again.”
We shake hands. She isn’t vampire exactly.
Her skin is warmer than Octavia’s, but she doesn’t feel human either.
Morrigan did explain that she’s a dhampir or something.
Whatever that is. Her bleached blonde hair is shaved underneath and all shaggy on top.
I like it, though I think she could do with a fresh buzz.
I move to the tall suave one, a little too clean shaven and pretty for me. I prefer my partners rugged and demanding and a little dirty round the edges. Though I’d probably climb him like a tree if I were drunk.
“Xavier,” he says. I shake his hand and move to the next.
“Gabriel. A pleasure,” he says, tucking a book under his arm to shake my hand.
“The pleasure is all mine.”
He smiles before pulling another book from his back pocket. Last, Dahlia. I swallow what feels like a ball of iron. My whole body stiffens. What if she says something? What if—
“Princess…” she says in a tone that screams of knowing exactly why she’s calling me that instead of Penelope.
I’m so screwed.
She slips her hand into mine, squeezing a little too tightly, and then tugs me in suddenly.
Her mouth brushes my skin as she places a kiss on one flaming hot cheek followed by the other.
Where her lips graze my ear, she whispers. “Oh my, we have been a naughty princess, haven’t we?”
I’m dead.
Literally, actually, fully fucking factually dead. I might as well stake myself, for fuck’s sake.
I snap my hand out of hers, stepping back. And do you know what that motherfucker does? She smiles at me, broad and grinning. All pearly white teeth and charm. Like there’s nothing to see here.
Her grin is as striking this evening as it was in the nightclub.
Her entire physique is made up of lines and angles and curves.
But not soft ones. She’s hard and steel like.
As if she were carved out of centuries of war and strife and battle.
Her clothes are tighter tonight, everything clings to the curve and bulge of muscle.
She wears her combat trousers, vest top and leather jacket in a way that reminds me of just how toned her body is.
I lick my lips. It’s automatic. My body is about a thousand degrees. Why is it so hot in here?