Chapter 4 #2
I’ve only ever had one other woman have this effect on me.
I never told anyone about us. We dated for a few incredible weeks, and then her parents left the city for work.
I was only twenty and she didn’t have a job, so she went with them.
I was devastated. That was years ago, though. I thought it was a phase.
Clearly fucking not.
Dahlia grips my wrist. It’s strong, protective. Her eyes graze my skin in a way that makes me shiver, as if she’s peeling away my secrets and lies.
Mother reanimates, as does the rest of the bar. She flutters behind me, corralling us into the main area. But Dahlia keeps hold of me, her hand slipping to my hand. My eyes drop to the pulsing electricity between our palms.
“Who did you piss off?” Dahlia breathes.
“W-what?” I stammer, mentally slapping myself to get a grip. She hasn’t told anyone yet. If she were going to, she wouldn’t have whispered.
“Your cheek. There’s a stunning, vicious handprint.”
“Oh. It’s fine.” I pull my hand out of hers and brush my dress down.
“I’m not sure hitting a princess is fine.”
A nervous laugh stutters out. Did I just giggle? Mother of gods, what is wrong with me?
“It’s lovely to meet you anyway,” I say.
“Meet me… again, you mean?” Dahlia drops her voice.
Flames flush my entire body. Okay, we’re done.
I tug her to the side of the bar, away from any prying ears.
“Please…” I say.
She quirks a single eyebrow at me, brandishing that grin like a weapon. My pussy is a traitor and it, along with Dahlia, can go fuck themselves.
Dahlia smirks. “I’m rather fond of a woman begging me. But I’d love to put a princess on her knees. See what else that pretty little mouth of yours can do,” she says, her tone oozing enough confidence my nipples harden.
She must take the heat in my cheeks for anger because she laughs and licks her lips. “Don’t worry, Penelope, your escapee antics are safe with me.”
I sag in relief.
She shrugs. “Besides, I’d rather be fucking a hot woman and drowning in Sangui Cupa than wasting my time winding you up.”
What the hell? What a bastard. She drags her eyes up and down my body.
“But I can’t seem to find any hot women, and politics says I have to follow my sister.”
That lying fucking cow. She wanted me in the Whisper Club and we both know it.
My eyes flash at her crass confession and not-so-subtle insult.
Something shifts; my mind wanders back to the club, and the way she was so clearly a dom.
I’ll bet she’s butt hurt. Probably wants to punish me with a bit of degradation.
My clit throbs, my skin pimples with gooseflesh.
She tilts her head at me. “What was that?” she asks.
“What was what?”
“I’m asking you. Your heart rate increased, blood is pooling beneath your skin and—”
Her eyes drop to my crotch.
My mouth parts, a little sharp breath escaping. How dare she stand there and read me like this. I grit my teeth and lean into her, lowering my voice to barely above a whisper.
“You tell anyone you saw me in Sangui City, and I’ll make your life a living hell.” I draw back and give her my own sinister little smile. I can play bitch with the best of them.
She chuckles. “Oh, Princess. We both know you have way more to lose in this situation than me. There’s no need to be a brat about it.”
But that’s the thing: I am a brat, and she fucking knows it.
She shoves past me and follows after Octavia. I am left entirely flustered, unsure whether she was rude, a tease or a flirt. Maybe all three? What an arsehole. I can’t work out if I hate her or if I’m attracted to her.
My bodyguard approaches. “Ma’am, I must ask if there are any other people I should be concerned about?
It seems there are a couple of people in here who have taken issue with you,” he says.
I glance at his name tag on his jacket. There are so many guards in the palace at the moment I can never distinguish one from another.
I snort. “Well, Marcus, I’d be hard pressed to find someone in here who doesn’t have some kind of beef with me. Haven’t you heard? My speciality is pissing everyone off.” He gives me sad eyes, and I want to nut him. “I don’t need your pity.”
I march off into the bar, only to come face to face with Blane—my ex. Really? Can I not get a break tonight?
“What do you want? And how the hell did you get in here, anyway?” I say, zero patience left in me.
“You owe me a carriage.”
“No. You were the one who lost it in a bet. That’s nothing to do with me.”
He leans toward my face. “Only because you insisted I play.”
This time, Marcus appears and shoves him back.
Blane is one of those clean-cut, overly groomed men. No wonder we were doomed to failure. Not my type at all.
I shove a hand on my hip. “I didn’t force you. Our choices are our own.”
I stroll away until he says, “It’s not like you can’t afford it. Just take it from the royal coffers, for fuck’s sake.”
There’s nothing I hate more than being used for the crown’s purse strings.
I turn to face him. “Maybe if you stopped sucking off daddy just to access your trust fund and, oh, I don’t know, got a fucking job, you’d be able to afford your own carriage instead of trying to bleed me dry.”
“Bitch.”
I smile and step away. He must lunge for me because there’s a scuffle and clunking sound and then the echo of him shouting as he’s escorted off the premises.
Tonight is testing my patience to the limits. I know I’ve had a few issues with people recently, but, for once, I’m actually trying to behave for Mother and Morrigan. It feels like gang-up-on-Pen night.
I reach the edge of the bar and take two glasses of champagne off the closest server’s plate. I neck one. The fizz makes my throat sting and my tummy bloat. I swallow down a belch and sip the second glass in a far more lady-like manner.
Mother is with Morrigan and the vampires in the middle of the room at the central table.
Gabriel seems more interested in whatever he’s reading than what’s going on around us.
Though I notice that he’s sat himself next to Lady Antonia’s son, who is obscenely intelligent.
And, it seems, sporadically engaging Gabriel in conversation.
Red, Octavia and Xavier are all chattering away with Mother and Morrigan. Dahlia, though, I can’t see. I scan the room until I spot her at the bar, drinking and talking to Carmen, a girl with a figure to die for.
My stomach hardens, heat pooling in my belly as I glare at the two of them. Mother, Morrigan and the vampires are all politely laughing at each other.
Dahlia catches my eye, all while smiling, nodding and laughing at Carmen. My gaze darkens. Dahlia laughs again and then locks eyes with me. Does she think I was checking her out?
I wasn’t.
And even if I did think she was hot, it’s not like I would actually go anywhere near a vampire. The Whisper Club was a onetime mistake. No. I need to stick with the last thousand years of history. Vampires are all parasites. Besides, I’m perfectly happy standing here drinking champagne on my own.
I’m not even lonely.
Though, I will say that night feels like a million years long.
Marcus staggers back inside, having—I assume—dumped Blane outside.
He scans the room searching for me, spots me, and makes his way over. But en route, he stumbles into a chair, followed by shoulder barging some distantly related cousin of mine.
Something is very wrong.
The guard’s skin is glazed, grey and sweaty looking. Maybe Blane put up a fight. I hope Marcus knocked the crap out of him, it’s less than Blane deserves.
Marcus staggers forward, leaning on the nearest table.
Yeah, he really doesn’t look good. I push off the wall and down the rest of my champagne, slinging the empty glass onto a passing server’s tray.
Dahlia glances my way; something in my expression must grab her attention. She jerks off the bar stool, cutting Carmen off mid-sentence and marches towards me as I head for the bodyguard.
“Princess, Penel—” Marcus says, but his words catch in his throat.
“What’s wrong?” My words fall away as his skin turns a dark shade of purple. What in the—
“Oh, dear,” he says and buckles forward.
There’s a presence at my side. I turn expecting Mother or maybe Morrigan, given she did assist me with Mosel earlier. But they’re still engaged in chatter a table away. To my surprise it’s Dahlia, her expression furrowed as she scans the guard.
“First you insult me, and now you come to my rescue? Real charmer you are…” I say.
Dahlia opens her mouth to respond, but Marcus lurches forward. A groan that sounds like a garbled scream rips from his chest, followed by several splatters of blood.
Blood. There’s a vampire stood next to me.
“Shit.” I glance at Dahlia, edging away from her. Her nose flares. A shimmer of rouge flickers across her expression, and I swear she stops breathing.
“Are you going to—” I ask.
She gives a curt shake of her head. “I’m fed.”
Marcus bellows out a curdled cry silencing the entire bar almost as aggressively as when the vampires walked in. I reach forward to help him up, but Dahlia grabs my hand.
“Don’t,” she says right as Marcus explodes.
When I say he explodes, I mean he literally eviscerates into a million pieces. Blood, organs, bone and tissue spray across the bar splattering over Mother, Morrigan, every lord, lady and royal-adjacent person in here.
There isn’t even a shred of uniform left.
I flinch as I’m showered in his residue. I wipe my mouth, shuddering as it does nothing to remove the blood from my lips. My clothes are drenched in entrails, sinew and bone shards.
There’s a split second of silence that stretches and stretches as collective realisation drifts through the bar. And then it’s carnage.
Screams rip from one side of the bar to the next. Mine included. I lean forward and throw the entire contents of my stomach up, including—sadly—both glasses of champagne.
Dahlia slips her cool fingers through mine and drags me, running and shoving people out of the way, out the door.
“Penelope!” Mother screams, but Dahlia’s grip is akin to steel clamps, and all I can do is look back at her and try not to join in the screaming.