Chapter Sixteen
Sage
The Bright estate is lit up like it's trying to outshine the stars—floodlights, garlands, fountains.
Cars snake up the drive, polished and gleaming, their passengers dressed to kill, handing off keys to valet boys in pressed uniforms. The fountain at the garden's center sprays colored arcs of water while speakers play some orchestral piece too dramatic for what this event is.
Old money on full display, gaudy as hell.
The mayor calls it personal, hosting here instead of town offices.
But everyone with half a brain knows the truth—he wants to tie himself to Darius Hawthorn and this deal.
Harlan Bright, the eternal candidate. Every move calculated with reelection in mind.
Disgusting, if it weren't so predictable.
And Darius, of course, knows exactly how to make him dance.
So here we are. Armed, polished, playing our roles. We step out of the cars together, Donna meeting us since this is her home.
Asher offers me his hand as I climb out, and then the two brothers flank me like twin shadows as we move toward the lights.
Behind us, Winston, Jace, Tomas, Astrid, and Eira follow.
Winston even closed the bar again for this, muttering he wasn't about to let us face "the damn rich bastard" without him.
I hate that it costs him business, but he made his choice without hesitation.
Kayden leans in close, palm settling on the bare line of my back. "Still not sure if I want to cover you with my jacket," he growls low, "or rip that dress off completely."
It's literally his hand on skin. Donna made sure of that.
She personally barred anyone else from choosing my dress, declaring, "If Astrid picked, you'd end up in plain steel armor." Even with her hands full preparing for the event, she found time to drag something out of her seamstress on a rush order. What she chose… well, armor it is not.
Inky black silk that clings and flows like water, the back plunging down to my tailbone, thin crisscross straps barely holding it in place.
A deep V cut in the front, stopping at my ribs, sheer panel hidden beneath for support.
A high slit, a silver clasp at the hip shaped like a leaf, the latter detail Donna's personal touch hinting at my nature.
This afternoon, when I stepped into the living room wearing it, neither brother spoke. Kayden looked torn between kissing Donna and staking her. Asher muttered something sharp in Gaelic and refused to translate.
Too late to change, so here we are.
The brothers are sharp in tuxedos—Asher's with military detailing, crisp lines, Kayden's a more classic cut that lets his arrogance do the work. Our crew looks equally striking: Astrid in a tailored men's suit, shoulders squared, daring anyone to comment. No one would be that stupid, I'm sure.
Eira in flowing white, ethereal as a beautiful ghost made flesh. Winston, Tomas, and Jace stuffed into tuxes too: Jace smug as if he were born in one, Winston tugging at his collar like it's choking him, and Tomas wearing the expression of a man sentenced to death by bow tie.
"If you ripped it off here, we'd draw even more attention," I mutter under my breath.
On the surface, I keep my expression cool, detached, and polished, the kind of upper-class mask I learned young and swore I'd never wear again. But it comes in handy now. I hold it in place while my eyes sweep the crowd.
I feel the stares—men and women both. And I don't know if it's the dress, the two vampires flanking me, or the allure bleeding off me because my nerves won't stay caged. Probably all of it.
"I'm not sure we can get more attention," Asher says dryly, noting every glance like he's cataloging threats.
I can feel Kayden winding up for something sharp when Donna sweeps in to intercept us, glowing gold under the lights. Her gown catches every shimmer, her jewelry making her look like she stole a piece of the constellation.
"Here you are," she says brightly.
I glance at her fully covered neckline, then at my own very-much-not, and narrow my eyes. "Really? You put me in this—" I gesture at the deep plunge, the bare back, "—while you button yourself up to the chin?"
Donna waves me off like I'm spouting nonsense. "I've got plenty of skin showing." She angles her leg to show the high slit, stilettos flashing like glass daggers. "And you? You've got curves for days, but keep hiding under their shirts. Time to shake things up."
Kayden groans. "Oh yes, wonderful plan—half-naked wife paraded in front of half the town and a satyr who already thinks he owns her."
"Imagine his face," Donna shoots back instantly. "He'll be sick with jealousy."
That shuts Kayden up for half a beat. Long enough for Asher to add, calm and quiet, "He already is."
"Not as much as he'll be when the two of you have her on your arms while he's forced to behave," Donna counters without missing a step.
Kayden scowls, muttering, "Have you always been this insufferably bright, or just when it comes to fashion?"
"Always," she huffs. "You never noticed because you're busy being a giant pain in the ass."
Kayden shrugs. Fair enough.
We move on, Donna falling in beside us.
"How's it progressing?" Asher asks, voice low but clipped.
"All according to plan. Father strutting around like he ascended Olympus, Mother fussing with her ladies-in-waiting. The usual just grander." Donna gestures toward the raised dais where cameras flash and journalists circle like vultures. "Pre-interviews before the speeches and the signing."
"I don't clock many of his people," Astrid murmurs behind me.
I realize the same. Only a handful I recognize.
"Can't smell them either," Winston adds, quieter. "But with this many bodies and perfumes, hard to be sure."
I glance back at him. "We smell different to you?"
Winston nods. "Yeah. Learned to tell this week, tracking them. Each has a note to them."
"Undertones," Jace cuts in. "Like moss and damp earth. Or fresh water. Meadows. Blooming trees. Subtle, but it's there if you know to look."
Tomas scans the perimeter, arms folded. "Plenty of security, but most are human."
"As if he's saying he's not here for a fight," Asher mutters, frowning.
"Or setting up an ambush," Kayden counters flatly.
My gaze finds Eira. "Do you feel anything?"
She tilts her head, pale hair falling like a veil. "Death has been around since the bar. It's not closer here than anywhere else. But I can't predict it." Her eyes flick to me, heavy, deliberate, like she's trying to read more than I want her to.
I shake it off and keep moving with the others toward the central courtyard. Servers drift through the crowd with trays of drinks and bite-sized food. We each grab a glass—props as much as refreshment—while our eyes keep scanning.
And then I see him. Darius.
Center stage, speaking to a dazzling blond journalist who beams up at him like he invented charm. Darlene and Johnny flank him at a respectful distance, dressed formal but muted.
And Darius himself. Flawless, as always. Timeless elegance draped over him with perfection, every word, every tilt of his hand drawing admiration. The group around him leans in, feeding off his presence.
Then, as if on cue, his head turns. His eyes cut through the crowd and find me. It's precise and immediate, as if he knew exactly where I'd be.
His gaze drags down slowly, then climbs back up. His nostrils flare. The pause fractures his rhythm, though he recovers instantly, turning back to the journalist with seamless charm.
But I felt it.
"He saw us," I say under my breath.
Kayden leans closer, voice low and sharp. "You don't say. He practically swallowed you whole."
"Can you blame him, though?" Jace remarks, deadpan, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.
Asher leans toward Donna, his voice low, meant only for us. "Did you get a chance to look at the deal?"
Donna swallows a mouthful of prosecco, then nods.
"I did. Father practically begged me to be involved.
And honestly?" She hesitates. "It's generous.
I went through it line by line—no small print, no hidden clauses.
On paper, it's a very good deal for the town.
I can see why Father's been walking on air since it landed in his lap. "
"So we're… not supposed to stop the signing then?" Jace asks, brows lifted. "I mean, a good deal's a good deal, right?"
Kayden turns on him, sharp. "You sound like you're ready to sign up as his junior associate fund manager."
Jace glares back. "I would. Aside from his obsession with Sage, I haven't seen what's so wrong about Darius or his operation."
"How about the blood-trafficking business?" Donna cuts in, her tone pointed.
Jace exhales hard, doesn't answer.
"Oh, so that's acceptable because it's done to vampires?" Donna presses, not angry so much as caught in her own war with the thought.
Jace lifts his hands slightly. "I'm not saying it's not shady. But if their blood heals people, and he's putting down violent vampires in the process, how is that evil?"
The words hang. It's not just Jace thinking it.
Kayden's snarl breaks the quiet. "Why don't you walk over there and lick his ass directly, pup?"
I grab his arm. "Not here. Not now. We need to stay a team." My eyes plead with him: don't blow this.
His jaw grinds. He yanks free just enough to snatch a flute off a passing tray, shoving it back at the startled waiter. "Get me a real drink. Scotch. Neat. Not this bubbly shit." The poor guy stammers, nods, and flees.
I turn back to the others, my voice low. "That's the danger. Darius can afford to make good on every promise. He can buy loyalty, sink his claws into Briar Hollow until no one remembers the town without him."
Asher studies me, tone calm but weighted. "So he plays the long game. Wears us down. And in the end… gets you back this way? How does he think this will work?"