Chapter Nine:
Jazz orchestras carried their sound throughout the house. Men in suspenders and cufflinks clinked glasses with women in silk gowns and beads. Servers drifted through the rooms with golden platters of crystal-cut glasses filled with blood. Jules leaned against one of the dressers in the dining room, a glass in hand. She kicked the wood impatiently, bored. Her black lace dress fringed at the hem and crossed around her neck, a pearl choker wrapped tightly against her throat.
The party was held every year—Lucian's attempt to keep the peace among all the vampires in the area, regardless of clan. It was his responsibility to manage the city's coven, and with that came pressure. Not only the burden of protecting the vampire secret, but the constant threat of what might rise against it.
Jules's eyes drifted to Lucian, who was surrounded by beautiful women. Women she had nothing in common with. She watched the way they brushed his arm, laughed at his remarks, and gazed at his face like it was something sacred. It made her nose crinkle. His dark hair was slicked back, though a few strands had fallen loose over his forehead. His sculpted jaw remained clenched, his face all hard angles and rigid lines.
The nerve of him, Jules thought.
A figure leaned in beside her.
Silas stood at her side, his blonde hair falling just over his brow.
"Hell of a cage he's built for you," Silas murmured, motioning lazily at the room with his pinky while the rest of his fingers curled around his glass.
Jules glanced back toward Lucian, who was deep in conversation with two men.
"You don't seem afraid of him," she said.
Silas smiled.
"Men like him don't scare me," he replied. "Women like you do."
Jules bit down on her lip.
Her eyes dropped to Silas's glass—and paused. It wasn't just blood.
Liquor.
She could smell it on him.
"How can you—?" she started.
"Get drunk?" Silas cut in.
She nodded slowly.
He lifted the glass beneath her nose. "Mix it with blood, and it doesn't take much."
His breath smelled of liquor and cigarettes.
Silas plucked a fresh glass from a passing platter and reached into his pocket, producing a silver flask. With practiced ease, he tipped the liquor into the glass and handed it to Jules.
She hesitated, then lifted it to her lips. The thick liquid burned down her throat.
Time blurred after that. A few drinks later, Jules felt looser—lighter. She laughed as she danced with Silas, his hand resting at the small of her back. Jazz sang in her ears, and for the first time in weeks, she smiled without thinking. She rested her chin on Silas's shoulder.
Across the room, Lucian watched.
He saw the way she swayed with Silas. The way she smiled when he spoke. How free she seemed in his presence. Lucian had commanded wars—this felt worse.
But it was already too late.
"Let's go somewhere he can't find us," Silas whispered into Jules's ear.
Drunk and breathless, she nodded.
As she squeezed Silas's hand, her head spun pleasantly. It was a feeling she'd missed more than she realized—like a spark of life returning. Like maybe everything wasn't so hopeless after all.
They reached the doors.
Lucian stepped into their path.
He didn't touch Jules. His eyes never left Silas.
"She stays," Lucian said.
"You don't own her," Silas shot back.
"I keep her alive," Lucian replied flatly.
Silas clicked his tongue, his gaze flicking briefly to Jules before returning to Lucian.
"Funny," he drawled. "She looks like she's suffocatin'."
Lucian didn't move.
Jules swallowed, red-hot anger blooming in her chest. Her eyes burned into Lucian's. Before she could speak, Silas was gone—vanished as if he'd never been there at all.
Lucian's expression hardened.
"One day," he said quietly, "you'll learn the hard way."
The words clung to Jules long after the music resumed.