View immaculate: the glittering evening skyline of the financial district’s skyscrapers, the celebrity guest list, even the pot-bellied, bleating president holding court over the country’s greediest misers, was pageantry serving a solitary purpose.
Clout.
It took more than designer garments, a pedigree, fine schools, or even contacts to rule this world. The key was in the small moments of ruthlessness.
Such as watching my lover seduce another woman and encouraging him with a sly wink.
“A pity your father couldn’t join us.” Pompous, fleshy cheeks reddened by bourbon and the night’s chilled air, Senator Parker fisted his lapel.
I gave the unspoken complaint no weight, sipping from a coupe of champagne as I answered, “He sends his regrets.”
“I was hoping we might discuss…”
Money. He was hoping he might discuss my father’s money and how much Senator Parker might jam into his blood-drenched pockets.
“You should marry that boy.”
Now he had my attention. Skating my glance from Ethan’s antics to the scheming politician at my side, I quirked a brow.
Once upon a time the senator had been handsome and charismatic like his nephew. Now aged, and powerful enough to ignore the crutch of vigor, he’d entered his twilight years, morphing more and more into a jowly blobfish. It had been an interesting transformation to behold.
Ugly and terrible as he was, very few men could hold a stare like a cold-blooded Parker.
This offer of marriage… he wasn’t flattering me. He was trying to buy my father with the gilded Parker’s name. Which meant he knew something I didn’t.
Mistakes, oversights, plain fucking up, led to unspeakable punishments I had no interest in enduring. Senators didn’t throw their nephews at heiresses, no matter what the movies portrayed. “You anticipate my father will change factions.”
“He mentioned—”
Slipping at the mention of my father for the second time that night, I demanded an answer from a man I’d been commanded to flatter. “What did he say?”
My eyes were blue, my dress was green, and my dark hair had been spun into classic elegance. I was everything memorable and forgettable all at once. I smelled of whale vomit and dead wood.
A born vampire who could walk in the sun—the weakest of my kind and also the most valuable.
Daywalker.
The only offspring of our king.
And I was afraid of my daddy.
For good reason.
When the senator went glassy-eyed under my influence, I demanded, “Tell me what he said to you.”
“We have not spoken yet. But, immigration… he expects open borders. My platform… my base. I need to sell hate to secure the vote.”
I didn’t give a shit about politics, and my father didn’t give a shit about people. Humans were a food source, nothing more. He demanded open borders because he wanted undocumented targets to harvest.
I did mention that he was the devil…
Angry, hating being caught off guard, I used the slight influence I possessed. Touching my hand to Parker’s fluttering fingers, I planted a seed. “You’re senate majority leader. Lying to your constituents is your only vocation. Promise them whatever they want, deliver what he wants. You don’t want to disappoint Darius King, now do you?”
As I lacked the skill to fully enthrall, Senator Parker had already begun shaking off my pathetic mental influence. Ready to put a little miss in her place, he narrowed his eyes. “Well, you see, child. This is all above your pretty head.”
I was older than him by decades. Hell, I’d fucked his grandfather! But that was neither here nor there. “Of course, sir. I apologize. It’s just that I adore Ethan.”
“Then marry him.”
And that, a marriage, in this era of internet and images that even my people could not scrub out of existence, would grant me more time with my Ethan. I would not be easy to wash away. “I’ll mention the idea to Daddy.”
Sauntering away, the old man crowed, “You do that.”
Thirty years prior, I might have let the thin glass of my champagne’s coupe shatter in my hand. I might have hurt that man. But I already carried enough regrets and grasped that I’d have to pay for America’s uglier desires once my father heard this… despite my obedience.
The devil knew how to extract his due no matter how hard I’d tried to obey.
Draining the glass in my grip, I set it on a passing waiter’s tray, reaching for another.
Effervescence danced down my throat, everything gulped in a single swallow. Bubbly champagne spun in my belly, warmed me, but did nothing to slake the thirst I had ignored for the past week.
Having worked my pathetic resources on that flabby prick, working to squash the impending sense of doom, I was starving.
And no soul here could feed me.
Often, I’d flung away feeling of any sort that would not keep me breathing. Loneliness, depression, the need to run as far as I might from this horrible place. Engaging, handsome distractions had served. Obedience served.