When we were all out of the vehicle—eight vampires in assorted red-carpet wear—he stepped aside and gestured grandly toward the sidewalk. “Have a lovely evening.”
“Thank you.”
Shutters began clicking, screens pointed in our direction as the paparazzi caught the scent of blood, and they focused on Seri. She had an amazing way of seeming to ignore them while presenting exactly the right angle to their cameras, just the right expression of not caring and demanding their attention. She worked the dress, too, using her shoulders and hips and legs to show off its strange angles before sashaying toward the gate, Odette trailing behind her. There was a definite gleam in Seri’s eye when she reached me.
“There is a time for politics,” she said, “and a time for beauty.”
I nodded, ignored the quickening of my heartbeat, the magical anticipation that rode beneath the skin. There was also a time for confrontation. And I had a feeling it would be sooner rather than later.
• • •
Paris was beautiful, and Maison Dumas was gorgeous. But there was something to be said for Cadogan House in late summer, when the trees were full, the air smelled of smoke and meat, and the lawn glimmered with torches. The House’s lawn was enormous, big as a park with walking trails, copses of trees, and benches placed just so to take advantage of the views. Vampires from more than a dozen countries were enjoying the balmy air, walking across the soft grass with champagne flutes in hand as jazz filled the air, accompanied by the heady scent of August flowers.
“First,” Seri said, “a drink.” She glanced around the lawn. “Ah!” she said, and pointed toward a waiter with a silver tray. Butwhen she began to walk in his direction, and I obediently moved to follow her, she stopped and held up a hand.
“Elisa, you are dear to me, and while I would be happy to have your company this evening, this is the first time you’ve been home in years.” She put a hand on my arm. “You should take this opportunity to visit friends and family. I’m sure they have missed you.”
“I’m working,” I reminded her. “I’m your escort.”
“Odette will be with me.” She glanced around. “Besides, we are at your parents’ home, surrounded by allies and guards. The talks proceeded without violence, if with a bit more drama than I’d have appreciated, and there’s no reason to think there will be violence here tonight. Even if there was, there are plenty here to assist.” She squeezed the hand already on my arm. “There is no need to be concerned.”
“You’re sure?” I didn’t mind a good party, but I didn’t want to shirk my duties.
“I am sure. I spoke with Marion, as well, and we agreed you should be able to visit with your loved ones.”
“All right,” I said, figuring I’d do both. I could enjoy the party, but stay within sight of Seri and Marion in case I needed to intervene. And she was right: The guards and vampires here were more than capable.
“In that case, I’ll see you later.”
And I walked toward Cadogan House to face the monster again.
EIGHT
It had been four years, but Cadogan House smelled exactly the same: like wood polish and fresh flowers, the scent from the enormous vase of wildflowers on the pedestal table in the foyer. There were parlors off to each side, a curving oak staircase that led to the first floor, and a long, central hallway that led to the cafeteria and offices.
I walked to the pedestal table, let fingers trail across slick and smooth wood. And the memory crept into view like a photograph.
I’d been sixteen, coming downstairs to the foyer to wait for Lulu; she was going to sleep over.
I’d found Connor slouched on a wooden bench—back against the wall and long legs stretched out in front of him. He wore snug jeans and a T-shirt beneath a black moto-style jacket. His arms had been crossed over his chest and his eyes were closed, so a fan of dark lashes brushed his cheeks. His hair had been longer than it was now—thick, dark locks that brushed his shoulders—and his lips had been curved in a smile.
He’d looked, I’d thought, like a very wicked and happy angel.
“What’s up, brat?” he’d asked, without opening his eyes.
“Do you call all vampires ‘brat’ these days?” I’d asked, walking closer.
“I can smell your perfume.”
I’d blinked. I’d worn the same fragrance for years—a pale pinkliquid in a square bottle that smelled like spring flowers—but I’d never have thought he’d noticed.
“Wolf,” he’d said, opening his eyes drowsily. “Predatory sense of smell.”
“So you say. Making yourself at home?” I’d asked, nudging the toe of his boot.
“The Pack’s an ally,” he’d said. “Aren’t we supposed to make ourselves at home?”
“You want a drink and a snack plate, too? Maybe a blanket?”