Page 33 of House of Royals

The crowd dissipates with every step I take. People flood toward the doors, almost as if they can sense the danger they’ve been ignoring all night. Darkness has blanketed the town, and everyone knows not to go out after dark. Time to escape back into the safety of their homes.

But I don’t flee to safety. I’m too far past that.

I step forward, and stop right in front of Jasmine.

“I’m so pleased you could join us this evening,” Jasmine says with a smile from behind her mask. And I swear, her teeth look sharper than ever tonight. She is no longer the easygoing, soft woman who needed help with a twisted ankle. She’s a queen, a ruler, a manipulator. “Aren’t we pleased our honored guest has joined us?”

The other House members around her all stare me down and nod. They all return to their seats, except one. Four women, four men. My skin crawls, but I tell myself to not be afraid.

I want to turn and see if Ian is still standing there watching me. But I can’t. Because if he is, I will panic.

“I need to talk to you,” I say to Jasmine. At the moment, she doesn’t seem too threatening. No glowing red eyes, no face covered in terrifying veins. But there’s a reason for all the fear in this town, and she’s in charge. “I need to warn you about something that has happened.”

One of the women laughs. Really, she’s a girl. She doesn’t look much older than sixteen. Black, greasy-looking hair, a nose ring, she’s got all the attitude of every other human teenager. “Warn us. You do understand what we are, right? Why wouldweneed warning about anything?”

“Have some respect, Trinity,” Jasmine says with both ice and warmth in her voice and I’m not sure how that’s possible. “This is the daughter of our regional leader. If she has something to say, we will hear it.”

“We should get home first,” the black man says. He leans toward Jasmine when he does, but never takes his eyes off of me.

“Agreed,” Jasmine says. “I suggest we retire to the House. We can talk there, and then we will have our driver take you home.”

One of the two brothers, the one who did not ask me to dance, gives something between a sneer and a smile, and it chills me to wonder what he’s thinking.

“Alright,” I say. I’m brave. I am.

People enter the ballroom now wearing work clothes. They’re here to clean up, and with the flash of yellow eyes, I realize they too are Bitten. The House members all stand and start filing toward the front doors.

I finally understand then. The Born have red eyes, the Bitten yellow.

“Where is Markov?” Jasmine asks with impatience.

“You know exactly where he is,” the woman with the fantastic dress says with annoyance in her voice.

With a sigh, Jasmine breaks off toward that back door. For an unknown, stupid reason, I follow her.

She opens the door.

Inside, the floor is covered in splatters and smears of red. A man stands, frozen and half limp while a man in a gray suit attacks his neck.

“Markov!” Jasmine snaps. “The evening is over. Let the man go before you turn him.”

The man in the suit snaps away from the bloodied neck. His face is covered in blood, but beneath that, I see black veins rising all over his face, his eyes dark. His glowing eyes snap to me and turn wild.

“No,” Jasmine says, her tone rising only slightly. “You don’t get to touch Miss Ryan. And look at this mess you’ve made.”

The man has absolutely no regrets on his bloody face. “He made for a delicious meal.” His accent is heavily British.

“Time to go.” Jasmine sounds increasingly annoyed. But without waiting for him, she turns and walks toward the doors. I hurry to keep up with her, not about to be left with this psychopath for even one second.

OUTSIDE, SEEMINGLY WAITING FOR US, are three limos. Two are already full, so I have no choice but to ride with Jasmine and Markov.

“I really am glad that you have joined us tonight,” Jasmine says with a smile once we’ve started driving. She takes her mask off. “I’m afraid that there’s been a lot of unneeded fear created, and I worry over what you’ve been told.”

“You said there were two sides to every story,” I say, folding my hands on my lap, even though what I’m really doing is resting my hands on the most easily accessible stake hidden in my dress. “I’m just making sure I get both sides.”

“You’re a smart woman, Alivia Conrath,” Markov says as he takes a handkerchief from his pocket and attempts to clean the blood from his face. His eyes no longer glow. Jasmine smiles and crosses her legs and stretches her arms across the back of her seat.

“It’s Ryan,” I correct Markov. “I’ve never been a Conrath.”

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