Page 7 of A Sacrifice in the Smoke

“Carpe noctem,” one of the wives murmurs, drawing my attention to her. Her garnet-colored eyes flicker in the light from the chandelier, unmistakable even through a mask. Evangeline. She’s the king’s favorite, and everyone knows it. Her disregard for human life is matched by her thirst for power.

She’s also Henry’s mother.

“Carpe noctem,” I say in return, knowing she won’t recognize my voice. Despite the years we lived beneath the same roof, Evangeline rarely deigned to speak with me. Once I grew older, I realized it was because she didn’t see me as a threat. However much the king may have loved me, I would never rule or accomplish anything greater than a lovely garden.

I wonder if she would view me as a threat now.

She’s already forgotten me, though, in favor of extending a greeting to Noah. There’s a subtle change in her voice, a touch of cloying flirtation. The bounty hunter’s face doesn’t need to be on display for his beauty to be obvious—it’s in the hard lines of his body, the strong set to his jaw, the light that burns in his dark eyes, constant as the moon in the night sky.

As he replies to her, bending to brush a kiss across the back of her hand, a hiss of jealousy sounds in my head.Mine,the monster snarls. Thankfully, Noah and Evangeline don’t seem to feel my glare. I manage to turn away, grateful once again for the mask. It may very well be the thing that saves my life tonight.

Standing beyond the line of wives, there’s a small crowd near a table. Velvet fabric gives off the softest of gleams, protecting the real wood I know hides beneath. Antique candelabras and tall red candlesticks shine over small drawstring bags. Party favors. When there’s a celebration at the mansion, it’s done in style. Doubtless there will be some chocolate kisses—chocolate has become a hot commodity since the end of the world—and highly-sought after electronics from Lancaster.

“Start doing the rounds,” Noah mutters, coming up from behind. He flattens his palm against the small of my back and I try to ignore the thrill that goes through me. “Remember, when you’re trying to gain someone’s trust, don’t ask questions. Create a monologue. Oh, and nod a lot, too. That seems to help.”

My heart lurches. When I’d imagined this night, facing my family and trying to figure out which one to hand over to the Vampire King for certain death, Noah had been at my side through all of it. “Remember? You’venevertold me this before,” I hiss.

“Haven’t I? Could’ve sworn I mentioned it in the car.”

I glare at him for the thousandth time, but the bounty hunter doesn’t even notice, because he’s walking away. “Noah, where are you going?” I shout-whisper at his retreating back. He’s heading in the opposite direction of the ballroom.

“There’s someone I need to talk to,” he tosses over his shoulder. Then he disappears around a corner.

Fuming, I stand there for a few seconds. When I feel curious stares on me, I make my way toward the ballroom, pretending to be fascinated by everything else. I step through the double doors and immediately recognize Beatrix’s flair. The cavernous space has been decorated in themes of black, red, and antique silver. Moonlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows and doors. Along the sides and in the corners, there are intimate, silk-wrapped alcoves, meant to provide privacy for those who prefer to feed without an audience.

The Vampire King’s throne stands at the far end, a monstrosity made of silver. Relief whispers through my heart when I see that it’s empty. He won’t come until much later, of course—the king has better things to do with his time than attend yet another party.

Laughter and conversations fill my ears, then, and I tear my eyes away from the throne. There are vampires everywhere. So many colors, swirling skirts, and flashing teeth. Thankfully, the air smells only of food and humans—vampires typically avoid perfume and cologne, as our senses are so enhanced. At a party like this, the scents would be overwhelming.

To my left, along the wall, there’s another table, this one much wider and longer than the one by the entrance. Placed strategically among the dishes are vases with marbles and beads. My eyes roam over the enormous offering of food, prepared by a five-star chef, no doubt. Blood cookies, stuffed mushrooms, crab puffs, baked artichoke squares with sun dried tomato pesto, avocado wrapped in prosciutto, gourmet cheeses cut into diamond shapes served with water crackers, spiced walnuts, caviar with toast points, skewers of cherry tomatoes with fresh basil and mozzarella drizzled in balsamic reduction. There’s even a chocolate fountain, with cake and strawberries on the side.

Then, a few seconds later, I spot them. My favorite chocolate ganache mini cupcakes, always topped with fresh blood drops. At that moment, it hits me—I miss this. I miss the mansion and the decadence. I miss the security of knowing I’m amongst my own kind and the warmth of unquestioned acceptance.

Another frown tugs at the corners of my mouth. In a futile attempt to outrun a rush of shame, I walk through the crowd. As the minutes tick by, it begins to feel like being stranded on a life-raft at the center of a salty sea—blood, blood everywhere, but nary a drop that I’m allowed to drink. I can’t draw any more attention to myself and I don’t trust my control over the monster.

But how to find a traitor amongst my family, in addition to escaping their notice? I could start, I suppose, by talking to the gossips. If anyone in the mansion is acting suspicious, there’s bound to be a rumor. If nothing comes of that, though, I know who I’ll need to seek out next.

The slaves.

The thought of endangering one of them makes me feel sick.Gossips it is, I think. It may not be a great plan, but at least it’s a plan. When another slave walks past, tray held aloft, I quickly grab a champagne flute and down half of it in a greedy gulp. There are notes of blood within the bubbles, which is just enough to take the edge off.

Slightly calmer, slightly more in control, I rest my glass on the mantelpiece next to a family photograph. Except this isn’t the original photograph, I know, because there’s no sign of me in it. Where I once stood, in the third row back, just behind all the wives, there is only the front of someone else’s suit.

They removed me from the photo.

Before the hurt can set in, my mind flies toward the person who makes me laugh most.I wish Drew was here.This truth is a pain all its own, no less substantial, and I press a hand against my chest as though pressure alone will stop the ache.

Then Noah arrives in a rush of air and familiar scent. The set of his jaw radiates irritation. “Found one of my contacts,” he growls. “She said Leo’s new master should be here… but either he’s running late, or Reinmar decided not to attend this evening. I’ve been all over this goddamn house and there’s no sign of him.”

“Leo? No, wait, hold on. Did you sayReinmar?” I ask with raised brows. When Noah gives me a terse nod, I purse my lips to contain a giggle. “Getting information from him might be difficult to do. I mean, considering he’s several hundred years old and only speaks pre-Teutonic German. Your contact must’ve forgotten to mention that.”

Or she simply didn’t know, which is entirely possible. The auctioneers of New Ve—a wealthy shapeshifter family that’s been here as long as Alexander—don’t exactly research their buyers. They don’t care where the money comes from so long as it continues coming.

“Fuck,” Noah mutters with a thunderous expression. I would bet all the money I have left that his contact will be getting another visit. Not a pleasant one, either.

“Can we focus on why we’re here?” I ask. “I know we need to find Leo, but this is important, too. And I was just about to start my first interrogation.”

To my surprise, Noah doesn’t retort with one of his usual one-liners or insults. Something has caught his attention, and I follow his gaze. No, not something. Someone. At the edge of the dance floor, a vampire stands in a half-circle of admirers. The bones in her wrist jut out delicately as she holds a glass of wine, and her dark hair is so long that it brushes her lower back. Her red dress clings to every dramatic curve.

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