Page 22 of Dearest Alpha Brothers 1: Vampire Prince

“Luca?” Sylvie’s voice held that careful hope again as the sky outside deepened to purple. “Will you… join us for dinner?”

I nodded before I could overthink it, earning another of her brilliant smiles. But as we approached the family dining room, other scents hit me—rich musk and amber, citrus and sunshine, warm spice and bergamot. My fangs began to tingle.

Zane, Ryker, and Archer sat at the table, engaged in conversation with an elderly gentleman who could only be GreatUncle Johnathan—the old Luca’s memories supplied hazily. Near the window stood a tall man in a security chief uniform—Uncle Owen—beside an elegant woman with golden curls so like Sylvie’s—Aunt Senna. The old Luca had only glimpsed them through barely opened doors, heard their gentle attempts to coax him out, found their thoughtful gifts outside his room.

I froze in the doorway, overwhelmed by both these people I knew but had never truly met, and the potent mixture of the brothers’ scents. One brother was difficult enough to resist. All three again? My fangs ached at the mere thought.

“Luca.” Great Uncle Johnathan’s voice held pleasant surprise, his features softening. “How wonderful to see you joining us.”

The butler—Harrison, the old Luca’s memories supplied—rushed forward with smooth efficiency to pull out a chair, while Benedict hurried toward what appeared to be a separate preparation area. Right. I couldn’t eat regular food anymore.

“Our little prince finally emerges.” Uncle Owen’s deep voice carried warmth and careful welcome. Aunt Senna beside him practically glowed with joy.

I hesitated in the doorway, overwhelmed by the weight of their gazes—and more pressingly, the intoxicating mixture of the brothers’ scents that seemed to fill the entire room. Zane’s rich musk and amber dominated the head of the table, while Archer’s citrus-sunshine danced playfully through the air. Ryker’s warm spice and bergamot drifted between them, creating an impossible combination that made my fangs throb with need.

Sylvie gently tugged me toward the empty chair—directly across from Archer, whose brilliant smile did nothing to help my composure. Zane sat at the head of the table to my right, close enough that I could hear each steady beat of his pulse. Ryker’s knowing gaze from Archer’s left only added to my growing awareness that I was surrounded by them.

“Luca’s coming to the idol debut with us!” Sylvie’s excitement bubbled over as she settled into the chair beside me.

“Is he now?” Aunt Senna’s smile grew impossibly brighter, hope and joy radiating from her in waves.

“Are you certain that’s wise?” Zane’s low voice sent shivers down my spine. His concerned gaze fell on me, heavy with the weight of years watching over his reclusive brother. “The crowds?—”

“I’ll be fine,” I said quickly, perhaps too quickly, as several eyebrows rose at my certainty. Archer’s scent intensified as he leaned forward, and I gripped the armrest of my chair to keep from swaying toward him.

“Don’t worry, big brother.” His trademark grin flashed, drawing my attention to the strong line of his jaw, the elegant curve of his throat. “I’ll be there to protect our little brother.”

“The same brother who swears clan gatherings are ‘more tedious than council meetings’ suddenly volunteers?” Ryker’s elegant tone carried lethal amusement as his fingers traced the rim of his wineglass, the gesture oddly hypnotic. “Nothing to do with hearing the new idols are exceptionally pretty?”

“The Park Clan would consider it a slight if we didn’t attend.” Zane’s deep voice rumbled with authority. “Though I’m sure Archer’s sudden enthusiasm has nothing to do with the idols’ legendary beauty.”

Something in my chest twisted sharply at his words. The casual mention of pretty idols shouldn’t affect me—shouldn’t make my fangs ache with possessive hunger. The brothers could flirt with whoever they wanted. They weren’t really my brothers, but they thought they were, which meant any other feelings were completely inappropriate and?—

Zane shifted beside me, his scent wrapping around me like a physical caress. I bit my lip, trying desperately to focus on anything else. The elaborate table settings. The crystalchandelier overhead. The way Archer’s eyes seemed to linger on my face. No, not that.

“Dinner is served,” Harrison announced, as an array of staff entered with covered dishes. Benedict approached with what appeared to be a crystal decanter of blood, the rich scent a poor substitute for the three pulses beating so tantalizingly close.

Thank goodness for the interruption. I wasn’t sure my fangs could take much more of this exquisite torture.

The aromas hit me first—rich, complex, mouthwatering scents that made my former foodie heart weep. The staff unveiled dish after dish of what looked like a Michelin-star feast: pan-seared duck with cherry reduction, herb-crusted lamb, truffle risotto.

Back in my old life, I’d dream about meals like this while eating my third cup noodle of the day. Now here I was, surrounded by food that belonged in my favorite cooking shows, and all I could do was stare longingly while sipping blood from a crystal glass.

“The chef outdid himself tonight,” Aunt Senna commented, serving Sylvie some of the risotto. “Though Luca, darling, Benedict prepared your favorite type—AB negative, correct?”

I nodded, trying not to watch as Archer cut into his perfectly cooked duck. The way the juice ran pink… No. Focus on the blood. The very expensive, perfectly temperature-controlled blood.

“How was academy today?” Uncle Owen asked the twins, his deep voice carrying genuine interest.

“We’re learning about ancient bloodlines in History,” Hunter said between bites of lamb. “And Combat Training was interesting?—”

“He means he got his tail handed to him by Madison Blake.” Sylvie giggled.

“She cheated! That snow leopard shift was totally against regulation?—”

“Now, now,” Ryker interrupted, though his eyes crinkled with amusement. I caught him glancing at me again, his gaze thoughtful. “The Blake heir is known for her… creative interpretation of rules.”

“Creative?” Archer snorted. “Remember when shecreativelyinterpreted the no-magic rule during last year’s winter games? Half the ice rink ended up vertical.”

---