Page 4 of The Stars and the Stage
“Good evening, my dear guests…” Diego kept an edge to their lofty tone. They did not want to come off as cruel, but merely hints of sinister: a creature both beautiful and threatening.
The guests in question bowed and curtseyed.
Diego walked among them, eyes roving and lips quirked. They paused before a vampire in a deep plum dress, her rented jewels gleaming in the candlelight. “Lady Lissette.”
Many of the guests attended under fictional names, and Diego knew those who weren’t regulars by the photos they’d submitted, along with a survey of preferences and character stories that the club could use to shape their experience to best suit them. Lissette smiled politely, and the human on her arm bowed his head.
Diego turned their attention to him. “And who is this?” They added a slight purr to the line, which made Lissette’s real-life husband, Henry, flush nearly as red as his hair.
Lissette petted his fingers, possessively. “Pretty, isn’t he?”
“He certainly smells lovely.” Diego leaned in, breathing against Henry’s neck. The way his gaze snapped to Lissette’s fangs told Diego they were playing the scene just right. They stepped back with a huff. “But is he worthy of you? How deep does his desire run?”
“My dedication to my lady is endless,” Henry replied, not taking his eyes off Lissette.
Diego made an unsatisfied sound and smiled, just a little wicked. “Perhaps later we’ll make you prove that.”
They moved on to the sapphic couple a few paces down. Countess Amile perched on the edge of the table, holding her vampiric lover possessively as she chatted with the person beside her. Each time Amile nudged against her lover’s lips, the vampire would open her mouth and let her partner prick her finger, receiving a dose of blissful vampiric venom before Amile withdrew to press the cut to a white handkerchief.
Diego hadn’t found someone they’d felt comfortable playing that docile a role with—to give venom without receiving any blood, offering their fangs so intimately to another person and expecting nothing in return still terrified them—but this vampire, whose stage name she’d written only asAmile’s, seemed utterly content with it… and just as content with the way her human lover’s hand was clearly fiddling beneath her dress.
“Are you keeping her fangs sharp, Countess?” Diego teased, and when Amile nudged her vampire’s mouth back open to show them off, Diego dared a soft touch to one of them.
That was the beauty of this event, they thought—that whatever dynamics were acted out, every vampire’s fangs were treated as something special and important. Not monstrous, not disgraceful, but beautiful. They bared their own, and Amile beamed in response.
Diego moved throughout the room, engaging with the guests who desired it and exchanging simple nods with the ones who had marked themselves as uninterested. Each time they passed one of the humans who’d come without a partner, they made a show of eyeing the person over: a lick of the lips, a kiss on the hand, a finger to the pulse. In some places, androgyny such as theirs was seen as deviant, but here it was desirable—this lord of the vampires could be anyone’s fantasy. Soon though, Diego would have to choose who would get to be claimed by them for the next three weeks.
The young woman in the black dress could make a fine choice for a femme fatale working her way to the top through mysterious means, or perhaps the silver fox with his elegant cane could be Diego’s by right of his age. Or they could fluster everyone by choosing one of the two humans dating Duke Quincy.
The little head table that overlooked the room had two chairs already behind it, two place settings, and one circlet of gems, deep blue and sparkling. Mine, the circlet said. Claimed.
Diego made a show of fingering it as they passed, giving time for the guests to mingle around the edges of the room, wine flowing and chatter rising and falling, little storylines playing out simultaneously. Valentine slipped up beside Diego. They could barely hear him beneath the jovial voices and low orchestral music.
“We have a latecomer. He’ll burst through the front once you make your announcement.”
“A human?”
“Yes.”
That could change things. Another piece on the board—one Diego would be expected to put more weight on due to the dramatics of the situation. Usually special entrances like this were bestowed by Serina on more experienced guests; Diego would have to trust that their boss knew what she was doing. “Well, let’s get this party started then, shall we?”
Valentine smiled.
As he backed away, Diego stepped toward the guests, raising their voice enough that the hidden mic on their collar would carry their proclamation to the far sides of the room. “It may have come to your attention that my last human consort has recently… disappointed me.” They let the vague statement linger, allowing the guests to draw their own conclusions. “This opens a place at my side: coveted; esteemed. Be warned though, those who strive to claim it must prove themselves beyond a doubt. I will not see the mistakes of my previous partner repeated. If you want to be the one blessed with my fangs, you will have to bare your throat.” They let their gaze drift from human to human, lingering on those who’d marked themselves as interested in participation. Their lips twisted, not in threat but in challenge, and they bared their teeth, letting their tongue grace the fangs they were offering up, a drop of their intoxicating venom already pooling at the tips. “Are there even any here worthy of such an honor? Announce yourself, if you wish to claim the place of my consort, and we’ll discover whether or not I find you wanting.”
Excited murmurs came from the shifting crowd. The woman in the black dress was the first to move, followed quickly by three others, but none of them had a chance to voice their intentions before the disruption. Even knowing it was coming, Diego flinched as the double entrance doors were heaved open, their heart giving a little jump. Then, it seemed to stop beating entirely.
Standing in the entrance, one hand still clutched to the edge of each door, was Maddox.
He wore a fantastical array of stormy blues, his half tunic pinned to one shoulder by a golden brooch, and a fitted suit beneath, his elegant black leather motorcycle boots blending seamlessly into the costume. The draping line of sapphire lookalikes in his hair seemed picked precisely to match with Diego’s, and his intentions could not have been clearer than the heat of his gaze. He fixed his attention on Diego like they were his only reason to exist. “Take me as your consort, my lord.”
Diego’s lungs tightened against the burning of their chest. Their world tunneled to just Maddy as he strode into the room, across the cleared central space, each step the sound of a war drum. He was here, in Diego’s space, in Diego’shome.
And everyone was watching, expectant.
“Prince Maddox of the Grave Gate.” They sneered, throwing in the latter half of the title as a reference to San Salud’s famous cemeteries. They paced as they spoke, like this was all part of the scene. Like it wasn’t threatening to destroy them. “Have you forgotten how you last betrayed me when I came to your kingdom? How you took our love and threw it on the pyre?”
“I have not forgotten,” Maddox replied. “Not for a day nor an hour.” He had always been lithe, but he came to a halt with the grace of a panther, and in a dramatic, sweeping motion he dropped to his knee, the drapes of his outfit flaring around him. “And I return to you to beg your forgiveness. I submit my life unto you; take me if you wish or discard me if it suits you.”
