Page 117 of Undying
I’m not surprised that vampires love to play with danger.
Many of them are so old that they can withstand the dangers of being exposed to the sunlight for limited amounts of time and would rather have the extra escape routes than be trapped in a room and vulnerable to being slaughtered.
A long table nearly spans the length of the room, two dozen odd chairs scattered around it. The place is packed with vampires of every age. While some wear modern clothing, others look like they’re caught in a time warp, their outfits from eras long gone.
When we enter, the murmurs die down and everyone turns toward us as one, like some sort of creepy horror show. The air is practically suffocating with everyone’s self-importance. Groups are clustered around the room, and I immediately pick out seven of the masters.
They’re dressed to the nines and peer down at everyone else like we’re lower than dirt, their expressions so snobbish that I’m sure that if they tried to smile, their faces would crack. I don’t look at anyone too long, not wanting to invite their attention, sensing it would be a mistake that could get me killed.
I glance around the room, assessing the threats and taking note of the exits. There aren’t any guards, per se, but I can see each house has their own delegates.
No one says a word of welcome—an intimidation tactic, no doubt, as they use the time to assess every inch of me.
I let them look, actually preferring that they keep their distance.
I try to pick out Julius from the crowd—I doubt he will be happy to see me after his attempt to drug us failed—but none of these assholes look overjoyed to have a girl in their all-dick club.
A gong breaks the awkward silence, and everyone moves toward the table and takes their seats. Stanton touches my lower back, silently guiding me to the empty spot Dafoe must have occupied. I’m sitting in the middle of the table, and I’m not sure if my position means anything or not.
A vampire takes a seat beside me, his smile a little too friendly. With his greasy hair slicked back, his pasty complexion blotchy, he gives off major creep vibes. Though he may be dressed in a fancy suit, the man obviously has delusions of grandeur.
I don’t return his smile, turning away and giving my attention to Stanton, but not before I see malevolence stirring in his dark gaze at the snub. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out he does the wet work for his house and enjoys it a little too much. I’m intimately familiar with their work. Dafoe handed me over to a couple of his specialists after he was done playing with me.
Conversation resumes, and my presence is ignored. No one sits at the head or the foot of the table, and I grimace when I see two large thrones waiting at the ends. Every vampire sits with their second-in-command at their right, while the rest of their entourage lingers behind them, standing as guards.
I take the time to study each of the masters. While a couple ignore my presence, like I’m beneath their notice, most openly stare. It’s only then that I notice the absence of women. Only two are in the room. The pale beauties are draped in clothing that reveals more than it conceals, their skin practically dripping in jewels.
They sit behind their masters like beautiful little dolls on display.
One has a vacant look in her eyes. No one has been home in a while, and I feel a stab of pity for the poor woman. I take note of where she sits, not recognizing the man who has claimed her, but I suspect that I already know the answer—Julius.
The other woman glares at me with such vehemence that I’m taken aback. When her eyes flick toward Stanton, I know I’ve been dismissed. Her gaze greedily slides over every inch of him, and my hackles rise at the possessive look in her soulless green eyes. Jealousy sears through me, and I want to snarl and tell her to keep her eyes in her head or I will remove them.
Stanton’s hand lands on my bare leg, giving it a comforting, or maybe warning, squeeze. It’s only when he slides his hand higher that I look away and relax into his touch.
The men chatter about business, a few of them glaring at me like I’m a fraud. One particularly cranky old bastard with an ancient, ill fitting wig and powdered face can’t seem to hold back his indignation anymore. “She’s obviously a fraud. Female lines are meticulously mapped. She should be banished to the basement until we can train her to know her place.”
I give the douche a smile, flashing him my fangs, and he practically quivers in outrage at the insult. Before he can vent his rage, a man from the opposite end of the table stands and claps his hands.
Around a dozen servers enter the room, each carrying a crystal decanter and a tray of goblets. The rich smell of blood perfumes the air when they work their way around the room, filling the cups and handing them out one by one.
One vampire in the guard ignores the offered goblets and lunges for the server, his fangs sinking into the poor guy’s neck. As he guzzles the blood, it spills down his chin in a river of red. The donor stiffens, obviously in pain, but no one else reacts. The server doesn’t bother to fight, not even when his legs give out beneath him.
The asshole finally releases him with a snarl, his fangs dripping blood, obviously enjoying himself. Memories of other fangs piercing my body have me tensing, and it’s only Stanton’s sharp claws on my leg that keep me in my seat.
None of the other servers react, just pick up the fallen man’s limbs and drag him out of the room, leaving behind a large swath of smeared blood. A glance around the room reveals that no one else really noticed the altercation.
Except one.
The young vampire sitting across from me catches my attention, the beautiful Asian crinkling his nose in disgust at the display. As if he can sense me watching, he turns and smiles, his fangs carefully hidden. Though he may look like a teenager, the age of him presses down on me, and if I had to guess, I’d swear he’s nearly as old as Stanton.
“You just don’t want to come out of the dark ages…literally.” He rolls his eyes at the idiot in the wig, and the old fool looks like he’s being forced to suck lemons. “Instead of jumping to conclusions, we could simply ask her how she became the last surviving member of Dafoe House. If she defeated Dafoe, she is a master in her own right and deserves to sit at the gathering.”
I relax slightly at the voice of reason…until he speaks again.
“If she is lying, then I will personally escort her to the dungeons myself.”
And there is the asshole mentality I normally associate with vampires.
