by Liz Meldon
Delia stood up on her toes, her eyes fixed on the woman working her way through the crowd. People parted for her and her partner. Adrenaline coursed through the young hunter when she realized that this, in fact, might be her moment to shine. Shoving her champagne glass into the Fool’s hand, she hurried off after her target without a word. She didn’t owe him pleasantries or explanations—he could stand there by himself and contemplate how the Fool had lived up to the character he chose.
As she breezed through the open doors that exited out to a stunningly well-maintained garden, sculpted hedges and bushes lined with twinkling little lights, Delia never lost sight of the redheaded woman—not once. In fact, as she followed, she found the woman remarkably easy to tail. Dressed in an extravagant blue number with feathers and rhinestones and the absolute works, the Claudia look-alike was hard to miss.
But that was probably the point. If Delia was the head vamp, she’d probably wear a crown and cape and carry a sceptre. Vamps lived for that traditional bullshit.
Delia teetered out into the garden, wishing she’d kept her champagne glass so that she blended a little better. It seemed there were just as many guests scattered across the huge grounds as there were inside, each more outrageously dressed than the next. They were noticeably drunker out here, and Delia noted the various bar stands scattered across the scenery.
Can vamps even get drunk? It was a possibility Delia had never considered before.
In the distance, she spied a shrieking group of guests hurrying for the hedge maze, arms flailing wildly. Women, mostly, being pursued by men. Somebody was getting fucked in that array of floral corridors tonight—and it would shock her if it only happened once. A smirk touched her lips before she turned her attention back to her wandering redhead, already unlatching her clutch to grip the silver stake inside.
Unfortunately, it quickly became apparent that she wasn’t actually going to need said stake—not when it came to the redhead in question, anyway. As Delia loitered by the nearest heat source, surprised with how chilly the night had become, she watched the redhead and her gaggle of adoring onlookers—both men and women—take shot after shot at one of the small bars. The bartender even set a row of shots on fire, much to the redhead’s squealing delight, and Delia let out an annoyed sigh.
Claudia wouldn’t behave like that, not with all of her vampy minions strolling around. The woman was the mistress of seduction, not a carbon copy of every college kid Delia saw at the local bars. She’d still keep an eye on the doppelganger, but as the woman spiralled hard into a drunken stupor, the likelihood of her being the revered Claudia lessened.
Lips pursed, Delia rubbed her hands together one last time and then stepped away from the outdoor metal heater, her eyes trailing over the redhead’s companions. Maybe one of them was Claudia. Maybe Claudia was described as the woman there, but only because she accompanied the real Claudia everywhere she went.
Hmm. No, that was a stretch. But Delia refused to acknowledge that Kain had been right and Hugh had sent her to a pretentious vamp-human gathering for nothing. If any of them recognized her as an uninvited hunter, she’d have a hell of a tough time fighting her way out, especially when she wasn’t sure just how many vamps were present.
For now, she had to believe that the famed vampire mistress would show herself tonight.
Sometime. Somewhere. She had to.
“You don’t have a drink.”
The statement tickled her ears, the gentle whispers licking her lobes, yet the source came from the woman who suddenly appeared in front of her. She seemed to materialize out of nowhere, and Delia’s heart thumped painfully in her chest. Although it had been difficult to discern human from vamp for the majority of the party guests, Delia immediately knew this was an infected bloodsucker. Many wore elaborate masks, but this one had nothing more than a simple white cage, its tiny pearls blending with her pallor.
Delia swallowed hard and took a step back with all the subtlety she could muster. “No,” she agreed, her eyes darting down to her hands, one gripping her clutch so hard she could feel the outline of the stake. “I don’t.”
“What a coincidence,” the blonde purred, leaning forward in an effort to meet Delia’s eye, “neither do I.”
This wasn’t just any vamp either. Before her, leering, stood Bella Donovan, one of a trio of vampire daughters of Shane Donovan. Head of the Donovan clan, it was rumored Shane and his kin lived in a swanky hillside estate around the Harriswood valley. Pictures of the daughters were plastered all over league headquarters, listing them as particularly dangerous. Even experienced hunters like Kain preferred not to tangle with a Donovan if he could help it. Notoriously difficult to kill, they had a track record of putting good hunters into early graves.
“Well, good talk,” Delia muttered, trying to turn away, but the blonde vamp grabbed her wrist.
“Maybe you could…help me acquire a drink?” Bella’s suggestion was painfully blunt, though not quite as painful as the hold she had on Delia’s wrist.
Delia forced a smile, all the while trying to wriggle free.
“I’m so…flattered,” she said slowly, trying to mimic the vamp’s speech pattern, “but I…think I’m fine.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Bella yanked her forward, the tips of her fangs poking out from behind her ruby-red lips, the only hint of colour in her whole outfit. She was positively dripping in pearls and white gossamer fabric, her gown as icy as her stare. “It might have sounded like a question, but it wasn’t.”
Delia let out a giggle, rolling her eyes and hoping that Bella couldn’t feel her racing pulse. “Silly me.”
The vamp gave a predatory smile. Fuck.
“Delia?”
She looked back, almost gratefully, at the sound of the Fool’s voice. He strolled toward the pair, casually and calmly, a glass of champagne in hand. Once he was near, he placed his warm hand on her bare lower back and offered her the drink.
“I almost couldn’t find you,” he said, chuckling. “Are you enjoying the gardens?”
Her wrist throbbed, but at least Bella had finally released her. She looked between the two perfect strangers, vamp and human, then let out a deep breath and nodded. “Very pretty, yes.”
Lips pressed into a slight frown, Bella glanced at the Fool before stalking off, not saying a word to either of them. Apparently the Donovan girls were sore losers when someone interrupted the seduction of their next meal.
“You looked like you could use a hand,” he told her softly, bending down as if they were sharing secrets. His palm radiated warmth, a sharp contrast to the cool breeze rustling through the garden. “Is she a friend of yours?”
Delia’s grip tightened on the thin stem of the champagne glass when she realized the redhead she’d been monitoring had toddled off during the incident.
“No,” she replied tersely, his stare burning a hole in the side of her head. “She isn’t.”
“Then I’ve done my good deed for the night.” The Fool chuckled and straightened, suddenly a head taller than her again, and his hand wandered farther up her back as he nudged her into facing him.
Delia looked over his shoulder at the hotel looming behind, suddenly overwhelmed with the way the night was turning out.
“And I’ve found you a new glass of champagne. Your previous one seemed a little flat—”
“I need to pee,” she announced suddenly, her mouth moving with a mind of its own. Heat rose to her cheeks as he gawked at her, and she offered him a forced little smile. “Excuse me.”
Before he could croon anything else, Delia untangled herself from his hold, which had become quite intimate without her even realizing, and hurried for the hotel entrance. Despite the open terrace doors, the hall was much warmer than the garden, and she savoured the heat as she raced across the dance floor to the bathrooms on the other side. Much to her relief, there wasn’t a line.
Hurrying inside, she inhaled shakily once the door swung shut behind her, and then tossed the conte
nts of her champagne glass into the closest sink. An older woman with dirty blonde hair and slightly brown roots raised an eyebrow in the mirror, her mask sitting on the counter as she reapplied her make-up. Delia, with her quivering chin and clenched jaw, set the thin-stemmed glass aside before barricading herself in one of the four pristine stalls. A few stalls over, someone started puking, some of it landing noisily in the toilet, some of it splattering on the floor. Delia leaned back against the door with a groan.
The night was spiralling out of control with each hour that passed. Maybe they were right—all of them. Kain, the elders, her hunter contemporaries. Maybe there was a reason she hadn’t been given more than surveillance work and partnered pick-ups of low-level vamps in the five years she’d been a hunter with the local league. Had she seriously just expected to stroll into a formal gala and take down the elusive head vamp of the entire region?
Had she thought Claudia, even if she was there, would go down without a fight? What then? If she was being honest, she might have slightly exaggerated her own fighting abilities in her mind. While she was nowhere near the worst hunter in the league, she probably hovered slightly below average. Besides, Claudia wasn’t the only one she’d need to worry about. What had she planned to do when all of Claudia’s security lapdogs turned on her with the intent to shred a nosy hunter to pieces?
She’d been reckless, ignorant—arrogant. Her one interaction with a known vampire had fizzled out when another human had to come to her rescue, inadvertently stopping one of the Donovan girls from draining Delia in the fucking hedge maze.
Tears stung her eyes, but she hastily wiped them away. There was no point in feeling sorry for herself—she’d done enough of that already. Hugh had gotten her into a party with the elite. Social settings, especially ones with alcohol, were where she knew she could conduct herself well, so perhaps she ought to stop trying to be the brooding, dangerous hunter in the background and actually network with some of these people. It wouldn’t hurt to cultivate friends in high places.
Grabbing a wad of toilet paper, she dabbed under her eyes and wiped at her nose. Tossing the make-up covered ball in the toilet, she quickly flushed, smoothed her hands down her dress, and stepped out.
The older woman was still fussing over her make-up in the mirror, and she glanced Delia’s way when she approached the sinks. “Tough night, dear?”
Delia sensed the woman was hoping for gossip more than anything else. So, she shook her head and swiped a hand under the faucet, leisurely washing her hands in the steady stream of water that followed. “Just a little drunk,” Delia lied, adding a girlish giggle for effect.
The woman pinched her cheeks to add a little colour, though her obnoxiously red blush did enough of that already. “Well, you seem to be handling it just fine,” she offered as she headed for the exit, stringing her mask back onto her face. Her thick taupe dress swished as she sashayed by, and she paused, leaning in to add, “Which, unfortunately, is not the case for everyone.”
Right on cue, the poor soul in one of the stalls upchucked for the third time, the horrible sound followed by some sniffling and dry heaving. Delia wrinkled her nose at the smell and went for one of the intricately folded towels to dry her hands.
Although her night seemed like it was heading for disaster, at least no one knew that but her. At least she wasn’t puking her guts out in the bathroom of the Banesview Hotel.
So, really, things could have been a whole lot worse.
She pinched her nose as she went for the bathroom door, and as she marched back into the hall, Delia threw her shoulders back and inhaled a deep breath of vomit-free air, determined that the second half of the night would be leaps and bounds ahead of the first.
T H R E E
By the time Delia returned to mingling, the majority of the partygoers were inebriated—or incredibly boring. Most of the guests she had thought might be vamps had found partners to pester for the night, and she couldn’t help but wonder if the real power players had ditched the commoners to discuss business elsewhere.
Music drifted languidly from speakers around the grand ballroom, and couples whirling across the floor barely missed a beat, moving this way and that, too wrapped up in themselves to notice when the songs changed. It was a more appealing sight than the one she was used to seeing on a dance floor: Kain and his boys grinding up on drunk girls, their sense of rhythm all but absent. Most here were intoxicated, but the costumes gave a degree of modesty, and no one, as far as she could see, was mashing pelvises.
She’d had a few conversations since leaving the bathroom, but the women flying solo were more interested in finding someone to spend the evening with, while most of the men fed her the same dull lines over and over again: Why was she alone? Where was her drink? Did she know her eyes sparkled like emeralds?
Delia had just barely escaped the last guy—his breath rank with alcohol—who kept guffawing in her face whenever he cracked a joke. So there she stood, hovering on the outskirts of the dance floor, unsure of her place.
Arms wrapped around herself, she watched a nearby couple as they danced. They were both young and slim, effortlessly gliding around like they’d done it a hundred times before. Maybe they had.
She blinked quickly, bringing herself out of her daze, and tightened her grip on her clutch as the jingling of bells grew louder. The Fool had found her again.
Throughout the night she’d spied that ridiculous gold and purple mask at a safe distance out of the corner of her eye. Sometimes she actually turned and looked, only to find him chatting with one or two other people.
“Delia,” he said, dipping his head cordially as he stood beside her.
She pursed her lips, noting the barely-there gap between their bodies.
“Fool.”
She returned her gaze to the dancing couple. So elegant—hypnotic, even.
“Did you find who you were looking for?”
It took her a second to process the question, and she glanced his way curiously.
“What?”
“Earlier,” the Fool continued with a nod in the direction of the garden. “You ran after someone. Did you find them?”
“No.” Delia squared her shoulders and let out a small sigh. “Just a look-alike. I don’t think the person I want to see will show tonight.”
“Pity.” The Fool sniffed, his gaze wandering the dancing couples. “Fortunate for me, however.”
She almost laughed. “Why?”
“Because now I can enjoy the pleasure of your company… uninterrupted.”
Delia forced away the incredulous look that flashed across her face, her lips threatening to turn upward in a smile, and finally faced him.
The Fool, however, continued to study the dancers, ignoring her narrowed stare.
“Does this usually work on girls?”
“What?” he asked innocently, sparing her a quick glance, a few of his bells jingling.
“This faux-formal crap you’re spouting.” She cocked her head to the side as she waited for a response.
Slowly, a smile spread across his face, lips pulling back to reveal a set of perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. “I don’t know. Does it?”
“No,” she replied quickly, turning toward the dance floor again just before their eyes could meet. “It doesn’t.”
“Shame. And here I was thinking I’d been doing so well.”
“That’s presumptuous of you,” Delia remarked, her head tilting to one side again, mimicking the slow way the man dipped his female partner. Her fair blonde tresses tickled the floor, and they grinned at one another. Despite herself, Delia suddenly found herself grinning too.
“Hmm…”
Her skin prickled at the deep rumbly quality of his voice, but she was determined not to react to it.
“… Perhaps I can remedy that.”
She almost told him it was unlikely, all the while feeling a little guilty for her rudeness. After all, he had scared off that psychotic Donovan vamp earlier.
Even if he didn’t realize it, she actually owed him. However, before she could get another word in, the Fool snapped at a passing waitress, and the woman hurried toward them with a tray of drinks in hand.
“You seem to have lost the one I brought you earlier,” the Fool noted as he handed her a glass, which Delia took almost begrudgingly. He then looked to the waitress and gently touched her arm as he said, “And if you can manage, perhaps a red wine for myself?”
“Of course, sir.” The woman gave a small nod before hurrying away, moving with more purpose than any of the servers Delia had seen all night. She raised an eyebrow at the Fool again; he wasn’t a vamp power-player, but he had to be someone important in the human world.
He caught her studying him, and then flashed a charming smile as Delia pretended to be admiring his bells.
“Champagne gives me a headache,” he told her, as if that explained the drink request.
Delia shrugged. “Sucks to be you.” The new glass of bubbly liquid, tinged with a rose-gold hue, slid down smoothly, but she vowed that this would be the last of the night. “I love champagne.”
“I know.” He then reached up and brushed his fingertip over her cheek. Delia flinched back, nostrils flaring in alarm. Even after his arm fell back by his side, she felt the warmth of his touch on her skin. “You get a little blush every time you drink it. Quite endearing.”
“Well, that’s some extra-close attention you’ve been paying to me,” she forced out, her breath catching at the intensity of his stare. She cleared her throat as she stepped back, flustered. Genuinely flustered. Because a hot guy in a stupid mask was doting on her, and Delia wasn’t accustomed to men doting on her. The guys in her history weren’t exactly the doting type.
But then again, there really was only one reason a man would dote on her…
Her blush darkened at the thought.
Toasting him with her champagne glass, she took another few steps back, alarmed that he followed slowly.
