glanced up from time to time to notice how the beautiful yet vapid-looking redhead seemed to be drinking in his hushed words.
A spear of jealousy sliced through her, and she wanted to bitch-slap herself when she recognized the feeling. The only time she had felt this emotion was when Ares had left her side shortly after her exile from Olympus to take care of his wounded daughter, Adrestia. Even then, the scathing feeling had held nothing of substance compared to the flare inside her suddenly rapidly beating heart tonight.
Adri let her gaze roam over the room, all while she kept half an ear to her neighbor’s chatter and nodded here and there to give the impression she was listening to him.
As her sight alighted on Susan a few tables away, a wave of cold danced over her skin. Exactly like that moment in the lobby when she’d entered the hall. This time, the creepy sensation crawled all over her naked back, inching upward like an itch.
That was when a man bent to speak in Susan’s ear. The silver-haired woman looked up at him and nodded, before she returned to the conversation at the table. Was this her mystery lover, the one who, she’d confessed to Adri, had rocked her world with his prowess in the bedroom?
Something was wrong in this picture. The slimy sensation of unease refused to leave her, and it intensified when Susan stood and excused herself from the table.
What is she up to?
Her instincts told her nothing good would happen from here on. The certainty settled with a pang inside her heart, at the same time the cold sweat that broke over her skin chilled her to the bones. Only once had she felt this aura of dread and desperation—on the night Sera had been turned.
In the name of all that is holy— was Susan cavorting with a vampyre? They were renowned for their sexual appetites and skills, when their bed partner lived to recount the experience.
Adri pushed her chair back and excused herself from the table. She had to find Susan.
Upon exiting the Great Hall, she made her way to the stairs that led to the first floor and the Medieval Art galleries. The feeling of oppression grew deeper as she entered the wide room and stepped through rows of Byzantine, Romanesque, and Gothic sculptures. At the door on her left leading to the galleries of European Sculpture and Decorative Arts, she paused. A thick cloak of doom blanketed the doorway, making her more than reluctant to step into the room. She usually avoided this section like the plague; Bernini’s Bacchanal exposed there being a reminder she didn’t need of her real father’s existence. Dionysos, also known as Bacchus.
But Susan was in there; she knew it. She had to help her friend.
On a deep breath, Adri crossed the threshold. Walking through the wide, usually airy room was like trying to break the surface when drowning in a vat of thick honey. The atmospheric pressure crushed her ribs, forcing the breath out of her.
Then she saw it, and froze. At the foot of Houdon’s Bust of Voltaire lay an inert Susan on the marble floor. A pool of blood slowly grew wider at her neck, her skin ashen like the palest cinder of wood burned and burned for days.
There should’ve been much more blood on the floor to account for the horrific paleness. Unless...
Her suspicions confirmed when she lifted her eyes and saw the dark mist hovering over the lifeless body. The shape solidified in mid-air, taking the form of the man who had spoken to Susan a few moments earlier.
No. This cannot be.
She must’ve gasped, because he turned and saw her. The fist of recognition slammed into her belly when she realized she had seen him once before, skulking around the library in ancient Alexandria.
If he’d survived through all those centuries, that meant he was indeed a supernatural creature. But not a vampyre, since vampyres bled their victims dry.
Mon Dieu, not...
Just then, the creature solidified on his feet and threw his head back to bellow a laugh.
“Your time is
A spear of jealousy sliced through her, and she wanted to bitch-slap herself when she recognized the feeling. The only time she had felt this emotion was when Ares had left her side shortly after her exile from Olympus to take care of his wounded daughter, Adrestia. Even then, the scathing feeling had held nothing of substance compared to the flare inside her suddenly rapidly beating heart tonight.
Adri let her gaze roam over the room, all while she kept half an ear to her neighbor’s chatter and nodded here and there to give the impression she was listening to him.
As her sight alighted on Susan a few tables away, a wave of cold danced over her skin. Exactly like that moment in the lobby when she’d entered the hall. This time, the creepy sensation crawled all over her naked back, inching upward like an itch.
That was when a man bent to speak in Susan’s ear. The silver-haired woman looked up at him and nodded, before she returned to the conversation at the table. Was this her mystery lover, the one who, she’d confessed to Adri, had rocked her world with his prowess in the bedroom?
Something was wrong in this picture. The slimy sensation of unease refused to leave her, and it intensified when Susan stood and excused herself from the table.
What is she up to?
Her instincts told her nothing good would happen from here on. The certainty settled with a pang inside her heart, at the same time the cold sweat that broke over her skin chilled her to the bones. Only once had she felt this aura of dread and desperation—on the night Sera had been turned.
In the name of all that is holy— was Susan cavorting with a vampyre? They were renowned for their sexual appetites and skills, when their bed partner lived to recount the experience.
Adri pushed her chair back and excused herself from the table. She had to find Susan.
Upon exiting the Great Hall, she made her way to the stairs that led to the first floor and the Medieval Art galleries. The feeling of oppression grew deeper as she entered the wide room and stepped through rows of Byzantine, Romanesque, and Gothic sculptures. At the door on her left leading to the galleries of European Sculpture and Decorative Arts, she paused. A thick cloak of doom blanketed the doorway, making her more than reluctant to step into the room. She usually avoided this section like the plague; Bernini’s Bacchanal exposed there being a reminder she didn’t need of her real father’s existence. Dionysos, also known as Bacchus.
But Susan was in there; she knew it. She had to help her friend.
On a deep breath, Adri crossed the threshold. Walking through the wide, usually airy room was like trying to break the surface when drowning in a vat of thick honey. The atmospheric pressure crushed her ribs, forcing the breath out of her.
Then she saw it, and froze. At the foot of Houdon’s Bust of Voltaire lay an inert Susan on the marble floor. A pool of blood slowly grew wider at her neck, her skin ashen like the palest cinder of wood burned and burned for days.
There should’ve been much more blood on the floor to account for the horrific paleness. Unless...
Her suspicions confirmed when she lifted her eyes and saw the dark mist hovering over the lifeless body. The shape solidified in mid-air, taking the form of the man who had spoken to Susan a few moments earlier.
No. This cannot be.
She must’ve gasped, because he turned and saw her. The fist of recognition slammed into her belly when she realized she had seen him once before, skulking around the library in ancient Alexandria.
If he’d survived through all those centuries, that meant he was indeed a supernatural creature. But not a vampyre, since vampyres bled their victims dry.
Mon Dieu, not...
Just then, the creature solidified on his feet and threw his head back to bellow a laugh.
“Your time is
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