Rites of Blood: Cora's Choice Bunble 4-6 Read Free Page B

to escape.
    “This is horrible,” I said, putting all the force of my feeling in those words. “I want it to be done.”
    Except it wouldn’t ever be done, not really. This was my life with Dorian, in one form or another, forever.
    His arm tightened infinitesimally against mine. “I know. I’m sorry. Only dinner and dancing are left. That will likely last until dawn, but we will not be obligated to stay that long.”
    As we reached the grand staircase and headed down toward the ballroom, I looked at all the beautiful, ageless faces around us and realized that except for the children, I could very well be the youngest person in the room by a hundred years.
    “Dancing,” I said. “I don’t think I can do the kind of dancing that you’re talking about.”
    “But I can,” he said. “Have no fear, Cora. You will only be expected to watch the grand march with me and take the first dance, and then you can sit in a quiet corner near the buffet until it is over.”
    And then I could be put back on the shelf with the other playthings. I knew he had meant to be comforting, but it was anything but. My stomach turned. My place in his world as his cognate seemed to tighten around my throat like a noose. I’d had a future planned, before I’d gotten sick. But the future I wanted and the future demanded of me as Dorian’s cognate couldn’t both survive.
    I braced myself to enter the ballroom.

Chapter Two
    T he back of my neck prickled as we reached the lower level, the memory of the proving that had been held there two nights before bright in my mind. But the tables that had been set up to test Dorian’s staff for loyalty were gone now. Every light in the room now shone, even the candelabra on the mirrored walls, and great, thick garlands of roses and lilies hung from them, perfuming the air.
    Love and death. How absurdly appropriate.
    Another orchestra occupied a raised dais at the far end of the room, now sitting at rest as the agnates and their cognates poured in around us, gathering at the vestibule in front of the dance floor. Four different buffets were set behind the columns that ringed the room, servers standing to attention behind the tables, with golden chairs against the walls in between.
    Dorian ignored his guests even as they made way for us, moving aside as we stepped from the marble entry onto the parquet of the ballroom proper.
    On cue, the orchestra struck up a stately march. My death grip on Dorian’s arm grew even tighter.
    “What do I do?” I whispered urgently.
    His smile did nothing to put me at ease even as my heart did a little hiccup in my chest. “You walk with me to the viewing platform.”
    He led the way down the length of the room to a small, elevated stage just below the orchestra’s dais. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement, but I didn’t dare look aside as Dorian stepped up onto the platform. I stumbled after and turned with him to face the assembly.
    The guests had paired up down to the smallest of the children and were executing an elaborate choreography in intricate, shifting geometries across the floor, as if there were some giant puppeteer pulling strings above. Every movement was exactly synchronized and so beautiful in its studied grace that it almost hurt to watch.
    I was struck with the thought of how deadly those lovely creatures were, the danger in every perfect turn and nod, and I felt like a small, furry animal, mesmerized by the swaying of a snake.
    The music swelled and came to a clashing finale just as the entire company turned to face us and bowed.
    “And now it is our turn,” Dorian murmured. He returned the bow, his gesture low, sweeping, almost exaggerated. Caught off guard, I ducked my head and made a wobbly curtsey at his side.
    He straightened and stepped down onto the floor as the assembly faded back. I was pulled along on his arm toward the center of the floor.
    “The first dance,” I said, a tremor of panic rising in my voice.
    “Indeed,” he