Page 27 of Blood Match
Yet through it all, my thoughts keep swirling back to the sight of her.
She’s fiery!
The image of her attacking me with her magic rises unbidden. I almost smile at the memory of her fury, the way her eyes flashed with defiance even as her spell fizzled harmlessly against my skin. She may not be powerful, but she’s got spirit. I can respect that, even—
No.
I push away from the mantelpiece with a growl. I can’t afford to think of her that way. She’s a complication I need to eliminate, not…whatever the hell else my traitorous mind wants to make of her.
Dammit.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to focus. I need to get my head straight before I face Arabella. The last thing I need is for her to sense my inner turmoil. She’s far too perceptive, and any sign of weakness could be disastrous, especially now.
Now that I have the Bloodbane.
I force my features into a mask of cool indifference, steadying myself. I am Darick Drake, leader of Clan Sanguis. I’ve faced countless battles, weathered centuries of political intrigue. I will not be undone by some slip of a witch with pretty eyes and a scent that makes me want to—
“Lord Drake?”
I turn sharply at the sound of Arabella’s assistant’s voice, silently cursing myself for getting so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t hear her approach. She stands in the doorway, her expression carefully neutral as she regards me.
“The Grand Elder will see you now,” she says, gesturing toward the inner chamber.
I nod curtly, straightening my jacket as I follow her. With each step, I push thoughts of the witch further from my mind. I have more pressing matters to attend to. The future of our kind hangs in the balance, and I can’t afford to be distracted.
And yet, as I cross the threshold into Arabella’s receiving room, I can’t quite shake the imagined sweetness of nectar on my tongue.
I step into Arabella’s receiving chamber, and for a moment, I’m struck by the sheer grandeur of it all. The room is vast, easily the size of a ballroom, with polished marble floors that gleam in the light streaming through the glass ceiling above. It’s a bold architectural choice for a vampire’s lair, but then again, Arabella has always been one to defy expectations.
My eyes are drawn upward, following the intricate patterns etched into the glass dome. The full moon hangs directly overhead, bathing the room in an ethereal glow. It’s breathtaking, and I find myself wondering, not for the first time, how Arabella manages to linger here, often even until the first light of dawn. But then, she’s always been more powerful than most of us can comprehend.
The moonlight casts long shadows across the room, creating an almost dreamlike atmosphere. It softens the edges of the ornate furniture and tapestries that line the walls, giving everything a surreal quality.
At the far end of the chamber, Arabella sits on what can only be described as a throne. It’s an ancient thing carved from a giant piece of obsidian, its surface gleaming. She looks every inch the Grand Elder, her silver hair cascading down her back, her features as pale as alabaster.
“Darick,” she greets me, her voice as smooth and ageless as the rest of her. “It is good to see you.”
I bow my head respectfully. “Grand Elder. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”
A smile plays at the corners of her lips. “Come now, Darick. We’ve known each other far too long for such formalities. What brings you to my doorstep so soon after our assembly?”
I hesitate, glancing at the dozen or so vampires scattered around the room – Arabella’s security detail, no doubt, along with the usual smattering of humans who seem to be permanent fixtures around our kind. Blood groupies. “I’m afraid what I have to discuss is of a…sensitive nature. Perhaps we could speak privately?”
Arabella’s eyes narrow slightly, and I can see the wheels turning behind those ancient eyes. After a moment, she nods. “Very well.” She turns to address her security team. “Leave us.”
The reaction is immediate. Several of the guards step forward, weapons at the ready.
“But Grand Elder,” one of them protests, “we cannot leave you unprotected—”
Arabella silences him with a look. “I said, leave us. I am more than capable of defending myself should the need arise.” Her tone is steely, and I’m reminded once again why she’s held her position for so long. “Valerian will remain. The rest of you…out.”
The guards exchange uneasy glances, but they know better than to disobey a direct order. Slowly, reluctantly, they file out of the room. I watch them go, noting the way their eyes trail over me suspiciously. I can’t blame them; the politics of our clans have often led to assassinations and upheaval.
Like Lucien is planning…
As the last guard exits, closing the massive doors behind him, I turn my attention to the one who remains. Valerian. I’ve heard rumors about him, Arabella’s most trusted advisor and protector. He’s a tall, wiry vampire with eyes like chips of ice, and he regards me with open hostility.
“Now then,” Arabella says, leaning forward slightly, an elbow resting on the arm of her throne. “What is so important that you need such privacy, Darick? What troubles the mighty leader of Clan Sanguis?” There’s no irony in her voice.