“I know.”Her answer comes quickly, and the bond steadies.
Inside, Crimson Door is exactly what nightmares wear when they want to look expensive.Red velvet walls.Black tables.Candlelight.Crystal glasses full of dark liquid.Masked faces turn as we enter, every gaze sliding first to Briana’s collar, then her face, then me.
Some look amused.Others curious.Most hungry.One by one, the hungry ones catch the scent of me on her, and their smiles fade.
Mine, the beast says.
Chosen, I answer.
He accepts the correction with a low internal rumble.
A woman in a gold mask approaches us.She’s a vampire.A very old one.Her white dress clings like smoke, and her red mouth curves as if cruelty is a language she learned before speech.
Her gaze drops to Briana’s throat.“Lovely,” she murmurs.“He did wonder whether you would wear it.”
Briana’s fingers remain laced with mine.“Did he?”
The woman steps closer.“Such a shame to cover pretty skin.But some pets need reminders.”
A cold, bright fury fills the space between us and my beast stills in recognition.This is not fear, this is the woman who came back for vengeance.
The vampire lifts one hand toward the collar, and I move.But Briana moves faster.She catches the vampire’s wrist before those red nails touch silver, and the room around us quiets.
The vampire’s smile falters.
Briana leans in slightly.“No.”
One word.Steady and beautiful.
The vampire’s eyes flash.“The collar says otherwise.”
She whispers a command, and magic snaps through the air, aimed at the fake collar.
Briana speaks the spell-word.
“Mordane.”
The silver at her throat flares white-hot without burning her.The vampire screams as the magic rebounds through her wrist, black veins racing up her pale arms.
I don’t move.I want to, Goddess, I want to.But Briana’s hand remains in mine, and through the bond I feel the force of her choice.This victory is hers.
She releases the vampire’s burned wrist.“I said no.”Her voice shakes, but she says it anyway.
I lift her hand and press my mouth to her knuckles before I can think better of it.Not for the room.Not for theater.For her.
Her breath catches, and the bond warms.
Across the club, someone laughs.Slow.Elegant.Rotten.Lucius appears at the top of the stairs.He looks like Aldron if every ounce of restraint had been carved out and replaced with silk-wrapped rot.Silver hair.Black suit.Pale face.Empty smile.
His gaze locks on Briana before dropping to our joined hands.Then, worse, to the place on her shoulder where my mark hides beneath velvet.
He smells it, and his smile disappears.For the first time tonight, something in me settles.Let him know.Let him understand.The woman he tried to collar walked in wearing my claim beneath his lie, and she did it by choice.
“There you are,” Lucius says.“The girl we lost.”
Briana steps forward, and I go with her.
“Wrong,” she says, and a whisper moves through the room.
