Page 84 of Level Up for Love

“Yes,” she says without hesitation. “It would be the wise thing, to get me out of the picture. Of all of them, I’m the only one here who has a chance of stopping you, and I think you know that.”

Me, and the rest of my party, she thinks. Keep your eyes on me, bloodsucker. Give them time to do their jobs.

Vadrien’s dark red eyes suddenly widen, his eyebrow twitching upward, and Sindra freezes. Surely their minds are not so intertwined that he would catch the echo of her thoughts? But then he impatiently beckons her again, his hand outstretched. “Well?”

Her gaze drifts higher. He is, as ever, uncrowned, save for the tattoo that circles his temples. This close, she finally recognizes the runic language for what it is, and the realization sends a wave of cold fear through her veins.

The devil’s tongue.

She had tried to forget many of the lessons her parents had taught her before Aunt Bernie had whisked her away, yet her knowledge of the language had stuck. But even now it’s difficult to read the stylized ancient script. She’ll need to be closer—much closer—to pick it out.

Make use of every opportunity you have, she chides herself.

“Fine,” she bites out, slipping her hand into his icy grip. “Let’s dance.”

Prince Vadrien is as excellent a dancer as he is a fighter.

His preternatural grace, cold confidence, and inhuman strength make him a formidable partner, and Sindra has to work hard not to lose herself in the music. Instead, she focuses on every position that makes her vulnerable: when his forearm wraps against her lower back, caging her in; when he presses their chests together so he can spin her off her feet; and when he dips her so low that the ends of her hair brush the floor. In this moment, she’s hyperaware of how bare the red column of her neck is.

Vadrien draws closer to her collarbone, and Sindra strains to arch her back so she’s farther away from his pointed teeth. But he only exhales a laugh.

“There aren’t many who can keep up with me,” he murmurs.

“Do you say that to all the women you’ve failed to kill?”

“There aren’t any others,” he says, lips close to her neck. “Only you.” His hand shifts then, gliding up her spine as he pulls her back to standing. She feels his knuckles pause as they come into contact with Brightmorn’s sheath, invisible though it is.

This is it, she thinks. It’s over. I hope I gave them enough time.

But Vadrien just smiles. “You’re armed.”

“So are you.” The fangs count, in her book. She can see them now, poking out of his smug grin.

The music shifts into a waltz again, and couples take to the dance floor. She can feel all of their gazes on her, can read their thoughts by the way they purse their lips or tighten their eyes: fascination, fear, jealousy—and a hint of relief that they are not in her place. She and Vadrien sway in silence, the eye in a storm of swirling dresses and flapping coats as the dancers spin in a wide berth around them.

Vadrien’s gaze grows distant, drifting upward. When it returns to Sindra, he looks almost wistful. “I’d like to show you something.”

Sindra swallows, and the captain’s words echo in her head. Your entire purpose here is to distract him. Do whatever you must.

But she can’t be certain that she will survive a moment alone with the prince. She needs her party at her back if they’re going to fight—and she doesn’t know how deep the bite’s connection truly goes.

She’s not sure if she can trust herself to test its limits.

Luckily, the decision is made for her when a chorus of gasps and screams echoes down the hallway behind them.

Vadrien turns his head sharply toward the chaos. A pale servant rushes to the vampire’s side and stutters, “M’lord. The undead, they’re—they’re attacking one another. We can’t get them to stop.”

Sindra’s ears prick up at the familiar sound of metal on metal coming from the castle’s depths: combat. Immediately following it, Sindra hears a maniacal eagle-screech of laughter.

Please, she thinks. Stay safe.

“M’lord, please. They’re swarming the—”

“I’ll take care of it,” Vadrien snaps. His red eyes burn with suspicion when he fixes them on Sindra. “I’ll be back for you,” he threatens.

Sindra sinks into a deep mocking curtsy. “I’ll be waiting,” she lies.

The prince disappears down the hallway faster than she can blink, and a gruff older voice speaks over her shoulder.