Page 80 of Bleed

Not a question. An observation.

She heaves a sigh, shoulders slackening. “No, I’m not unhappy. I’m just… frustrated. I don’t know the rules to this thing– I have no idea what I’m supposed to do or how I’m supposed to act. I don’t know what you want from me.”

“What I want is of no consequence,” I reply curtly. “James tasked me with keeping you safe.”

“Well then what about what I want?” she blurts.

I cock a brow. “What is it you want, Beatrix?”

She opens her mouth, then closes it again. A frustrated breath escapes her as she drains the rest of her wine and sets the empty glass on the counter.

“Forget it,” she mutters. “Let’s just go.”

I nod, finishing my own glass. It does nothing to satisfy the thirst I’d rather not acknowledge.

The ballroom is already crowded by the time we arrive.

Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over several hundred guests dressed in tailored tuxedos and designer gowns, their conversations blending into a low, indistinct hum beneath the orchestra. There are more vampires in attendance than usual, no doubt a courtesy extended by the Foundation’s planning committee. They likely assume familiar company will make me more comfortable.

It doesn’t.

I’ve never cared for large gatherings. Too many conversations to navigate, too many expectations to live up to. Too many eyes to avoid.

I straighten the front of my jacket before we step through the doors, settling my features into the pleasant neutrality expected of me. It’s a practiced expression– approachable enough to satisfy the photographers, while reserved enough to discourage prolonged conversation.

Beside me, Beatrix stills.

I’ve attended enough of these events that I barely register the chandeliers, the orchestra, or the elaborate floral displays anymore. Tonight, however, I find myself seeing the room through her eyes.

Her gaze sweeps slowly over the interior, taking it in. She doesn’t seem intimidated by the scale and grandeur of it all, but rather somewhat impressed. Then, almost imperceptibly, she squares her shoulders.

I recognize the change immediately.

In the same way I slip into the version of myself suitable for public appearances, she puts on a mask of her own. Her posture softens, a bright smile curving her lips. Whatever uncertainty she felt moments ago disappears completely before anyone can notice it was there.

The room, however, notices us.

I expect the first wave of attention. I’m the guest of honor this evening.

What surprises me is how quickly it shifts to the woman at my side.

Recognition gives way to curiosity, conversations quieting just enough for whispers to spread through the room. Rumors of my new source have already spread, but few have actually met her. Fewer still expected me to flaunt her publicly like this.

She shifts a little closer, lowering her voice. “Did the wine stain my teeth or something?”

My mouth twitches.

“They’re not staring at your teeth,” I murmur, settling a hand against the small of her back, right over her lotus tattoo. “Stay close.”

She falls into step without protest, gliding beside me as we make our way farther into the ballroom. A passing waiter carries a tray of champagne flutes, and she plucks one free without breaking stride, thanking him with an easy smile. Raising it to her lips, she takes a slow sip, her attention still wandering from one corner of the room to the next.

“I had no idea scientists were this fancy,” she remarks.

“They’re a boastful breed,” I reply dryly.

“Present company included?”

I dart her a glance. “Present company reluctantly included.”