Page 32 of Let Sleeping Vampires Lie

Long, aching, and razor-sharp.

And beneath it, one truth was inescapable.

This auction wasn’t just a mission now.

It wasn’t just about Rene or the pieces of the Pentacoris.

It was about Isra.

Raven.

Jana.

Every soul tied to this dangerous world.

And from the moment we stepped out of that suite, it became clear⁠—

To save Rene, we weren’t just hunting relics anymore.

We were navigating heartbreak… and choosing who we trusted to build a future worth surviving.

CHAPTER 7

We waited in the hallway for what felt like hours, though only thirty minutes had passed. Every minute throbbed with quiet tension. The muffled hum of music from the club floor drifted upward, a disconnected soundtrack to the heartbreak happening behind the suite door.

Jana paced for a while, then slipped down the stairs to the main level. “I’ll tell Ginger to have someone fill Dad’s spot,” she’d said softly. “He’s in no state to go onstage.” Her eyes had been glassy, and she moved quickly, as if afraid breaking into a run would make the whole building collapse under the weight of everything that was unraveling.

Con stayed by the doorway, long arms folded, gaze fixed on the carpet like he could read future attacks in the fibers. Every so often he shifted his weight, restless energy rolling off him. He hated waiting almost as much as I did—but unlike me, he handled the stillness like a soldier on silent watch.

Raven hovered near me, her arms wrapped around herself. Through our bond, her fear pulsed like a low thrum beneath the surface, too familiar now, too constant. Every pulse tasted of worry for Rene, for their bond weakening, for the time bleeding out faster than we could replace it.

After several minutes, she whispered, “I can’t feel him very well anymore.”

The ache in her voice hit me like a blow to the ribs.

I laid a hand on hers. “He’s still there. Just weak.”

Her eyes flicked up to mine. “Weak is too close to gone.”

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

Not with the truth lodged so tightly at the base of my throat.

The hallway lamp flickered overhead. The smell of cologne drifted from the lower floor, mingling with the warm scent of old wood and the tang of glitter glue from the drag performers’ dressing rooms. It felt surreal, waiting for a supernatural auction update in a club where neon feathers, sequins, and fake lashes were part of the air itself.

But tonight, the sparkle wasn’t enough to lift even a corner of the tension anchoring us.

At the thirty-minute mark, the suite door finally opened.

Marcus stepped out.

His face didn’t hold the smooth, polished charm he’d walked in with earlier. That veneer was stripped away, leaving raw exhaustion behind. His eyes were red at the edges, his cheeks flushed, his breath uneven like he’d spent the past half hour breaking apart and trying very hard not to let Isra see too much of it.

He looked… gutted.

And he didn’t try to hide it anymore.