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CHAPTER1
Britney
I affix the black lace mask over my eyes and tie the string at the nape of my neck near my hairline so it doesn't smash my voluminous blond curls against my head.
While most of the other women here are holding their masks up to their faces on decorative sticks, I choose to have mine secured to my head. I need my hands free for vampire hunting. If I come across Henry Banes' sorry ass, I'm going to need both hands to drive a stake straight through his black heart.
Henry Banes. One of the oldest and most powerful vampires in existence.
I hate that I'm impressed by the grandeur of his mansion. Well, mansion is an understatement. His place is more like a castle. When I found out he was hosting a masked ball and that all were welcome, it was just too good of an opportunity to pass up—especially considering how he's my latest assignment from the Department of Paranormal Entities.
I've been working for them for three years now, ever since I turned eighteen and became old enough for them to accept my application.
They contract me to kill vampires. And there's honestly no greater purpose in life for me. You see, vampires killed my parents. I don't know exactly how it happened because I wasn't there to see it. All I saw was the aftermath. A frightened little eight-year-old girl who found her parents with their throats torn out.
I can still feel the scream bubbling up in my throat when I think about it. It was traumatic to say the least.
And I don't know if you're ever really over that kind of trauma, but I certainly found a way to channel mine into a purpose—and that's to rid this planet of every ounce of vampire blood on it.
It's dangerous work, and vampires are wily creatures, but I'm determined and motivated.
I've lost count of how many I've killed ever since I started this mission.
But there's one who's always eluded me. One whose identity I didn't know until a few days ago when the Department finally revealed it to me.
From day one, I've asked the department managers to tell me the name of the vampire who killed my parents so I could have my vengeance. But they wouldn't do it. They said I was too emotionally attached to the case and that it put me at risk. I didn't care if I was at risk, but they've been unyielding.
I've been begging and pleading with no success—until now.
They finally told me the name of the vampire who's responsible for my parents' death.
Henry Banes.
I don't really know much about him. I don't know what he looks like. But I do know through my preliminary research that he's the oldest and most powerful vampire in the city—hell, the world—so breaching the stronghold of his castle would prove nearly impossible.
So, when I stumbled across the announcement for his annual masquerade ball, it was a huge stroke of luck. The universe was handing me this murderous vampire on a silver platter.
I keep my eyes peeled as I make my way through the throng of people.
It may be the twenty-first century, but it looks more like the Victorian era in here. Not only because of the ornate woodwork and Victorian vibe of the castle but also because this is a Victorian-themed masquerade ball. Everyone's tripped out in Victorian wear, the men in waistcoats and breeches and the women in ruffled dresses and corsets.
That's another convention that I chose not to adhere to. While I'm wearing a red Victorian gown overlaid with black lace, I refused to wear a corset and limit my movements in case I end up in a physical brawl with this vampire.
Besides, how do women even breathe in those things? When the lady at the shop was outfitting me with the dress, she laced the stays of the corset so tightly I'm surprised she didn't crack a rib.
She was mortified when I told her I would go sans corset, but I don't care. I'm not here for a Victorian fashion show. I'm here for one purpose and one alone.
My lip curls at just the thought of him. I imagine him as an older vampire with a widow's peak, hard eyes, and a thin mouth like most of the vampires I've eliminated from this earth.
Hollywood likes to romanticize the creatures, but in my experience, they're just as ugly as their blackened souls.
My eyes flick from person to person, looking for anyone who resembles my intended target. Anyone giving off those skeevy, I-like-to-suck-blood vampire vibes.
"Care to dance, lovely?" a masculine voice says right near my ear. I feel a shiver run up my spine at his closeness. Whoever he is, he's so close I can feel his breath skating across my earlobe.
I turn, ready to decline. I don't need to be distracted from my goal. But my tongue sticks in my throat as I look up into an arresting pair of brown eyes, brown eyes that somehow almost seem to glow golden in the lighting of the ballroom.
My eyes sweep up over a strong, chiseled jawline up to a head of dark hair that's swept stylishly back from his face. I trail my gaze back down over his expensive-looking waistcoat. He's impeccably dressed and looking like a Victorian gentleman of wealth and power.
