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She opened the casement window a crack, and my heart lurched and skidded in my chest like an out-of-control car. Two years since I’d seen her, and she could still make me want.
Gods, I was pathetic.
Zoe turned from the window and spoke to someone.
A low growl made me whip around. A pack of wolfdogs raced out of the woods followed by a vampire in a Tremblay uniform. I re-entered the shadows and darted into the garden.
They halted at the spot where I’d stood and sniffed the ground, whining and snarling. The vampire scrutinized the area, eyes narrowed.
On the chateau’s opposite side, an engine purred to life. I glanced back at Zoe’s window. She was no longer visible, but somehow I knew she was still in the tower.
So who was leaving? I slipped around the front in time to see Victorine herself exit through the medieval wooden door.
Hate flamed in my chest. I fingered my switchblade.
After Zoe had left that night, Victorine had watched, expressionless as a rattlesnake, while her men beat me.
They started with my face, then moved down my body, concentrating on pressure points.
Throat. Groin. Kidneys.
When I lay broken and bleeding on the floor, the silver cuffs burning into my wrists, Victorine had leaned forward and hissed, “Tell your father the joint venture is off. And if you ever touch the princess again—” she ground a pointy heel into my solar plexus—“I will consider the truce broken. I won’t rest until I’ve sent you and your brothers to the final death.”
Now I watched as Victorine descended the chateau steps trailed by two hard-bodied blond vampires. I clutched the switchblade’s stainless steel handle.
So. Damn. Tempted.
I’d have signed over my entire trust fund to be able to drop out of the shadows and stab the long silver blade into her heart. But I’d be captured, recognized—and the blood feud would be back on.
I might as well sign Zaq’s death warrant myself.
I gritted my teeth and let her pass.
But her exit had given me the perfect opportunity to investigate further. When the heavy door started to close, I went with impulse and shot up the steps and into the chateau. The door thudded shut behind me and I grimaced. I wouldn’t be able to leave again without exiting the shadows.
I was in a huge Goth-style foyer. The thick walls and narrow window slits made it feel like I was underground. A typical vampire’s lair, although the Tremblays probably had rooms in the basement.
An over-the-top crystal chandelier presided over miles of creamy Italian marble. The window slits were draped in red velvet curtains dotted with tiny black vultures, the Tremblay mascot. Scattered around the foyer were heavy Gothic couches and chairs covered in more vulture-dotted red velvet.
Preparations for the ball were underway. Crates of glassware, plates and other party paraphernalia lined the walls, and black tables and chairs were stacked near the open double doors leading to the ballroom.
Other than the two humans I heard chatting in the rooms off the kitchen, the upper chateau seemed empty except for Zoe. I remained in the shadows anyway, certain that somewhere, a guard was watching through the cams trained on the foyer.
I closed the switchblade, shoved it into my back pocket and went exploring. At the back of the chateau, I came to a parlor filled with more dark Gothic furniture—the real kind, antiques from hundreds of years ago.
At the rear of the parlor, the door to the back turret stood ajar. A wrought iron staircase spiraled up the center. Worked into the rails were whimsical bats—bats on the wing, bats mating, bats feeding, bats caring for their young. There were even bats hanging upside down from the metal curlicues, asleep.
I jogged upstairs. After the main floor’s heavy Goth theme, the second floor was a surprise—an airy conservatory crammed full of plants and flowers. Ivy cascaded down a cast iron gazebo that looked like a giant white birdcage, and more iron benches and chairs were set among the ferns and palms. The windows were of smoked glass that would protect a vampire from the sun’s rays.
I was in Zoe’s private retreat.
Something moved in my chest.Thiswas the Zoe I’d glimpsed two years ago. The warm, fascinating woman behind the princess mask.
The single door on the top floor was open. But Jean-Michel stood in the doorway between me and my goal. I froze. He couldn’t see me, but some vampires can sense you in the shadows, especially if they brush against your skin.
I peered around him. Zoe was curled up on a black-and-white couch, reading a book. She’d exchanged the white dress for a flimsy camisole and tap pants that showed off her long legs. The dim lighting emphasized her high, slanting cheekbones and dark, definite brows. Her hair fell, sleek as ebony, over one shoulder.
She turned a page in her book. She looked so young. Sweet, almost.
