Page 43 of Craved

I needed blood. Fresh blood. The blood-wine simply wasn’t cutting it.

And downstairs were all those willing thralls. Maybe my glamour would last long enough to coax Silver Rose into a shadowed corner?

My ability to disguise my appearance was unique among my brothers. Most dhampirs could only conjure a weak glamour, but I could change myself into almost anyone. If I wanted, for instance, I could look just like Étan. Unfortunately, as soon as I spoke, the game would be up, because although my French was good enough, I could never imitate his working man’s accent.

But I was tired, and it wasn’t worth the risk. I got another bottle from the refrigerator and continued my search for Zoe’s laptop. I opened drawers and rifled through her closet. I even lifted the black-and-white photos in the living room to see if they concealed a safe. But if she’d brought a laptop to Midnight Island, it was either locked away somewhere I hadn’t thought of or it wasn’t in her suite.

I shrugged out of my jacket and sank onto the couch, staring into the dark red wine as if it held the key to Zaq’s disappearance. After a while, I took another sip.

It was a very good wine. I drank some more, gradually slipping lower until my head rested on the couch’s arm. I undid my bowtie and tossed it on my jacket. Swung my feet off the floor and onto the couch.

Vampires and dhampirs don’t get drunk easily, but I’d had a lot of wine in a short time. I was a little buzzed when I heard someone fumbling with the door to Zoe’s suite.

I jolted upright and reached for my switchblade until I remembered the “no weapons” policy.

Hell.

The blood-wine was still working its way through my body to replenish my magic. I felt better, but I didn’t dare risk going into the shadows yet.

So I grabbed the empty wine bottle and pressed myself against the wall next to the door.

11

ZOE

The Crimson Ball was in full swing, the band playing a hundred-year-old French tune, the singer channeling her inner Edith Piaf. Victorine loved prewar French jazz.

To my nocturnal eyes, the candlelit room was bright and beautiful, even in my shaky emotional state. The lush reds against the black-and-white backdrop. The sensuous music and the warm lighting. The vampires lean and gorgeous, the thralls cover-model material.

Our kind didn’t tolerate flaws.

Étan took my hand. “Come. Let’s dance.”

I danced with him a second time. I even let him pull me close. I couldn’t let him see the panic pricking me like a thousand tiny needles.

I can’t do this.

Not when my head was full of Rafe. His scent, his touch. That sexy, damn-your-eyes smile.

After Étan, I danced with a steady stream of vampire suitors, enforcers and soldiers who saw me as their ticket up the hierarchy.

Étan left the ballroom for a few minutes, but he soon returned. He lounged against a wall, watching me. Not even pretending to dance.

Hisshe’s-mineattitude spread through the ballroom until the line of men asking me to dance dwindled to nothing, leaving me standing near the wall by myself.

I snagged a blood-wine and sipped it. Angry and chilled, but not knowing how to stop him.

Fortunately, not even Étan could scare off Prince Brien. His father was Primus of the Maritime Syndicate on Canada’s east coast, and his parents were partners with Victorine in a couple of joint ventures, which made him the closest thing to a friend I had.

I’d been wary of Brien when we’d first met as kids. The little Maritime Prince was too good to be true, with perfect manners and a sharp intelligence. The kind of boy your mother urged you to play with, hoping some of his stardust would rub off on you.

What Victorine didn’t know was that the perfect prince had a devilish side. I’d been right to be wary of him, but he never turned that sharp wit against me. Instead, I became his partner in the small crimes we managed to get past our parents, like sneaking blood-wine from his father’s cellar or slipping away from our bodyguards for an entire half hour.

“Want to dance?” The prince flashed his megawatt smile and held out a hand.

“Brien!” I grabbed onto him like a drowning woman going down for the last time.

The band launched into an energetic salsa. Our feet moved automatically through the steps. Like most vampire spawn, we’d had years of dance lessons.

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