Chapter 1- Tessa
Five million dollars.
That was what Nikolai was worth dead. I reminded myself of that as a woman I didn’t know dragged a brush through my hair for what felt like the hundredth time.
Five million dollars was enough to tolerate three hours of being plucked, painted, curled, powdered, and squeezed into a dress that required structural engineering to keep everything where it belonged. Probably.
“Stop frowning.”
“I’m not frowning.” The woman met my eyes in the mirror. I was absolutely frowning. She sighed and reached for another makeup brush. I caught her wrist. “No.”
“Your blush—”
“Is fine.”
“It needs—”
“Nothing. My face needs nothing else.” Her lips pursed. Apparently somewhere in the fine print of volunteering for the Concord Marriage Auction, I’d accidentally agreed to become a human art project.
I released her. She immediately adjusted one of my curls. I let her live. Five million dollars was worth it. I looked at myself in the enormous gilded mirror. The woman staring back barely looked like me.
My hair fell in glossy waves over one shoulder. Dark liner sharpened my eyes. My lips had been painted a shade just shy of the dress they’d chosen for me.
Deep red. Not burgundy. Not wine. Not crimson. Blood red. Specifically because Nikolai liked red. His file had mentioned it three separate times. A former human companion had been quoted as saying he once called it “the only color humans made beautifully.”
Red. Like the color of human blood. Charming. So my company put me in it.
The dress hugged my waist before falling in a smooth sweep to the floor, elegant enough for a ballroom and fitted enough through the bodice that nobody looking at me would immediately think, professional vampire hunter. Which was admittedly useful.
I still hated it. “I look like bait.”
My stylist smiled. “That’s the idea.” If only she knew.
I stood and walked away. Thinking of my target would ease my nerves. Tonight could end as desired or horribly. Only time would tell.
Profile:
*Nikolai Veyr.
*Seven hundred and ninety-five years old. Confirmed.
*Five known aliases.
*Three known residences.
*No verified photograph taken within the last forty years.
*Suspected involvement in the Prague disappearances of 1998. Twenty-three humans gone. Seven bodies recovered. The rest never found.
*A feeding house discovered outside Vienna in 2007. Twelve humans held below ground. Four survived.
*A hunter team sent after him in Budapest nine years ago. Six hunters entered. One came home.
--That was just what we could prove. Nikolai wasn’t some misunderstood immortal with a tragic past and an unfortunate dietary requirement.
He was a predator.
A very old one.
And tonight I was wearing his favorite color.
*****************
I walked through the open archway into the waiting room. Calling it a waiting room felt insulting to waiting rooms. Those had plastic chairs, bad coffee, and magazines nobody wanted to read.
This looked like someone had gutted a European palace and reconstructed it beneath a luxury hotel. Crystal chandeliers spilled warm light over polished black marble. Gold climbed enormous columns toward a painted ceiling. Velvet couches surrounded low tables covered in champagne, fruit, tiny pastries, and flower arrangements that probably cost more than my first car.
At least fifty women filled the room. All human. All beautiful. All dressed like they were attending the world’s most expensive wedding. And unlike me, most of them looked fucking delighted.
“I heard Lord Cassian is attending.” A squeal erupted near the champagne.
I slowed. Information was information.
“He can’t be.”
“He is. My coordinator confirmed it.”
“How old?”
“Four hundred and something.” The women surrounding her sighed. I stared into my glass of champagne.
One woman who had long blonde hair and was in a pink dress leaned forward. “My sister says you want an older one.”
“Obviously,” the purple dress said.
“Why?” the grey dress asked. The three women looked at her as though she’d announced she’d never heard of indoor plumbing.
“Wealth.”
“Connections.”
“Experience.”
That last one earned giggles. They were delusional. There was no other explanation.
Maybe Nikolai wasn’t representative of every vampire alive. I wasn’t stupid enough to believe every member of a species behaved identically. Look at humans, after all. We had our bad apples too. But predators didn’t stop being predators because they wore tailored suits and owned private jets. The problem was these women weren’t discussing vampires like predators. They were discussing them like dating profiles.
Whispers erupted on the other side of the room where a few lounged on settees.
“Cassian is gorgeous.”
“Have you seen Fredrick Gale?”
“Oh my God, yes!”
“He’s only two hundred.”
“Only?”
“My mother told me not to accept anyone under three hundred.”
I nearly walked into a table.
A brunette noticed. “You okay?”
“Perfect.”
She smiled and turned back to her friends. “Vale has properties in six countries. And his main house in France. His family owns half the district around—”
I stopped listening. Cassian Vale. Fredrick Gale. Nikolai Veyr.
All of them were the same in my book. Strong. Old. Handsome? Well obviously. I am a woman with eyes. Wealthy? Massively. Apparently immortality plus a good jawline was enough to make people forget that the handsome man smiling across the ballroom could break their neck before they even managed to scream.
I’d seen what vampires could do. These women had apparently seen their investment portfolios.
A blonde in pale blue silk dropped onto the couch beside me. “First auction?”
I looked at her. “Is it that obvious?”
“You look like you’re waiting for an execution.”
Close. “Just nervous.”
She smiled sympathetically. “Don’t be. This is a really good auction to get into. The Concord Auction is one of the best and hardest to get accepted into. After all, the vampires here are vetted and bid on seats two years in advance. I also heard there are at least six ancients attending.”
That got my attention. “How ancient are we talking?”
Her smile widened. “Five hundred plus.”
Interesting. “Names?”
“I knew you were interested.”
“I can barely contain myself,” I said as I suppressed an eye roll.
She missed my sarcasm completely. “Lord Cassian is definitely here. Four hundred and eighty-seven.”
“That’s not five hundred.”
“Close enough.” Not when you were hunting someone who’d been killing people before several modern countries existed. She continued.
“Matthias Vale. Two hundred and twelve, but his family is ancient and he is related to Lord Cassian, so that counts for something.”
“It really doesn’t.”
She laughed like I’d made a joke. “Dimitri Ardelean is supposedly here too. He’s over six hundred.”
That was more useful. “Anyone older?”
Her eyebrows lifted. “You really do like them ancient.”
“You have no idea.” A wolfish grin found its way to my face.
She leaned closer. “There’s a rumor somebody reserved one of the private galleries.”
“Who?”
“Nobody knows.”
“Then how do you know he’s old?”
She gave me a look. “Private. Gallery.” I waited. She apparently realized I genuinely didn’t understand. “Only the oldest families get them. Like, old, old.”
She took a sip of champagne. “They don’t have to sit on the auction floor with everyone else.”
Now that was interesting.
Nikolai hadn’t survived seven centuries by sitting beneath spotlights. If he was here, a private gallery was exactly where I’d expect him.
A woman in a fitted black suit entered carrying a velvet-covered tray. The room gradually quieted. “Ladies, before we begin, you’ll each receive your bidding number. This number will identify you throughout tonight’s auction and subsequent contract proceedings.”
She began moving through the room. One by one, women received small black cards embossed with gold numbers. Some immediately compared them. One woman actually photographed hers. I resisted the urge to ask if she planned to scrapbook the evening.
The attendant reached me.
She checked her tablet. Then selected a card. “Seventeen.”
I took it. The gold numbers gleamed beneath the chandelier.
Seventeen.
My new identity.
Not my name. Not a hunter. Not the woman carrying a five-million-dollar kill order.
Just Seventeen.
The blonde leaned over. “That’s lucky.”
“I’ll let you know.”
Another bell chimed. The double doors at the far end of the room opened. “Ladies, the auction will begin in ten minutes. When your number is called, an attendant will escort you to the presentation floor.”
Excitement exploded around me. Women rushed toward mirrors. Champagne disappeared. Someone squealed loudly enough to make me wince.
The blonde clutched her number against her chest. “Oh my God. This is actually happening.”
I looked down at the black card in my hand.
Seventeen.
Somewhere beyond those doors could be Nikolai Veyr.
Seven hundred and ninety-five years of blood and bodies.
Twenty-three missing in Prague.
Twelve prisoners beneath Vienna.
Six hunters sent after him.
Only one returned.
These women could gush about strong, ancient, handsome vampires all they wanted. I knew what happened when the beautiful mask came off. And if Nikolai was here tonight, I wasn’t leaving with a husband.
