Hellfire

Chapter Twelve

I sat rigidly in the velvet chair stained the same shade of red as fresh blood. I felt exposed, the cut of my dress looping about my shoulders and cupping my breasts fully, its shape sloping snuggly over me and in such a way not much of my figure was hidden. The cold of Velvet Room whispered over my skin, crackling like frost in the air. Any normal human would be shivering, needing to be wrapped up well and not on display like I was, but my fire flickered within me, warming me. Even so, I was quietly regretting my furious dressing, picking out the best one I had, painting my face simply and ensure my hair was clean and under control, rather than the wild mess it usually was. While most women likely felt powerful when they dressed beautifully, I felt vulnerable. Out of my depth.

Why did I try so hard?

I didn't know. Maybe it was because I wasn't about to embarrass myself or him by turning up underdressed to the Velvet Room. Maybe it was because I wanted to show I could look attractive once in a while. Maybe the call he'd implanted in me drove me to this stupid length I'd gone to. Maybe it was because I wanted Lucius to see me, not just the blood in me. Either way, I blamed the man in front of me.

Lucius sat opposite me, a male listlessness heavy in his frame as he sunk back into his chair, dark hair swept back immaculately and his fingers linked loosely together, the coffee table being the only thing between us. But, despite the languid posture, the loose way his powerful body was sprawled in that chair, there was a predatory intensity to him. His gaze was hooded, the icy shade glittering dangerously, and not an inch of him moved in acknowledgement as the vampires, majority of them being women as always, welcomed him by bowing slightly before moving on to their own seats. He ignored them all. His position over Bath and Bristol showed as none gave a flicker of insult; sweeping away with a pale expression or slipping to whisper amongst their own, eyes curious and teeth flashing beneath beautiful smiles. Yet, Lucius did not welcome one. In fact, by the cold beginning to roll from him and the way his little bats tilted their heads to hiss irritably, the other lords and ladies began to avoid him altogether.

So, we ended up sitting within a quiet corner of this fancy social club of sorcerers in a sea of tobacco smoke and stench of blood and alcohol, dull lights and hushed voices permeating the air - alone.

I sat as proudly as I could, returning Lucius' stare stubbornly and ignored my quiet regret of wearing something so revealing. I'd worn this style of dress for evening drinks before. I had no reason to be self-conscious about it.

They were with men you either dated or wanted to fuck.

I ignored my quiet reminder, instead growing focused on how close Lucius was. I saw the physical strength beneath his snow-white shirt and the snugness of his pitch-black waistcoat, his firm shoulders set. The pinpricks beneath the silk scarf I wore throbbed, the sight of him nothing but raw masculinity, something every inch of me desired hungrily.

I'd rather more distance from him.

'It's just a drink, Susan.' Lucius pointed out in that curiously amused tone of his.

I kept my expression as still as a death mask, my body still tight and ready to spring. 'I know.'

'Then why are you so rigid? I know that stance. It's the sort of look you once gave me in your youth, when you kept trying to kill me to prove a point you could handle yourself.' A slight smile tugged at his mouth, crooked and baring the slightest edges of his incisors. 'I'm not a threat.'

You are, I quietly counteracted. The entirety of him was. A lure to death.

I touched my throat, a habitual desire to soothe the throbbing and ease away the heat, careful not to disturb the scarf too much and unveil it to the world. It soothed at little, enabling me to breathe again.