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  Laurel let out an unfeminine squeal and Sebastian laughed.

  The rest of the tour started right there. Palatial in scope, the manor boasted a refined sense of elegance throughout all the rooms. With infinite patience, Sebastian walked her through formal and informal parlors and libraries. More paintings and tapestries adorned the walls, Ming vases stood on marble pedestals or in cases, and the furniture was plush and well made. Beside herself with awe and intrigue, she paused often to inquire after a particular work of art or to get a closer look at the books on the shelves.

  Sebastian seemed taken with her delight. She caught him staring at her several times, intent and enigmatic, like he meant to memorize every gasp, every pleased laugh.

  To her surprise, there was another member of the household to meet. Sara, a fragile looking blonde with kind eyes and a sweet disposition, came upon them in one of the long hallways. Sebastian introduced her as a good friend of an old acquaintance and they shook hands, exchanging greetings with genuine smiles and glances. Laurel didn't get the same sense from her that she'd had from Isabella and Caleb, but she did suffer a few moments of unexpected jealousy before she understood Sebastian and Sara were not lovers.

  Still, Laurel wondered why the woman had a guest house on the property if the old acquaintance was no longer around. Inwardly amused at her own territorial streak, they parted from Sara and continued on.

  Finally, after uncounted hours in his enjoyable presence, she bid Sebastian goodnight. It was also good-bye; he informed her he had work in the morning and she wouldn't see him before he left.

  Retiring to her room, which turned out to be an elegant display of cream, sage green and raspberry décor, she sat in the middle of the enormous bed and absorbed the luxury around her. In a hundred years, she'd never tire of the intricate molding, the arched windows, or the dainty vanity leading in to her private bath. It was almost impossible to believe people really lived like this. Sebastian didn't seem to take it for granted, but she'd noticed that he moved through the home with confidence, quite used to the richness that surrounded him.

  Shuffling under the fluffy comforter, she tried to sleep. She tossed and turned for an hour, unable to shut down her mind. A half hour after that, still wide-awake, the sounds of a distant piano drew her from bed. Creeping along the hallways, she followed the sounds to the parlor where they'd had dinner. She watched Sebastian, white shirt with the sleeves flipped to his elbows, play passionately at the keys. His back was to her and she indulged in harmless observation for long minutes. She found beauty in more than the music that spilled from his fingertips; the flex of muscle under the shirt fascinated her. Laurel wasn't usually the type of woman to gawk at a man, but there was something compelling about this one. She crept across the floor in her bare feet, coming up beside the bench.

  "You play wonderfully," she said, lifting her eyes from the piano to his face.

  He didn't seem surprised to see her, only pleased. "Thank you, Laurel. Here, I will play you another favorite of mine."

  A classic, dramatic song from an old master resonated through the room. Laurel slid onto the seat, acutely aware of him beside her. Finishing with a flourish and a grin that made him seem almost boyish, he gestured to the glossy keys.

  "Do you play?" he asked.

  "Only two things." Rumpled, pajama pants and shirt wrinkled from her hasty packing, she flashed a smile at him and broke into a rendition of Somewhere Over the Rainbow.

  She squinted when she hit a sour note and he rolled out a quiet laugh. Her playing was far from superior. While she bumbled through the tune, half singing in a sleepy, raspy voice, he rose and poured them both a glass of wine.

  "You sing very well," he said, leaning close behind her to set her drink down.

  "I think you're being generous." She teased, glancing up past her shoulder. They made eye contact for a long moment until she reached for the wine. He stepped back and she was left with the lingering scent of masculine cologne.

  "No more generous than you deserve. What other song do you play?" he asked.

  "Chopsticks." Before he could speak past his laughter, she said, "I'd love to hear you play another before I retire, Sebastian."

  He didn't just play her one song he played her three. Every time his arm crossed in front of her, a hairsbreadth from her body, she wanted to lean in and make contact. There was something intimate about it all, the lights low and the ambiance mellow, his hands flying over the keys.

  When the wine was gone and the last note had faded, Sebastian escorted her up to her room. They paused before her door in the dim hallway.

  "Thanks, Sebastian. I had a good time." She searched his eyes while he searched hers. There seemed to be a reluctance on both their parts to have the evening end.

  "It was my pleasure, Laurel. Sleep well,” he said, hovering near, his voice low and intimate between them.

  "I will. Goodnight.” It took all her will and control not to give in and lean toward him, inviting a kiss. It was an unspoken desire that she knew he must have felt, too, if the intent look on his face was anything to go by. Opening the door, she stepped inside and glanced back to give him a final smile.

  He matched the expression, bowed his head and disappeared down the hall. Girlish and infatuated, Laurel watched until she couldn't see him anymore. She closed the door and flopped on the bed, rolling onto her back with a gusty exhale. That peculiar knot in her stomach bloomed into an all out case of nerves and anticipation. Nerves, because she had one hell of a crush on him, and anticipation, because she couldn't wait to see him again.

  In the morning, she awoke to find a note and a peony—he'd discovered it was her favorite flower--on her nightstand. Sebastian had left them there sometime during the night.

  I enjoy having you here. Feel free to explore the grounds at your leisure. Sebastian.

  She kept the note and the flower as personal mementos, beyond pleased that he'd thought to leave them before work. Afterward she showered, enjoying the luxury of the private bath, and changed into a pair of jeans and a blue t-shirt. Sunlight poured in her windows and she stared out over the grounds at the breathtaking view. He must own several hundred acres, she decided, and realized she didn't want to leave. She wanted to know more about Sebastian and the people who shared his life. More about this beautiful house and the extensive garden adjacent to the hedge maze. How easy, she thought, it would be to become absorbed with his world.

  Bernard interrupted her thoughts and informed her that breakfast was served in the dining room.

  Curious, Laurel wandered down to find an elaborate table set with another vase of peonies and more platters of food than she would ever be able to eat. Secretly thrilled that Sebastian had even seen to this detail, she spent an hour languishing over breakfast, reluctant to have it end.

  When she could put it off no longer, she left a note with Bernard for Sebastian, thanking him, and gathered her things. She bid a silent farewell to the house and climbed into the limousine so it could ferry her home.

  Luceph stood with his hands behind his back, staring out the broad window overlooking the glittery skyline of New York City. Night had fallen hours ago, ushering him from the soulless, black sleep that claimed him every time the sun came up. He drew his tongue with methodical precision across the sharp ends of his teeth, collecting the residue of blood from his last taking. Even those minute amounts sent a shudder down his spine.

  Turning from the expansive view, he strolled through the room toward a large desk. A Victorian theme existed both inside and out of his six-story residence. Here in his office, authentic pieces from the period were offset by furnishings in a variety of early European styles: Rococo, baroque, renaissance. Everything he owned had some sort of story to go along with it; the elaborate red divan with gold trim and tassels once belonged to Marie Antoinette and was rumored to be the place she prayed before her execution. Surrounding himself with intriguing reminders of history was almost as addictive as the blood he needed to live.


  He sat down in a chair owned by a former king of England and removed a rolled map from one of the drawers. Spreading it across the desk, he added glass paperweights to the corners to hold them down. Old and leathery, the map represented outlines of countries around the world. Not just countries but territories, each ruled by a different Prince.

  There were six Princes in all. Spread out below each was an intricate, complex hierarchy of vampires that enforced their Prince's rule. It took centuries to build a power base strong enough to take over an entire territory.

  Luceph Saminigo was handwritten in oriental script across North America, designating the area under his control. Canada and Mexico also fell under his rule, making his empire vast and ripe with possibility. It wasn't his first choice of territories but the one he settled for until he conquered his homeland. With a shrewd glance, he looked at Europe and the name penned through the middle.

  Sebastian Xavier Thorn III. Sebastian's ascension was one of the most talked about events in vampire history. With his maker's help, Sebastian overthrew the dark lords that kept Europe in chaos for centuries. Their battles were legendary and brutal. Once Sebastian gained control, he set down roots in the city of Luceph's birth, Madrid, and reigned there still.

  Luceph intended to overthrow Sebastian and take the entire European territory for his own. His schemes were grandiose and expansive but not unattainable. It took careful planning and preparation to stage a coup of this magnitude.

  It took having people on the inside. People willing to feed him information and act on his orders. The path to power was long and tedious and fraught with bribes, lies and deception.

  Propping his elbows on the desk, he pressed his fingers together at the tips and rested them against his mouth. Unraveling a string of thought, Luceph sent a question from his mind to his source in Sebastian's home.

  Any news? Luceph asked.

  Nothing staggering. There is question about a woman whose acquaintance he made some days back. The answer came moments later.

  One of us?

  No, my Prince. A mortal woman. She stayed here for a night.

  What makes you think she is not just another meal? Luceph asked.

  This is apparently not his first contact with her. That, and he has been more than a little distracted from business as usual.

  How long does he plan to be in Madrid?

  A few days.

  Keep me updated, Luceph said and closed the conversation.

  He stood up, deep in thought, and strolled back to the windows. Dark haired, dark eyed, with olive skin and broad shoulders, he looked every measure a vampire Prince. Snug breeches in black topped by a royal blue longcoat and a pair of tall boots harked back to a bygone era.

  Perhaps Sebastian's iron control was starting to slip. It wasn't like him to dabble with mortals and inviting one into his house was a telling bit of information. All Luceph needed was the right circumstance to topple the Prince from his throne.

  The same throne he intended to claim once Sebastian was dead.

  A gasping cry from the floors below distracted Luceph from his plans. He didn't bother with the flight of stairs but stepped into a shadow, melting through the darkness, and emerged onto a bacchanalian scene on floor number five: velvet chaises, marble columns, intricate scrollwork and a long stone dais with cherubs carved into the sides all played a backdrop to the blood feast.

  And it was a feast.

  Women and men, some costumed and bound in leather or silk, were draped across chinoiserie accented furniture and pallets of fringed satin. A few decorated their master's laps. The sounds of their pleasure-- moans and rasps and cries-- played like a symphony through the room. Ecstasy and agony expressed itself in the arch of a spine, an open mouth, surprised eyes and fingers turned into clutching talons. Vampires in an eclectic state of dress spanning centuries and genres had their chosen vaso for the night arrayed in varying poses of temptation.

  “My Prince.”

  “Luceph.”

  “Good evening, my Prince.”

  The greetings layered over each other while Luceph passed among them, returning a nod here or there. These were the most trusted vampires in his legion, their rankings as high as one could hope to attain besides the title of Prince. Kings did not exist; no one vampire ruled higher than the Council of Six. A few, however, had been in power so long that their influence was believed to have more weight than others.

  He paused before a brunette in an elaborate, gilt trimmed chair, eyes dazed, skin pallid. The pale blue, Grecian inspired dress she wore had thin streaks of blood down the front. Luceph's nostrils flared and he glanced at the man standing next to her. A film of red covered the vampire's teeth.

  "Constantino, you are well?" Luceph asked. Brown haired and green eyed, Constantino was a familiar figure in Luceph's inner circle.

  “Yes, my Prince.” Constantino bowed his head and made a lazy gesture of invitation with a clawed hand toward the woman. The offer was an acknowledgment of Luceph's higher power.

  Luceph paused a few moments to debate. He had a certain weakness for brunettes with porcelain skin and long limbs. She looked fragile and delicate, rendered weak from blood loss.

  Circling his hand around the back of the woman's neck, he guided her to lay supine over the table behind the chair, leaving her bare feet in the seat. The clawed tips of his fingers trailed down between her breasts, over her stomach and under the bend of her knee. He set her foot on the arm of the chair and slithered the silk up to expose her leg all the way to the hip. Luceph ran the tip of his tongue from her knee to a soft spot on the inside of her thigh. His bite was sudden, fangs sinking deep. She arched and cried out, shuddering when he sealed his lips and drew a mouthful of blood from the wound. He took no more than that. His control was being noted by the other vampires and it only enhanced his stature that he could stop when he willed himself to.

  Straightening, he tipped his head back and reveled in the hot rush that shot through his taut body. She had enough alcohol, arousal and fear in her system to make the taking more potent than usual. Relaxing by degrees, he forced his teeth to retract . He glanced at the knowing grin on Constantino's mouth.

  “You chose well,” Luceph said, clapping Constantino on the shoulder.

  “As ever, my Prince,” Constantino replied, feigning a bow from the waist.

  Luceph laughed and turned to stroll through the crowd, leaving Constantino to the woman.

  He watched his brethren with sharp eyes, assessing their mood and control. There was always an edge to their gatherings, a tipping point that might turn the blood feast into a blood bath. Vampires were notorious for their possessive natures, even over a vaso that served only one purpose. Luceph loved it, thrived on the blatant danger. As a collective whole, they hung onto their civility by threads.

  A shrill scream, different than the moans and whimpers, drew his gaze to the dais. A fair woman fought against her vampire, fists beating his shoulders with as much effectiveness as the flutter of sparrow wings.

  She'd probably come up out of the haze long enough to realize she wouldn't be leaving the party alive. The vampire finished her in minutes, dropping her body from the curl of his arm. Limp and white, she hung half off the dais, mouth an 'oh' of surprise. It was a scene that would play itself out again and again over the course of the night.

  Luceph summoned a thrall with nothing more than a thought. A tall, brutish woman marched out a side door, searching for the corpse. Her clothes were streaked with blood, her disposition standoffish but not rude. She knew her place too well.

  Snatching the fair woman's hair, she drug her off the dais and out of the room. There was a stack of bodies to be disposed of, vasos that had already served their purpose.

  This was the kind of scenario that Sebastian would despise, he thought. Perhaps not the feeding, but the killing. It was the kind of scenario Luceph wanted to see more of. He wanted their kind to embrace their nature rather than subdue it.

 
; Soon. Soon, the tide would turn back in Luceph's favor. And when he ruled--

  "You're looking thoughtful tonight," Adrienne said.

  He glanced down at the petite, black haired woman standing at his side. A pair of gold-flecked, blue eyes searched his with typical mischief and candor. Dressed all in black, she stood out from the others with her lack of costume.

  "And you look like you're on the prowl. Finished with your vaso already? We have others," he said.

  Adrienne smiled. "You know I always appreciate your soirees, Luceph. But tonight I want more…tempting prey."

  She wanted to hunt. It wouldn't be the first time they had gone out to do so together. Sometimes, his 'soiree' was a hunt and the vampires spread out en masse, hunting in pairs or groups. He thought it was just the thing to take the edge off and reached up to snick open the topmost buttons on his shirt. "Lead on, my lady."

  Adrienne laughed and rolled her eyes at his feigned chivalry, brushing past him with a seductive drag of her hand on his thigh.

  Hunting wouldn't be the only thing on the agenda tonight.

  Chapter Three

  The grand ballroom looked like something out of a renaissance masterpiece. Draped in red and gold, with swags and silk and elaborate gilt trimmings, it was the perfect backdrop for the masquerade. Columns flanked the walls and musicians played eerie but beautiful songs for the dancers spinning and gliding over the polished marble floor. Shadows collected in the corners where caped and gowned and painted guests drifted in and out of sight. Crystal glassware glittered in the hands of masked debutantes, highwaymen, madams and Napoleon himself.

  Laurel, going as Cleopatra, wove her way through the crowd. Rows of beads in a chevron design draped her throat and thin, serpentine metal bands wrapped her wrists and biceps. An ornate mask--the eyes outlined in traditional Cleopatra black-- covered half her face, leaving her mouth and chin exposed. The filmy material of her white dress was so translucent that it was difficult to tell if the dusky shadows underneath were her nipples or a trick of the light.