Chapter 3

"Does it look good?" Elena asked, without turning around.

There was no doubt she had seen me in the glass too.

"That gown is mine," I said, my voice level.

"Lord Cyrus said I could choose whichever one I liked." Elena turned, the skirt sweeping out in an elegant arc. "He said this one suited me best."

A soft smile touched her lips, her gaze clear and limpid. "He also said that you have everything, Miss Isolde, while I have nothing. So this once, he wanted to indulge me."

Then, with a careful little look, she asked, "You don't mind, do you, Miss Isolde?"

My hand clenched into a fist. Black thorns began to crawl and twist up from my wrist.

But in the end, I did nothing.

Because Cyrus's voice came from the far end of the corridor. "Isolde."

I turned. He stood at the other end of the hallway, his face still, his expression edged with disapproval.

"It's only a gown," he said.

Only a gown?

The coming-of-age I had waited years for. Every word he had spoken. The gown he had designed with his own hands, meant for me alone...

It is only a gown.

I picked another dress at random and wore it to the gala the next evening.

The eager anticipation I'd felt at the start was gone. The Night of the Blood Moon no longer seemed so alluring.

The great hall of Thornhold Castle was thick with moving figures, countless candles flickering across stone walls and statues.

Long tables on either side of the hall were lined with crystal goblets, each filled with liquid the deep, rich color of red wine.

Cyrus stood on the dais.

Elena pressed close to his side, dressed in an opulent gown of black and red, slender of figure, with an air that seemed almost otherworldly.

When I entered, his gaze brushed over me coolly, then slid away.

"My honored guests, welcome to the Night of the Blood Moon." Cyrus's voice rang through the hall. "Tonight, I wish to introduce to you all a very special guest."

He looked down at Elena beside him.

Shyly, she lowered her head and took a small step back.

Cyrus's hand shot out, closing around her waist as though he couldn't help himself, drawing her back against him. "As you can all see, she is human. But she also saved my life when I was in dire need."

His voice grew graver still, his arm tightening around the human girl. "From this day on, Elena shall be an honored guest of vampirekind."

A hum of muttering rose around us.

"We'd all heard the Count had an announcement tonight. So this is it?" Someone asked.

Another confused, "A mere human, winning the Count's favor."

"Humans? Aren't they meant to be food and servants?" Someone else echod.

"Hush. Don't question His Lordship's decisions." One vampire stoped this discussion.

Cyrus swept his eyes across the crowd and cleared his throat softly.

The murmuring died down.

Elena's brows drew together. She looked up at him, worried.

Cyrus gave her a small, reassuring smile.

I stood below the dais, watching it all unfold.

The announcement Cyrus had let slip word of in advance. I had thought, all along, that it would be my coming-of-age.

I suddenly remembered, that he had told me the Night of the Blood Moon was a feast prepared for me.

He had once held me in his arms and stroked down my back the way one might stroke a cat.

He had said he didn't want to bring me out too soon, didn't want me meeting the other vampire nobles too early, for fear those bastards would steal me away.

And now?

I couldn't hold back any longer. I strode forward and fixed my eyes on Cyrus. "Haven't you forgotten something?"

Elena spoke first, fluttering with apology. "Miss Isolde, this is my fault. He's been so busy introducing me, he overlooked you for a moment."

I cut her a cold glance. "Was I speaking to you? Shut your mouth."

"Isolde. Since when have you become so rude?" Cyrus's voice dropped low and sharp. After a pause, he sighed. "I've spoiled you."

Elena said tenderly, "Cyrus, it's all right. I don't mind."

"You don't mind?" I laughed coldly and caught her chin between my fingers. "Then how about you return my gown?"

A sharp crack. The black thorns lashed across the back of my hand. Blood welled instantly, the pain piercing to the bone.

I bit down on the pain. I didn't fall. I didn't even lower my head.

Cyrus's face darkened as he drew the thorns back. He turned to the bewildered crowd with a hint of apology. "I'm sorry. My adopted daughter has always been willful. My apologies for the disruption."

My eyes widened. I couldn't believe what I'd heard. "What did you say? I'm... your adopted daughter?"

"Aren't you? You ought to know your place, Isolde."

I stood frozen where I was, fists clenched, my nails biting deep into my palms.

My coming-of-age and the chance I'd waited so long for, to stand beside him was nothing but a joke in hindsight.

In Cyrus's arms, Elena seemed frightened now, her body trembling faintly.

Cyrus patted her shoulder, then glanced at me. Seeing my bleeding hand, his brow furrowed slightly. "That's enough for today. Are you not going to leave?"

I laughed coldly. "Next time you start giving orders, how about you let go of the woman in your arms first?"

With that, I ignored his startled fury, turned on my heel, and walked straight out.

"My lady, you mustn't anger the Count again." The steward tended to my wound, his white whiskers crinkling with concern.

Vampires possessed remarkable self-healing, but our recovery from magical wounds was decidedly ordinary.

The mark by the thorns had carved into my hand wouldn't fade for at least a month.

To spare him further worry, I gave a small nod.

"That's better. The Count is only momentarily taken with that Elena girl. I'm sure he'll come to his senses soon," the steward muttered on. "Besides, you possess a healing art no one else can match. The Count can't do without you..."

Of everything the steward said, only one thing was true.

Cyrus was indeed growing more and more enchanted with Elena.