Chapter One
“It’s a monstrosity.”
Valerie Craig agreed with her companion’s sentiment wholeheartedly, not exactly thrilled about entering the remote mansion in front of them. She spared Graham a quick smile despite the falling sensation in her stomach.
“You say that every time we come here,” she said.
She felt clammy and wilted like a cold, half-cooked noodle. The entire western half of Washington State often wore gloomy skies like a skin, but today the humidity exceeded Val’s expectations. Graham didn’t look disheveled in the slightest, each strand of his thick brown hair perfectly aligned as usual and nary a wrinkle in his crisp charcoal slacks and vanilla button-up. He could have been a cover model. Amazing. Four dismal hours out of Seattle along winding roads into the Middle-of-Nowhere Mountains and he looked as fresh as the minute they’d left the office.
Val angled the rearview mirror toward where she sat in the passenger’s seat of Graham’s Prius and took a last-minute peek at her reflection. She grimaced, brushing the smudges under her eyes with her fingertip. Even her makeup sagged under the humidity and perspiration coating her skin.
“Stop, V. You look beautiful.”
“Eye of the beholder, Graham. You’re too nice to be honest.”
No one in their right mind would call her once wavy-golden tresses—that now hung in ropy tendrils—beautiful. Sustaining an impeccable appearance was easier for Graham. He bordered on pretty, with the face of an angel that hosted long, dark lashes, a sculpted nose, and high cheekbones with a slightly cherubic roundness to them. He hadn’t broken a sweat once during the humid drive. She wasn’t sure Graham could sweat.
Val took another minute to blot at her eyeliner and renew her lip gloss, but she was only stalling. Then again, the vampires they were calling on were nothing if not fastidiously snobbish, thus necessitating the attention to her makeup meltdown.
Steeling herself, she stepped out into the misting rain and peered up at the three stories that contained the source of her dread. As dismal as the clouds, the mansion towered over them like a weathered sentinel. Slate-gray stone ended in jagged spires at the top of each corner, the sharp angles stabbing into the sky. Occasionally, a sliver of stained glass interrupted the structure’s flat planes, but aside from the slivers and a few balconies, the place was windowless. It made sense, considering who lived—or rather existed—within.
They were about to enter an upscale coffin.
Graham nudged her with his elbow as he reached her side. “Come on, Val. Buck up. It’s just a building.”
“It’s not the building I’m having issues with.” What awaited them inside was worse. Much worse. She shook her head. “I’m fine, Graham. You know I always get a case of nerves before I go in. It’ll settle.”
“You think they’ll blow us off?”
“Of that I have no doubt.” Her shoulder lifted in a half shrug. “But we’ve got a job to do. We have to give them a chance to fix the problem before we can consider taking drastic measures with them.”
“I can’t believe I get to come in this time. I’m about to meet royalty face-to-face.” The touch of awe in his voice earned him a scowl. As one of very few who knew of her antipathy for vampires, he should’ve had the courtesy to put a leash on his excitement. Instead, he acted like an eager groupie.
“You’ve talked to them before.” Val tried to keep the irritation from her voice. “Besides, royalty and politicians mean the same to me. Overindulged, overpaid, overglorified, and any other over-word you want to add.”
With a sharp tug on his sleeve, she steered him along the cobbled, oval drive toward the dramatic steps leading to the entry.
“How many times have you seen them in person?” He only half listened for her answer as his gaze roamed the estate, his interest caught by the topiaries lining the driveway. She snorted indelicately.
“Too many to count. They’re creepy. Just be prepared and show no fear or they’ll take it as weakness. They’ll tread all over you.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Coming to the mansion in person was akin to walking a minefield. She always expected a blast if she made the wrong move. “All right. Let’s go in.”
Val schooled her expression into a professional mask as they ascended steps wide enough to park a car on and reached the titanic double doors. Graham ducked in front of her and tapped the wrought iron knocker against the slab of blackened timber. He was enjoying this entirely too much. She pinched him in the side. His startled grunt told her she might have pinched a little too hard.
Without a hint of squeak, the door swung wide to reveal a slender pole of a man with slightly sunken cheeks, wispy white hair, and a gray undertone to his skin. A walking corpse. The upper-caste vampires, Immortalis Dominorum, and their vampire followers, the Immortalis Legio, were always well fed, giving them an unnaturally healthy glow. This man had to be a human subjugate not yet worthy of transformation.
Some subjugates were never found worthy and were left to waste away, waiting for an everlasting reward that would never transpire. Hardly fair, considering these desperate humans were approved for transformation by the Dominorum only to discover their probationary period often ended in death—which is exactly why she and Graham had come to the mansion.
She’d fought for more than two years to restrict or eradicate transformation altogether, and Congress had appointed her vice director of a small team of Vampire Liaisons. That simple title came with a whopping perk of legislative influence she had every intention of using, hopefully without anyone at the VLO figuring out her intentions.
Wordlessly, the man led them through a narrow entry into a grand foyer. A high dome rose a dizzying thirty feet above their heads. Dual stairways curved along the walls on each side, climbing to a lofty, second-level landing. Most of the guest rooms were on that floor. They were opulent. She’d taken the full tour upon her first arrival over a year before, but Graham gawked openly at the luxurious black marble floors, glossy mahogany railing, Tiffany crystal chandeliers, and all the other glaring displays of decadence along the way. Personally, she found it frigid. The textures and colors exuded sterility and the chill in the air gave her goose bumps. It even smelled cold.
“Psst,” she whispered. “At least close your mouth and quit drooling.”
He flashed a smile. “It’s gorgeous.”
“A monstrosity, you said.”
“Changed my mind.”
They passed through the arched entry under the landing and stopped in a sitting room decorated in gaudy black and deep crimson. Gold accents around the room reminded her how grossly rich, and therefore powerful, the oldest Immortalis were. Massive portraits lined the walls, each highlighted by a lit sconce beneath its heavy frame. The miniscule lights casting shadows around the portrait edges and the stark darkness of the walls didn’t give her impression of menace any relief.
The gaunt man gestured toward one of the long settees and left the room. His behavior didn’t seem strange considering what he was. In fact, he fit right in. With each encounter of a subjugate, she wondered why they’d chosen to become a vampire. It wasn’t like vampires were automatically rich and powerful and sexy. Humans came out of the transformation, if they survived, much the same as they went in. What could make anyone wish for that excruciating, morbid transformation?
Especially her ex-husband, Will.
“What’s wrong?” Graham stroked a stray lock of hair away from her cheek, his touch tender. “You seem far away.”
“Sorry.” She perched at the edge of the couch, her fingers smoothing over the velvety crimson upholstery.
Graham’s lips thinned into a disapproving line. “Don’t think about him.”
“I can’t help it. He’s partly why we’re here.”
“He’s not the man you married and not the man I befriended. That man no longer exists. May as well think of him as someone else.”
“You’re right.” She took his hand and pulled him to the seat next to her. “I’m glad you’re here.”
She evaded his attempt at eye contact. He’d developed feelings beyond friendship for her, but it was a one-way street. She could never look at him without seeing her ex-husband’s best friend. And the man who’d revealed Will’s betrayals. All of them.
When Graham opened his mouth to speak, she silenced him with a swift jerk of her head. They weren’t alone. Two figures moved toward them, their motion liquid. Both vampires appeared to be in their late twenties or early thirties, but Val knew the couple to be much older.
The woman’s hair tumbled in lustrous auburn waves past her waist, her delicate face like beauty incarnate, with creamy smooth skin and pouty lips. Her body, elegantly displayed in a clingy, floor-length gown of soft teal, was lean and sleek with generous, perky breasts. It was false advertising. Vampirism didn’t get her those looks. Evangeline had been born physically perfect—and human. Just as the male, Olen, had been.