The string quartet was a nice touch, Julian thought.
Not his idea—Celeste had insisted, and what Celeste wanted, Celeste got—but the music lent the evening a veneer of civility that made the council members far easier to manage.
Nothing soothed the savage vampire like a well-played cello and the illusion of high society.
He stood near the edge of the formal hall, a glass of warmed blood cradled in his palm, and watched his little wolf navigate the room like a man walking through a minefield.
Kristen had looked stunned when they’d entered.
Julian had caught it—the brief widening of those golden eyes, the almost imperceptible pause in his stride as he took in the chandeliers dripping with candlelight, the long tables draped in black silk and laden with elaborate dishes, the clusters of vampires in their finest evening wear, laughing and murmuring as if this were nothing more than a dinner party and not a room full of predators sizing up their prince’s newest possession.
It had been satisfying, in a petty sort of way.
Kristen had spent the past week treating the estate like a prison, and Julian had let him.
Let him wander, let him sulk, let him curl up in bed each night with his back turned and his breathing deliberately even, pretending to be asleep.
Let him think he was being ignored.
He hadn’t been ignored.
Julian had been watching.
He’d watched Kristen trace his fingers along the spines of books he couldn’t read.
Watched him stand at the window for hours, staring at the iron gates like they were a personal insult.
Watched him scream into a pillow on the living room sofa, which had been entertaining in a way Julian hadn’t anticipated and wasn’t too keen to examine.
And now he was watching Kristen stare at a dessert table with an expression caught somewhere between suspicion and reluctant curiosity.
Julian crossed the room, weaving through clusters of vampires who parted for him instinctively, their conversations dipping into respectful murmurs as he passed.
“The chocolate tartlets are safe,” he said, stopping just behind Kristen’s shoulder.
“The blood-infused ones have a distinct shimmer.
Most of the savory dishes are fine, but I’d avoid anything with a red glaze unless you want to find out exactly how fresh the coven’s supply is.”
Kristen turned, his expression flattening into the familiar mask of irritation he’d worn all week.
“You could have mentioned that before I ate three of those little pastry things.”
Julian glanced at the pastry table, then back at Kristen.
“The puff pastries?
Those were spinach and feta.”
“Oh.” Kristen’s shoulders relaxed slightly before he caught himself and stiffened again.
“Well.
Good.”
“If you’d eaten something you shouldn’t have, you’d know by now.
The blood we use tonight is human-sourced, ethically acquired, before you ask.
But your wolf stomach might not appreciate the sudden introduction.”
Kristen rolled his eyes.
“Thanks for the warning.
I’ll be sure to send you a thank-you card.” He turned and walked away without waiting for a response, disappearing into the crowd with the kind of deliberate dismissal that made Julian’s fingers tighten around his glass.
Insolent little thing.
Julian didn’t follow.
He’d learned, over the past week, that pushing too hard only made Kristen dig his heels in deeper.
The wolf was stubborn in a way that was almost admirable.
Almost.
It would have been infuriating if it weren’t so interesting.
Instead, Julian let the crowd swallow Kristen and turned his attention to the vampire who had materialized at his elbow.
“Julian, darling.” Celeste’s silver hair caught the candlelight as she linked her arm through his.
“Your little wolf is even more striking up close.
Those eyes are extraordinary.
No wonder you’ve been keeping him locked away.”
“I haven’t been keeping him anywhere.
He’s free to roam the east wing as he pleases.”
“The east wing.” Celeste’s lips curved.
“How generous.
A whole wing of the house.
I’m sure he feels incredibly free.”
Julian didn’t dignify that with a response.
His gaze drifted back to the crowd, tracking the dark head that stood taller than most of the vampires in the room.
Kristen had stopped near the musicians, his posture rigid, his hands clasped behind his back like a soldier awaiting orders.
“He’s not what I expected,” Celeste continued, her tone thoughtful.
“From the rumors, I’d assumed he’d be more…
feral.
More beast than man.
But he carries himself well.
You can see the Alpha in him, even without the shift.”
“The Alpha in him is precisely the problem.
“And you don’t know how to do anything else.” Celeste patted his arm.
“You’ll figure it out.
You always do.
Though I suspect this one might take longer than your usual acquisitions.”
Julian’s jaw tightened.
“He’s not an acquisition.”
“Isn’t he?” Celeste’s red eyes glinted.
“The contract says otherwise.
Your father certainly thinks so.”
“My father can think whatever he likes.”
“Careful, Julian.
That almost sounded like defiance.” Celeste released his arm and took a delicate sip from her glass.
“I like the wolf.
He’s got a fire to him.
Don’t let your father’s cold hands snuff it out the way he did the last one.”
She drifted away before Julian could respond, leaving him standing alone at the edge of the room with the taste of old memories and bitter ash in his mouth.
He forced his expression back into neutrality and resumed his survey of the room.
Kristen was no longer by the musicians.
Julian’s eyes swept the crowd—once, twice—and found him near the far windows, speaking with someone Julian didn’t recognize at first.
Then he did recognize him, and something cold and sharp slid between his ribs.
Marcus.
Marcus Vane was a distant cousin, a minor figure in the clan hierarchy, with honey-blond hair and an easy smile that had always grated on Julian’s nerves in a way he couldn’t quite articulate.
He was charming in a way that felt practiced.
Harmless in a way that felt deliberate.
And he was standing far too close to Kristen, his hand resting on the windowsill inches from Kristen’s hip, his head tilted at an angle that suggested he found whatever the wolf was saying absolutely fascinating.
Worse, Kristen was responding.
Not with the stiff, guarded posture he used around Julian.
Not with the defiance or the irritation or the carefully controlled anger.
He was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed loosely, and the corner of his mouth was twitching in a way that might have been the beginning of a smile.
Julian’s grip on his glass tightened.
He didn’t move.
He didn’t need to move.
He simply watched as Marcus laughed at something Kristen said—genuinely laughed, not the polite tittering of coven politics—and Kristen’s posture relaxed another fraction.
‘Careful,’ a voice murmured in the back of Julian’s mind.
It wasn’t a wolf; Julian didn’t have that luxury.
It was just the cold, pragmatic voice of self-preservation that had kept him alive for centuries.
‘You’re staring.’
He was.
He forced his gaze away, turning his attention to Lord Alistair, who had been trying to get his attention for the past five minutes.
“Lord Alistair.
My apologies.
I was distracted.”
“Understandably so.” Alistair was an older vampire, grey haired and weathered in a way that suggested he’d stopped caring about appearances decades ago.
“Your new bride is the talk of the evening.
Half the council is terrified of him.
The other half wants to see what his blood tastes like.
Celeste is already planning to invite him to her salon.”
“Celeste can plan whatever she likes.
Kristen doesn’t leave the estate without me.”
“Possessive.” Alistair’s eyes crinkled with amusement.
“It suits you.
I always said you needed something to care about besides coven politics.”
“I don’t care about him.
I care about the contract.”
“Of course you do.” Alistair’s tone was dry.
“That’s why you’ve been staring at him like a hawk watching a mouse for the past ten minutes.”
Julian didn’t respond.
His attention had already drifted back to the windows, where Marcus was now saying something that made Kristen’s shoulders shake with what was unmistakably a suppressed laugh.
Kristen hadn’t laughed once in the entire week he’d been at the estate.
Not once.
But Marcus could make him laugh in ten minutes.
“Excuse me,” Julian said, and he was moving before Alistair could reply.
He didn’t approach directly.
Instead, he circled the perimeter of the room, exchanging pleasantries with the vampires who approached him, accepting congratulations on his marriage with the appropriate measure of graciousness, all while keeping Kristen in his peripheral vision.
Marcus had shifted closer.
Not close enough to be inappropriate—he wasn’t stupid—but close enough that Julian could see the way his fingers brushed the sleeve of Kristen’s jacket when he gestured.
Close enough that Julian could see Kristen didn’t pull away.
“Julian!”
Another vampire intercepted him—Lady Marchetti, ancient and powerful and deeply tedious.
Julian smiled through a five-minute conversation about territorial disputes in the northern districts, his responses perfectly calibrated, his attention split between her and the two figures by the window.
When he finally extricated himself, Marcus was alone.
Kristen was gone.
Julian’s pulse, sluggish and slow as all vampire pulses were, still managed to feel like it had stopped entirely.
He scanned the room—the musicians, the dessert table, the clusters of vampires, the doorway to the corridor—
There.
Kristen was standing near the entrance to the hall, his back pressed against the stone wall, a glass of water in his hand.
He looked composed.
Relaxed, even.
But his eyes were fixed on Julian with an expression that was difficult to read.
Julian crossed the room toward him, careful not to seem hurried.
“Enjoying yourself?”
“It’s not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
Kristen took a sip of water.
“More cruel.
Less music.” He paused.
“Your cousin is funny.”
“Marcus.” The name tasted sour in Julian’s mouth.
“Yes.
He has a reputation for being…
charming.”
“He said I was the most interesting thing to happen to this coven in decades.
Asked about my pack.
My family.
Actually listened to the answers.” Kristen’s golden eyes flicked up to meet Julian’s.
“It was nice, talking to someone who doesn’t look at me like I’m something to be conquered.”
The words were deliberate.
Julian felt them land like a blade between his ribs, precise deserved.
“He also asked if I’d like to see the west gardens sometime,” Kristen continued, his tone casual in a way that felt anything but.
“Said they’re beautiful at night.
Said he’d be happy to show me, assuming you ever let me out of your sight and invited him back.”
Julian’s grip tightened on his glass.
“Generous of him.”
“I thought so.” Kristen held his gaze.
“He’s coming back next week.
Something about a trade discussion with the council.”
“Is he.”
Kristen’s lips curved, just slightly.
“You didn’t know.”
Julian didn’t answer.
The muscle in his jaw was working, a faint tell that would have been invisible to anyone who hadn’t spent the past week cataloguing his every micro-expression.
“I said I’d think about it,” Kristen said.
He handed his empty glass to a passing server and pushed off the wall.
“The gardens.
Not the trade discussion.
I don’t care about your trade discussions.”
Julian clenched his teeth,”Did you let him know you need my permission to do much has breathe?”
Kristen’s eyes flashed and his hands clenched.
Julian felt a dark thrill of satisfaction, “I’d advise you to be a good little boy and stop behaving like an Omega in heat,” He continued brutally.
Kristen’s breathing sped up and he looked at Julian with unmasked anger.
“Fuck you Vance”
He walked away, back into the crowd, leaving Julian standing alone at the edge of the room with a fractured glass while the feeling of satisfaction slowly ebbed away.
Across the hall, Marcus caught his eye and raised his glass in a friendly toast.
Julian didn’t raise his in return.
if I were Kristen, I’d just have the both(〒﹏〒)