Sipping a third glass of champagne, my red lips quirked at whatever politician’s wife Ethan was buttering up. The charm of a peacock, that one—all bright feathers and squawking.
Spell woven, he’d fully enraptured the woman to his cause with little more than dimples and a practiced swagger.
It was a ploy to aid the Rothschild family’s political agenda. Trying to swing a senate vote in his uncle’s favor would determine how far Ethan might take the night’s seduction.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Miss King?” Watching the same choreographed dance across the city’s chicest hotel’s rooftop, Ethan’s powerful uncle—the mercenary and corruptible Senator Randal Rothschild himself—planted his bulk by my side.
I was not there to enjoy myself; I was there to overhear softly whispered conspiracy. Still I offered a smile to the man of the hour. “Happy birthday, Senator. It’s a lovely party.”
View immaculate: the glittering evening skyline of the financial district’s skyscrapers, the celebrity guest list, even the pot-bellied, bleating president holding court over the country’s greediest misers, was pageantry serving a solitary purpose.
Clout.
It took more than designer garments, a pedigree, fine schools, or even contacts to rule this world. The key was in the small moments of ruthlessness.
Such as watching my lover seduce another woman and encouraging him with a sly wink.
“A pity your father couldn’t join us.” Pompous, fleshy cheeks reddened by bourbon and the night’s chilled air, Senator Rothschild fisted his lapel.
I gave the unspoken complaint no weight, sipping from a coupe of champagne as I answered, “He sends his regrets.”
“I was hoping we might discuss…”
Money. He was hoping he might discuss my father’s money and how much Senator Rothschild might jam into his blood-drenched pockets.
“You should marry that boy.”
Now he had my attention. Skating my glance from Ethan’s antics to the scheming politician at my side, I quirked a brow.
Once upon a time the senator had been handsome and charismatic like his nephew. Now aged, and powerful enough to ignore the crutch of vigor, he’d entered his twilight years, morphing more and more into a jowly blobfish. It had been an interesting transformation to behold.
Ugly and terrible as he was, very few men could hold a stare like a cold-blooded Rothschild.
This offer of marriage… he wasn’t flattering me. He was trying to buy my father with the gilded Rothschild’s name. Which meant he knew something I didn’t.
Mistakes, oversights, plain fucking up, led to unspeakable punishments I had no interest in enduring. Senators didn’t throw their nephews at heiresses, no matter what the movies portrayed. “You anticipate my father will change factions.”
“He mentioned—”
Slipping at the mention of my father for the second time that night, I demanded an answer from a man I’d been commanded to flatter. “What did he say?”
My eyes were blue, my dress was green, and my dark hair had been spun into classic elegance. I was everything memorable and forgettable all at once. I smelled of whale vomit and dead wood.
A born vampire who could walk in the sun—the weakest of my kind and also the most valuable.
Daywalker.
The only offspring of our king.
And I was afraid of my daddy.
For good reason.
When the senator went glassy-eyed under my influence, I demanded, “Tell me what he said to you.”
“We have not spoken yet. But, immigration… he expects open borders. My platform… my base. I need to sell hate to secure the vote.”
I didn’t give a shit about politics, and my father didn’t give a shit about people. Humans were a food source, nothing more. He demanded open borders because he wanted undocumented targets to harvest.
I did mention that he was the devil…
Angry, hating being caught off guard, I used the slight influence I possessed. Touching my hand to Rothschild’s fluttering fingers, I planted a seed. “You’re senate majority leader. Lying to your constituents is your only vocation. Promise them whatever they want, deliver what he wants. You don’t want to disappoint Darius King, now do you?”
As I lacked the skill to fully enthrall, Senator Rothschild had already begun shaking off my pathetic mental influence. Ready to put a little miss in her place, he narrowed his eyes. “Well, you see, child. This is all above your pretty head.”
I was older than him by decades. Hell, I’d fucked his grandfather! But that was neither here nor there. “Of course, sir. I apologize. It’s just that I adore Ethan.”
“Then marry him.”
And that, in this era of internet and images that even my people could not scrub out of existence, a marriage would grant me more time with my Ethan. I would not be easy to wash away. “I’ll mention the idea to Daddy.”
Sauntering away, the old man crowed, “You do that.”
Thirty years prior I might have let the thin glass of my champagne’s coupe shatter in my hand. I might have hurt that man. But I already carried enough regrets and grasped that I’d have to pay for America’s uglier desires once my father heard this… despite my obedience.
The devil knew how to extract his due no matter how hard I’d tried to obey.
Draining the glass in my grip, I set it on a passing waiter’s tray, reaching for another.
Effervescent bubbles danced down my throat, everything gulped in a single swallow. Bubbly champagne spun in my belly, warmed me, but did nothing to slake the thirst I had ignored for the past week.
Having worked my pathetic resources on that flabby prick, working to squash the impending sense of doom, I was starving.
And no soul here could feed me.
Often I’d flung away feeling of any sort that would not keep me breathing. Loneliness, depression, the need to run as far as I might from this horrible place. Engaging, handsome distractions had served. Obedience served.
Alcohol served.
I snatched another glass from another white-coated server, Cristal running down my throat.
Next I’d marched toward the food. Caviar, candied bacon, delicacies too difficult to pronounce. I picked at the offered fare, smiling and making small talk with anyone and everyone nearby. Because that was my job.
That’s what I was.
A showpiece that existed only to overhear gossip and have my mind stripped at my father’s leisure.
A fallible disappointment.
The devil would see me crucified for the slip I’d made that night. So why not exasperate it?
Act a fool before the masses.
Pretend I loved it all, that I was friends with everyone. That I mattered.
Most of my act was for the single interloper who’d invaded my stage.
I saw him before he’d dared speak to me. Slurping down an oyster, assuring he had a clear view of how I sucked the shell as if human food were ambrosia, I sneered.
Of course, night had fallen. My kind had arrived.
Undying, gorgeous, and the last thing on earth I desired, he pushed through the crowd to approach. “Your father granted me rights tonight.”
“Have we met?” I could never be sure, because I made no effort to engage with my food.
“I’ll be careful of your fragile state.” Beautiful chocolate eyes in a Nordic face. That man had been a warrior ages ago, bore the years and experience I lacked.
Pointing out my inferiority and documented physical weakness let me know exactly what type of male my father had sent to seed my womb. “How kind.”
Leaning closer, the most beautiful male in attendance dared run his nose near my neck. “You smell of sunshine.”
And he’d forgotten sunshine centuries ago. No born vampire would notice such a thing. “Let’s get this over with.”
“I have a fine room prepared.” Smiling, thinking he might seduce by flashing the tips of his fangs, he beckoned me inside.
“I know someplace better.” Weaving my arm through his, daughter of the king of evil, I edged him toward the exit.