CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 3
ALEXEI VOLKOV
"Where the hell have you been?"

I throw a scowl at Marcus Reed, who just so happens to be one of my best friends. "Out," I reply. Opening the jacket of my suit, I sit on a barstool, placing both hands on the mahogany top.

"Out?" He sets a glass he's drying aside and comes over in my direction, putting it in front of me and adding two fingers of Jameson. I lift it, drink it, and set it back on the bar. He refills it right away before leaning in. "You're involved in that skydive accident that's been on the news since last night?"

I shrug. "He jumped."

"Shit, Alexei. You're going to get your ass caught."

I lock gazes with Marcus's brown eyes and whisper, "He was the last of The Volkov Horde.".

He stands up, his head nodding in comprehension. Marcus has been my best friend since diapers. He is the one person who knows I am a hunter, and has lied for me more than a few times. He also was the one who saved me after Alina died. "That why you're all dressed up? You celebrating?"

I glance down at my black suit. It's the best thing I possess, and something I only bring out for trying to fit in with the aristocratic pricks who have a habit of running with The Blood Syndicate. Most of them don't even realize they're shaking hands with the blood-sucking dickwads.

"Stop busting my balls," I tell him, not wishing to have to tell him that I might be transported magically to a ball which may or may not have monsters scuttling inside it. I don't even get to decide what would be the best possible outcome. To discover it was all a joke? Or not a joke at all?

"Then explain why you're in a four-piece black suit in my Reed's Tavern."

"Because I wanted to."

He refills me again and shakes his head, allowing me to have my rotten fucking temper while he takes off to serve other customers.

"I like your suit."

Eyebrow raised, I stare at the woman beside me. "Thanks."

Using my superior hearing, I eavesdrop for one heartbeat. The clammy skin gives her away, and her incredibly slow pulse tells it all.

Most people think vampires don't have hearts—but in real life, they're born just like you and me. But only if two vampires get it on. If a vampire gets it on with a human, nothing will happen. They need that supernatural blood exchange before a baby can be conceived.

Vampires murder brutally, and I suppose the only thing they are any good for is that they don't slaughter. Their deaths are instantaneous, and sometimes painless to the victim. Neither of which does them any good, so I raise my arm and cup the silver dagger holstered on my forearm against the jacket of my tuxedo.

Marcus comes back over, showing the woman beside me a broad grin. "What may I get you, lovely?"

"I'll have what he's having," she says, indicating my drink.

I give her a smile and a nod. No chance in hell I can kill her in here. Marcus would be supremely fucking pissed off if I did that. So, I sit back and wait. If she does something, then I do something.

Marcus buys her a drink, and she puts a credit card in his palm. "Keep a tab running, handsome."

"You bet." He leaves, and the vampire comes in my direction, elbow on the mahogany, her hip thrust out. A scintilla of fabric that barely qualifies as a dress creeps up her ghostly thighs.

"So, what are you all dressed up for tonight? Off to a ball or something?"

Eyebrow raised, I look at her. "What makes you think so?"

"You're dressed a bit too well to be in here."

"I think this is a pleasant pub."

She moves forward. "Cut the crap, Hunter."

"Why? We were having such a good time." I stand up, my large body towering over hers.

"You don't intimidate me."

"I should. Why are you in here?"

"I want the invitation that's in your pocket."

"I don't think I know what you're talking about."

"I watched you jam it in there when you got out onto the curb. You should keep something this valuable hidden." She runs one hand along my chest, bright red fingernails contrasting gothically against black fabric.

I move back. "I say again. I don't know what you're talking about."

She approaches me, standing on her tip-toes. I do not pull away as she places her lips by my ear. "How about I swap information with you? You tell me, and I'll tell you where the four vampires are hiding outside, waiting for you. Your life for a ticket to a ball."

"Not a chance in hell, bitch."

"Too bad. You're as good as dead, Hunter. But don't say I didn't warn you." She heads towards the door, and I drop into step behind her, silver dagger at my side. I suppose I'm going to get blood on my accursed suit after all.

I emerge into the alley as she's walking down Volkov Alley. Trap? Of course. Nearly every time I step outside, I'm risking getting caught in one. "An alley? Super original."

She looks back over her shoulder at me, golden eyes widening, before she takes off in a run.

"Dammit." I am not appropriately attired for a pursuit. Pounding my arms, I take off after her as she rounds a corner.

I freeze at the exit of the alley, dagger still held tight in my hand. A vampire stands a few yards in front of me, his canines sunk into the throat of the woman I’d been chasing. He rips his teeth out—tearing her throat with them—and tosses her to the side like a doll. “Well, that was unexpected.” A vampire killing another vampire? Not entirely unheard of—but usually, their deaths are carried out in the chambers of The Eternal Court.

"She shouldn't have spoken to you." In black jeans and a black t-shirt, the man wipes the blood from his lips with his fingers and spits it onto his pants.

"She didn't say much to me."

He shrugs. "Too bad."

"Do we do this? I do have a place to go." Kneeling so as not to catch the tip of the dagger in my hand on the sleeve, I remove my suit jacket and pin it to the rung of a fire escape. Kneeling once more, I draw my second blade from a holster around my ankle.

"Y'ain't leaving out of this alley." He smiles and goes along with a nod as three sets of boots pound the pavement behind me.

"Oh, I see. You wish to role play?" I straighten up, then flip my daggers hilt to blade, and smile. "I adore to role play."

I drop and spin my leg around, taking the motherfucker down to the ground. Rolling on him, I come down on top and kick my legs out to take out the second vamp, who was trying to creep up on me.

I hurl my dagger end over end into the asshole I noticed first. It strikes him in the chest, and he howls, falling to the ground. I catch a right hook and strike my attacker in the ribcage. He backs up, and I drive my second blade into his chest.

Tearing it out, he doubles backward, and I turn to give the other two a glare. "Who's next? They gaze at one another and take flight, vanishing from the alley and out into the street. I peer at my watch—eleven fifty-eight. I kneel down and wipe my knife on the jeans of the nearest dead vamp, then walk over to black t-shirt and rip my second dagger from his chest.

Cleaning that off, too, I grab my jacket and button it back up.

Double-checking to make sure that I still have my invitation, I shove it back into my pocket and head straight for the nearest fire escape. I have no clue if this thing is going to even work, but if it does, I figure I'll need to be on Hunter's Heights.
NATALIA MOROZOVA

My mirror in my room shows off a beautiful black skirt with a red top embellished with hand-embroidered black roses. The roses emboss the family crest of Dragunov—so even now, they're stamping me with what I wear.

As soon as people take notice of me, everyone will know whose I am. I clench my fists. Belong to. Like I was a shard of cursed real estate. The clock on my nightstand reads eleven fifty-nine. I glance over at the piece of paper on my bed before I walk over and retrieve it.

If this thing doesn't work, I'll be wedded by morning. Coerced into bed with my foe so he can insert his child into me. Tears scald at the corners of my eyes. By the Lord above, I'll die before I let that bastard lay a hand on me. And if this accursed thing does work, I'm using it to shed my virginity.

After all, I’ve heard that what happens at The Blood Moon Gala stays at The Gala.

The clock in the downstairs room tolls out Midnight Hour, and nothing happens. I grab my breath, stepping toward the Moon Balcony. The moon begins to glow, just as it glowed when the parchment arrived in my consecrated cell. The vines on the balcony writhe, crawling to smother the light. But the moment the light touches them, they are dust, crumbling and blowing away on the wind.

I am flooded with bright light, and I close my eyes, clutching the parchment.