Chapter 193

Chapter 193
Draken

A female vampire in a dress that probably cost more than a house leaned against the wall, her expression caught between fascination and fear. "I know he's supposedly not in his right mind, but I'm still afraid. Having a dragon at a vampire gathering feels like keeping a predator in your bedroom."

"Relax," her companion said, though he didn't sound entirely convinced himself. "He's ours now. Under control. Still..." He paused, studying me with the kind of analytical gaze usually reserved for examining fine wine. "I'm curious how Alaric managed it. The key task of the entire Ascension Initiate, and he actually pulled it off. The patriarch will reward him well for this."

"About time," someone else chimed in. "Maybe he'll finally get that marquis title he's been angling for. Eighty years as a count has to be getting old."

I felt rather than saw Alaric's expression darken beside me, his jaw clenching so hard I wondered if he might crack a tooth. The casual dismissal in their voices, the barely concealed surprise that someone of his "station" had managed to accomplish anything significant—it was eating at him.

"Well, well," I murmured, pitching my voice low enough that only he could hear. "Now I understand why you're so eager for bloodshed. You complete the most difficult task imaginable, and they still look at you like you're beneath them. Must be exhausting, being underestimated because of something as arbitrary as birth."

His head snapped toward me, eyes flashing with anger before he caught himself. "I didn't realize puppets could be so perceptive," he said, his voice tight.

I shrugged, keeping my expression neutral. "Just making conversation."

He was quiet for a long moment, then let out a breath that might have been a laugh if it had held any humor. "Even now," he said softly, "even with you supposedly under my control, supposedly nothing more than my assistant... they still see you as infinitely more valuable than me. Your bloodline, your power—it eclipses everything I've ever accomplished."

I didn't respond, just let a small smile play at the corners of my mouth. The silence between us stretched as we continued walking.

"You know what?" I said finally, my voice taking on a darker edge. "When we get in there, I'll make sure to roast a few of them extra crispy with dragonfire. Consider it a professional courtesy."

Alaric actually laughed at that, short and sharp. "No need. The real enemies are still ahead."

He wasn't wrong. We'd reached the grand hall, and I had to pause for just a moment to take it all in. The room was massive, easily the size of a small cathedral, with a ceiling that soared at least forty feet overhead. More chandeliers, these ones even more elaborate, cast warm golden light over what had to be hundreds of vampires gathered in careful hierarchical arrangements.

At the far end of the hall, elevated on a dais that made his superiority physically manifest, sat Byron. The patriarch of the Sanguis family lounged in a throne that looked like it had been carved from a single piece of black marble, one leg crossed over the other, a wine glass dangling from his fingers with studied casualness. Even from this distance, I could feel the weight of his power, centuries of accumulated strength and political cunning wrapped in an almost bored exterior.

The seating arrangements told their own story. Closest to Byron, at tables that had clearly been positioned to indicate favor and importance, sat the ancient ones. Vampires who'd walked the earth for as long as I'd been alive, their bloodlines pure and powerful, their auras making the air shimmer with barely restrained force. I recognized a few of them—lords and ladies who'd been making power plays in supernatural circles since before America was founded.

And there, in the far corner, almost an afterthought, sat a small table with a handful of empty seats. The vampires already seated there looked distinctly uncomfortable, their clothes fine but not quite as fine, their postures suggesting they knew exactly how little they mattered in this gathering.

I started to move toward that corner table—it seemed the appropriate place for a "controlled" dragon and his handler—but Alaric's hand on my arm stopped me. Before I could question it, he was steering me forward, directly toward the dais, toward Byron himself.

The conversations around us died as we passed. I could feel hundreds of eyes tracking our movement, could hear the whispers starting up in our wake. By the time we reached the base of the dais, the entire hall had gone silent, everyone watching to see what would happen next.

Alaric stopped a respectful distance from the throne and inclined his head. Not quite a bow, but close enough to show deference without completely debasing himself.

"Patriarch," he said, his voice carrying in the sudden quiet. "I was wondering where our seats might be?"