Chapter 7

Seven

The party is being held in the ballroom because of course Duval House has a ballroom.

A dozen chandeliers hang from the soaring ceiling, their crystals glittering in the light. Round tables dot the perimeter of the room while a raised dais to the left of the entrance holds a full band. People have coupled off to dance in unison in a way that reminds me of all of the Regency romance movies Mom used to watch when I was a kid.

Over the years, I’ve attended a few Locke House vampire parties, but nothing like this. Nothing that was planned at the last minute and somehow turned out like an event that was planned by a team for a year.

Bran leads me across the room and the crowd parts for us, the others bowing or bending their heads to him as he passes. He ignores them.

We come to a private table where Damien sits at the head. Jimmy is there too with a few other vampires that I recognize but whose names escape me.

“Late, as usual,” Damien says, his tone scolding.

“Sorry, brother. But you know what they say about those who are chronically late.”

“No, I don’t think I do. Enlighten me.”

“They don’t give a shit.”

Damien scowls. Jimmy curls her hand over her mouth trying to hide a laugh and Damien turns his displeasure on her.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Jimmy says, the laughter still trilling in her voice. “It’s funny because it’s true.”

“Yes, well, if he’s going to be Head of House and you’re going to be second in line, then you both need to act the part.”

Bran and Jimmy share a look like, can you believe this guy?

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to penetrate the tight-knit relationship the three of them share, but I hope I can find a place on the edge at the very least.

There’s something to envy about what they have and it immediately makes me miss Sam.

It feels like a year since I spoke to her last.

“Let’s get the fun part over with,” Damien says and rises from the table. “Come to the dais.”

Bran looks at me. His hand is still at the small of my back, very clearly an act of possession, and it makes me flush inside and out.

“I won’t be long,” he says to me.

“I’ll be okay.”

“Behave,” he warns me, with a glint in his eyes.

Some distant, dark thought comes to mind that if I don’t, he’ll punish me for it, and he’s been oh-so-clever with his punishments.

“Mouse,” he says, nostrils flaring, a rumble in his voice.

He can smell me, smell the first hint of my desire.

“Sorry,” I say. But am I?

And then, in the middle of a Duval party with literally everyone in attendance, he kisses me on the forehead.

It’s a simple act but it speaks a thousand words.

Together, Bran, Damien, and Jimmy make their way across the ballroom. If the crowd parted for Bran, it practically gets to its knees for the three of them together.

Because I had always been dead set on leaving Midnight, I never paid careful attention to the vampire politics and the hierarchy.

I never realized just how powerful these three are.

Like the sun and the moon and the earth. Everything and everyone has to bend to them.

Julian never commanded a room like this.

When they reach the stage, the band lets their current song fade out and the room quickly falls to silence.

Damien takes the lead while Bran stands on his right and Jimmy on his left.

They are a sight to behold. Damien and Bran look ridiculously handsome standing next to one another in their dark designer suits, and it’s easy to see them as brothers. Jimmy radiates power and energy and dazzles in her dress.

And in this moment, I am ridiculously grateful to be where I am. I want to be a part of their group. I want to command a room with them.

I’ve never hungered for significance…until now.

“Thank you all for gathering here tonight on such short notice,” Damien says, his voice booming across the room. “We have an announcement to make.”

Excited energy breezes through the crowd.

“As you all know, my brother and I helped found Midnight Harbor and this house wouldn’t be what it is today without him. So I’m pleased to announce that Bran and I will now lead Duval House together as Co-Heads of House and Jimena will assume the role as second-in-command.”

The crowd comes to life with applause.

When it dies down again, Damien adds, “And as many of you are aware, we’ve welcomed two new members to our house.”

Oh shit.

The crowd’s attention starts to wander, half of it landing on me, the other half finding Kelly by the bar.

Now I wish I would have gone to her earlier so I wouldn’t be standing here like a butterfly pinned to a board.

I distinctly feel like I’m on display.

“I know many of you have wondered why we have a Locke human within our house. All you need to know as of right now is that Kelly MacMahon is under our protection, and tomorrow, at her Pledging, Duval House will bid on Jessie.”

My face warms beneath the attention as the whispers start.

“Like Kelly, Jessie is under our protection. And if I catch any of you trying to haze her, you can expect a private meeting with me. Do we understand one another?”

The crowd quickly murmurs its agreement.

“Now that business is done,” Damien says, “carry on with your celebrations and be responsible with your blood drinking.”

The vampires hoot and whistle as their Pledged humans prepare for a night of being human juice boxes.

I hover by the abandoned table waiting for Bran to return to me, but as he leaves the dais, he’s cornered by Sky.

My insides immediately clench up.

She gets in close to his side and leans in to whisper something to him, her hand on his arm. He laughs at whatever it is.

My chest tightens as a cold sweat prickles down my arms. Has he only been pretending to be indifferent to Sky?

There is a voice in the dark depths of my mind that says: Get back at him.

I scan the crowd for a familiar face and spot Lance, the vampire valet who parked the Bimmer the first time I came here with Bran.

“Lance!” I practically shout. “How are you?”

He’s mid-drink of a glass of blood and nearly chokes on it when I sidle up to him.

“Me?” He looks behind him.

“Yes, you. Is there another Lance here?”

Lance isn’t a bad looking guy. I’m not exactly sure what his story is, but I don’t think he’s one of the older vampires, otherwise he wouldn’t be a valet.

“I needed a friendly, handsome face,” I tell him. “Can you be my friendly, handsome face, Lance?”

“Ummm…” He clutches at his glass, hand shaking. “I’m not so sure?—”

I bat my eyelashes up at him, smile as brightly as I can, and put my hand on his arm, just like Sky did with Bran. Honestly, coming over here I just wanted to make Bran jealous, but now that Lance is bumbling beneath my attention, there is a bright flare of pride igniting at the center of me.

If I have this kind of power, what else can I do with it?

“How long have you been at Duval House?” I ask him, and sip from my drink, elongating my neck as I tip my head back. His eyes immediately zero in on the pulsing artery in my throat.

“1983,” he answers. “I was twenty-six at the time.”

“So that makes you…”

“Sixty-five. I’m sixty-five years old.”

He could be a grandfather right now if his life had turned out differently.

I look back toward the dais and find Sky still talking to Bran, but he’s not looking at her. He’s looking at me. And his eyes are bright, burning gold.

The thrill intensifies and my clit pulses.

Oh fuck.

The absolute satisfaction I’m getting out of this is so fucking wrong.

But…

Lance follows my line of sight. “Oh shit. Bran,” he says, even though we’re a football-field apart and the room is full of the cacophony of the party. “I’m sorry. We were just talking.”

My heart beats harder.

And in the next blink, Bran is gone.

Lance yelps and darts away.

Goosebumps erupt on my skin as that dark flame burns brighter.

He’s going to come for me.

I turn around and run.

I’m like a child that’s just lit a bomb.

And now I’m running away, both terrified and giddy, waiting for it to go off.

There are three side doors to the ballroom and I take the closest one to me. The hallway is empty beyond and the lighting is low with just a few hanging pendant lights sending a halo of golden glow over the polished hardwood floors.

The sound of the party fades behind me as my heart hammers in my head.

When I turn down the next corner, a hand lashes out, grabs me by the arm, and yanks me into a darkened room.

I know it’s Bran the second I inhale. There’s no mistaking his scent—the sweetness of amber, the richness of leather.

He has me pressed against the wall in no time at all, and I let out a little moan.

“I told you to be a good girl tonight.” His voice is hoarse and edged with a sinister rumble. “It’s like you want to be punished.”

I clench up, clit throbbing. I’m wearing panties tonight, but the fabric is already soaked.

“Am I not allowed to talk to other guys?” I ask.

“Am I not allowed to talk to other girls?”

“ Touché .”

He smiles. “Do you know the origins of that word?”

I wiggle beneath him. He tightens his grip on me, pressing closer. “I can’t say that I do.”

“It’s French,” he says, “and it means to touch .”

My heart kicks up. Bran takes in a deep, satisfying breath.

“Oh, little mouse, you thought you could play me, did you? Manipulate me into punishing that pussy.”

I lay my head back against the wall, exposing my throat. The tingling sensation between my legs is so intense now, I squeeze my thighs together trying to hold it at bay.

When is he going to touch me? When will he end the torture?

“Is that so wrong?” I ask him.

He laughs, low and beneath his breath, and then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black teardrop-shaped object. He holds it up by its flat bottom.

“Open up, Mouse.”

“What—”

He shoves it past my lips. It’s cool to the touch with layered petals around the head, almost like a rose.

I watch him as he fucks my mouth with it, slow and steady, and then he pulls it out fast, making my lips pop.

“What is that for?”

He kicks my legs apart, reaches beneath my dress, shoves aside my panties, and slides it into my pussy.

I exhale in a rush, surprised by its use and shocked at how much wetter I already am because of it.

In his other hand, he holds up a remote.

I don’t think I need an explanation for that.

He presses a button and the plug buzzes deep inside of me.

The moan that escapes my throat is both shrill and lacking oxygen.

“Before the little mouse decided to play games, she should have asked herself what the rules were.”

He presses the button again and the vibration shifts rhythm and my clit throbs harder.

“Bran,” I say, gulping down air.

He wraps his hand around my throat and kisses me gently, then nips at my bottom lip.

“Okay, I give in,” I say. I want more than this. I want his hands on me. I want him inside of me.

My clit is swollen and needy and without thinking, I reach between my legs, desperate to rub myself.

But Bran snags my wrist and tsk-tsks. “Come on, Mouse. We have a party to attend.”

“Wait.”

“No.”

I wanted him to bend me over a desk and fuck me. Or throw me on a fainting couch and punish me with his cock. Not this prolonged torture.

Wrapping his hand around the back of my neck, he steers me like an animal from the room, the plug still buzzing.

I’m finding it more difficult to walk the more the pleasure builds. The layers on the plug cause friction with every step and the vibration pulses from my clit to my ass.

Fuck, I’m about to go rabid.

“Bran, please.”

When we reach the ballroom again, Bran stops me at the threshold and says at my ear, “Before the little mouse decided to play games, she should have asked herself if she knew how to win.”

Then he pushes me into the ballroom.