The insistent doorbell snapped me out of my shame spiral. Nothing changed the fact I had to attend the inauguration. Dame Lawson had sanctioned a wraith attack on my house, and I planned to hold her accountable. Somehow. And then there was Keet. Was he the bait luring me into a cage of her own design? Did she plan on forcing me to negotiate for his return? Or would she hand him over if I performed the act of dutiful niece on her big day?

Snorting, I somehow doubted I’d wriggle off her hook that easily.

“Are you ready?” Neely positioned his rolling bag near the door then beamed. “You’re going to knock ’em dead, Grier.”

Half of them were already dead, but it’s not like I could tell him that if I wanted him to keep breathing.

“Yep.” I gripped my silver clutch in front of me. “Let the dog and pony show begin.”

Neely tsked at me but opened the door with a sweeping gesture to reveal Volkov dressed in a black tux molded to his frame. His hair was swept back away from his face, and a pucker creased his brow when he spotted Neely. But when his gaze slid past my friend’s shoulder onto me, the only sign of his irritation vanished as if it had never been, and his slow smile radiated approval at what he saw.

“Solnishko, you are breathtaking.” He placed his hand over his heart. “Are the dress and shoes to your taste?”

“You chose well.” I gave a little twirl at Neely’s urging. “Thank you for your generosity.”

“By accepting my gifts, you have given me the pleasure of caring for you. I wish to show you that it can always be this way between us.” He delivered the line with enough sincerity to impress the orator in me. “Tonight I will be the most envied man in the room.” His smile grew sharp. “I can hardly wait.”

“Okay, cats and kittens, this is where I exit stage left.” Neely tamed a flyaway with a quick twist of his wrist. “Have fun.”

“I don’t believe we were introduced.” Volkov eyed Neely with an intense expression. “I’m Danill Volkov.”

“Neely Torres.” He gave a little wave. “I work with Grier at Haint Misbehavin’.”

“He’s a genius with hair and makeup.” I bumped shoulders with him. “He was kind enough to come over and help me get ready.”

“Then I’m in your debt.” Danill reached into the front pocket of his suit and withdrew an honest-to-God money clip and began peeling off bills. “What do you charge per hour?”

The sight of all that money had Neely’s mouth flopping open and shut. “This was a, uh, favor.”

“You should be compensated for your time.” He pressed a wad of cash into Neely’s limp fingers. “A favor done for Grier is a favor done for me.”

“Grier?” Neely wheezed, eyes wide. “I…”

“You earned it.” I patted his cheek with a tad more force than necessary to snap him out of his shock. “You ought to be getting home. Cruz will worry.”

“Yes.” He gripped the handle on his bag, and Volkov stepped aside to let him pass. “Thank you.”

Volkov inclined his head, waiting until Neely got behind the wheel of his car before facing me. “He’s human.”

“Maud took care to make sure I understood the human world.” These days I wished she had given as much thought to educating me about our own. “I don’t view them as lesser, only different.”

A peculiar look crossed his features. “Was I wrong to give him money?”

“Would you have noticed him at all if I hadn’t included him in our conversation?”

“With you in that dress?” He spoke with absolute conviction. “No.”

“Mr. Volkov…”

“Danill, please.”

“Danill,” I conceded. “We come from very different walks of life. You’re used to having a bustling staff. I get the impression they’re background noise for you. That’s not the case for me. Even when Maud was…” Throat tight, I tried again. “Maud was paranoid. She hated having strangers in the house, and she refused to hire domestic help. She raised me to be independent. No maid or butler or cook. Only a driver, and Gus didn’t hang around the house. Maud had to phone for him.”

“It bothers you that I overlooked your friend.”

“Forget I said anything.” I smoothed down my skirt. “My upbringing was peculiar by anyone’s standards. I didn’t know where I fit before, and that hasn’t changed. Honestly? I’m more confused than ever about my place in the world. So how can I lecture you about being the product of your culture? At least you’re secure in your identity. I envy you that.”

“We all envy that which we do not possess,” he countered. “Shall we?”

A soft laugh huffed out of me. “I just noticed you didn’t come inside. Scared?”

“Having experienced your hospitality once, I regret to admit it unnerves me to find myself completely at the mercy of a being I do not understand and cannot sway to my side through traditional means.”

“True.” I stood on the threshold. “Woolly’s love can’t be bought. Her trust must be earned.”

“Would she allow me inside a second time?” He presented the question as if I were the determining factor.

“There’s only one way to find out,” I teased.

“Perhaps another time.” He glanced at the heavy gold timepiece on his wrist. “We have just under an hour before the festivities begin. We should be in our seats prior to the commencement. I want time for my guards to sweep the crowd before you’re recognized.”

Chicken, I almost teased. But this was real and getting realer by the minute. I was returning to the Lyceum where I would face off against Dame Lawson and the others who formed the bedrock of the Society.

“You know what to do,” I told Woolly, and my cellphone buzzed once. “Good girl.”

I took the arm Volkov offered me, and the locks snicked behind me.

The driver dipped his chin and opened the door for us. I settled on the backseat, and Volkov joined me a moment later, this time keeping a foot of distance between us. Clearly he was on his best behavior tonight.

The drive to the Lyceum took forever and no time at all. The car rolled to a stop, and we exited on the steps of city hall. The massive limestone building loomed overhead, its clock tower a shadow against the cloudy night sky. The domed roof and cupola, each gilded with twenty-four-karat gold leaf, would have glinted in sunlight, but it wasn’t glittering now.

A black SUV parked behind us and ejected six guards. Two eased into the shadows and vanished. The other four swarmed us.

We entered in a cluster through the front doors under the guise of attending a private meeting. Inside the quiet was absolute, the only sound the click of my heels. I’d visited cemeteries more alive than these empty halls.

“This is a formality, Grier.” Volkov steered me toward a bank of elevators. “It will be over soon.”

“Guess you can hear my heartbeat, huh?” Each vicious thud threatened to shatter a rib. “Or can you smell my fear?” Under my breath, I mumbled, “I should have hosed myself with perfume.”

Etiquette drummed into my head had prevented me from doing more than swiping on deodorant. Vampires’ heightened senses meant even light fragrances left them with pounding migraines after a few hours of exposure. The polite thing was using unscented products when anticipating prolonged contact.

“You’ve chewed the lipstick off your bottom lip.” He zeroed in on my mouth. “I scented blood, not fear.”

“Neely is going to kill me.” I fumbled in my clutch for the tube of emergency tinted lip gloss he’d anticipated me needing. “Would you mind?” I dipped the brush into the bottle and passed him the wand. “I’m afraid if I make it to the bathrooms, I’ll hide and never come out.”

“I’ll do my best.” He swiped the tip gently over my bottom lip, and the broken skin stung. “There.” He drew back to admire his handiwork. “Good as new.” He snapped his fingers, and one of the guards appeared at his side. “What do you think?”

The male spared me the briefest of glances. “She is flawless, sir.”

Volkov’s final inspection lingered far longer. “She is that.”

Heat flooded my cheeks as I tucked away the gloss, certain I would need it again later.

We entered the elevator, Volkov and me pressed into one corner by the four guards positioned between us and the door. He toyed with the bangle he’d given me, his fingers blazing hot trails over my wrist. The guards used a key to open the control panel and pushed the button for the subbasement that held the Lyceum.

“Is this normal for you?” I whispered. “All these guards?”

“No.” He caught himself taking liberties and lowered his hand. “Our laws demand I keep two guards with me at all times in public, but they’re not usually so intrusive. The rest are a precaution.”

“No hints?”

“Afraid not.”

I blasted out the deepest exhale my bodice allowed. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

“Soon we will be allowed to speak candidly,” he assured me. “Then there will be no secrets between us.”

I pasted on a smile to cover the knee-jerk urge to contradict him. We all kept secrets. Some out of kindness, some in anger, and others to protect ourselves. But I doubt he’d meant me to take him literally. White lies wove the fabric of the Society, after all.

The elevator slowed and then stopped, and so did my breathing. The doors opened on a rush of tinkling laughter and murmured conversation, and the guards fanned out in the bright hallway. The male nearest us gave a nod, and Volkov led me from the booth onto a glossy expanse of dark crimson tiles, edging into black, the colors so rich they evoked the image of freshly spilled blood starting to congeal. In our lines of work, I supposed the red-on-black decor hid a multitude of sins.

An elderly man wearing a simple gray suit spotted Volkov’s entourage and cleared his throat. “Danill Volkov, Heritor of Clan Volkov, Last Seed of Marcus Volkov, and his lady friend.”

Relief cascaded over me. Entering on his arm was intimidating enough without my name being broadcast throughout the amphitheater.

Silence greeted us as Volkov led me to the circular stage where the aggrieved and the accused stood to receive their judgment before the Society. There was no other way to enter the Lyceum except to cross the dais. Each step blasted chills down my arms as though someone were walking over my grave.

Before us sat an opulent box seat for the Grande Dame’s use. Two silver chairs sat to either side of what might as well have been a throne, the seat golden, gem-studded and as ostentatious as it got. I had to wonder if it wasn’t a holdover from a time when necromancers had been treated as god queens. Pretending there was history to the piece made it more palatable. Maybe I could spend the next few hours concocting a macabre history for it that I could weave into the story I recounted to Amelie.

A half step below this level, a short balcony railing separated a seating area reserved for the lowest rung on the ladder. Made vampires watched us with covetous eyes that flickered black with hunger. On the level above them sat the Low Society matrons. The women cackled and chatted and seemed to enjoy the chance to catch up with one another. I scanned their faces, but Matron Pritchard was absent. The next tier was reserved for Last Seeds. Fewer chairs filled that space, and none of them were occupied. Two shadowy figures I recognized as Volkov’s missing guards checked each chair, each spindle on the railing, each nook and cranny where danger might lurk.

Volkov and I stood there, exposed on the stage, the heat from the bright lights breaking me out in a sweat. I risked a peek at him from the corner of my eye, and his smugness tipped my mouth into a frown. The attention made my skin crawl, but he was lapping it up as his due.

For a male in his position, I suppose this adulation was normal. For me, it was pure torture.

The final row, its adornments brushing against the ceiling, was reserved for the High Society. Unlike the friendly chatter of the Low Society matrons, the High Society dames each kept their own council. A few whispered behind their hands, but on the whole, they gave the impression they had somewhere else they’d rather be, when this ceremony was the social event of the year. More like the decade. Perhaps even this century if Dame Lawson was particularly long-lived. Gold and gemstones dripped from their ears, fingers, necks and wrists. The elaborate beading on their gowns must have weighed fifty pounds, and I had no doubt each design was an original.

Volkov applied slight pressure on my arm, and I snapped my attention back to my own party as I was led to a set of stairs. All those sharp eyes as you strolled to the darkened stairwells made the skin between your shoulder blades twitch as if half the Lyceum’s occupants had daggers trained on your spine.

Two guards walked ahead of us. The staircase was tight, but Volkov remained by my side, and I was grateful for his strength to lean on. The final two guards trailed behind, sandwiching us between a wall of muscle and fang. The two guards who had cleared the area nodded a greeting to Volkov. They dipped their eyes in a show of deference to me that felt undeserved.

We took our seats, positioned above the mouth of the tunnel with a direct view of the empty box where the Grande Dame, both past and future, would soon complete their ceremonial power transfer. Despite the pinch in my middle from where the gown cut into me, I took my first full breath since arriving in the Lyceum.

Volkov leaned close to avoid our conversation being overheard by any sensitive ears present. “You’re upset.”

“Not with you.” He was who he was, and he made no apologies for it. “Nervous.”

“Would you like a drink?” He gestured to the servers circulating with large platters filled with fluted glasses of bubbling pink liquid. “It might settle your nerves.”

“Sure.” Tonight I would take all the help I could get.

A guard appeared at my elbow seconds later. He must have fetched the drink prior to Volkov asking me. He was a master at anticipating needs, I’d give him that.

“Thank you.” I accepted the drink and sipped. Tart lime and pink grapefruit hit my tongue edged with a slight bitterness. Or maybe that was the memory dredged up by the taste. “What’s this called?”

I wanted to make sure I never ordered it again by accident.

Reading the pucker of my lips as permission to relieve me of my drink, Volkov accepted the glass and sipped. “A Long-Faced Dove.” He laughed at my wrinkled nose. “Would you like something else?”

“That seems to be the only drink circulating.” I clutched my small purse in my lap, snapping and unsnapping its clasp. “I can hold out a while longer.” I offered him a weak smile. “Though I might need a drink when I get out of here.”

If I got out of here.

“That can be arranged.” Volkov settled back in his chair and started people-watching. “Do you have a favorite drink?”

“Not really.” I’d turned twenty-one inside Atramentous, and getting sloshed hadn’t been high on my priority list since my release. For one thing, alcohol was expensive. For another, it was an addictive balm that left you right back where you started from, just poorer for your trouble. “Amelie and I used to sneak into Boaz’s parties back in high school. I had a margarita once. The girl he was dating at the time blended them like a pro, said it was her mom’s favorite. I liked that.”

“High school,” he murmured. “You share more history with him than I’d realized.”

“We grew up together—Boaz, Amelie and me.” Not quite the three musketeers since d'Artagnan hadn’t wanted to bone Porthos. “I had the worst crush on him back then, and he thought it was hilarious. Not exactly the reaction I’d hoped for, you know?”

“And now?” He kept his expression neutral. “Has time and separation changed either of your perspectives?”

“He’s always going to be important to me, but the truth is, I don’t know how much is just falling into old habits and how much is real.” I smothered a grin. “Boaz is a terrible flirt, but he throws his whole heart into loving the person he’s with at the time he’s with them.”

“Ah.” Volkov nodded. “You’re concerned any fling would be brief and the damage to your friendship lasting.”

“Exactly that.” I tapped the back of his hand where it rested on the arm of his chair. “Are you sure you’re not a mind reader? You’re the most perceptive guy I’ve ever met.”

“Wouldn’t that be a handy talent? No, I can’t read minds, but I can read people.” He indicated the bangle that kept me from curling up in his lap like a spoiled cat. “Lures are as individual as fingerprints. The worst hunter can feed and release their donor without doing harm with a bare minimum of training, but there is an art to giving a person the thing they want most that facilitates their full surrender, and the blood is always sweeter for their submission.”

Submission was not my kink. Not that I had any kinks I was aware of. But if I did, I felt pretty sure that would not be one. Submission required a level of trust I might never be capable of cultivating with a man. Let alone a vampire.

Admitting he was a master manipulator, in any context, made me hyperaware of exactly how accommodating he had been since meeting me. How much of Danill was I seeing versus what the Volkov heritor had been ordered to show me?

A ripple shuddered through the crowd that saved me from having to formulate the appropriate response after hearing the predator next to me wax poetic on his love of the hunt.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” The announcer’s clear, high voice rang through the amphitheater. “It is my pleasure to introduce to you Clarice Woolworth Lawson, Dame Lawson, future Grande Dame of the Society for Post-Death Management.”

I was perched on the edge of my seat without realizing I’d decided to inch closer to the railing.

The woman who strode forward could have passed for Maud from this angle. White hair swept up in a classic twist. Modest gown the color of wet blood with long sleeves and a square neckline. Practical heels that click-clacked, causing her abbreviated train to swish like a serpent’s tail across the floor.

Not until she vanished in the shadows of the stairwell did I remember to breathe.