Valkyrie's Sacrifice (Academy of Immortals 3)

Discreetly, I scan the patio, looking past Elizabeth eating her third bowl of chocolate mousse.

“Huh,” I say, sizing up the couples. People are paired off; men and women, two women, even three men sitting on a couch by a fire pit. What I thought was basic kissing looks a little different on closer inspection. “What are they doing? Licking each other?”

Necks, wrists, the soft skin inside the elbow. I narrow my eyes and take in the fact that every single grouping is involved in this same behavior.

“Are they cats or something? Like cleaning one another?” Armin and Rupert share a dark look. “What?”

Luke’s eyebrows rise as he watches us closely, mouth open as though he’s about to speak. He doesn’t though, because Asmodeus reappears, almost out of thin air, smiling at each of us.

“How was dinner?”

Elizabeth scrapes the last bit of chocolate out of the bowl. “So good. So. So. Good.”

“Outstanding. Our host will be so pleased to hear that.”

“Question,” Luke says, holding up a finger. “Can you let me know if our ‘host’ is actually my father?”

He gasps. “Oh no, definitely not. I mean, not that your father doesn’t own this entire realm, including the Palace, but no, he is not our host.” He leans forward, placing his hands on the table. “He did send me out here to invite you to a private party, one reserved for special guests.”

Something in my brain, way past the wine and the food and the lingering memory of amazing shower sex with Armin and Rupert, tickles. A warning? A desire? I look at my companions for help. Elizabeth is already standing.

“Will there be more dessert?”

What’s with this girl and dessert?

“Of sorts, yes,” Asmodeus replies. “There should be a little of something there for everyone.”

His tone is mischievous, ominous really, but we stand and follow him across the patio to a set of double doors that leads to a back building. We pass the couples and again, I notice something off. There seems to be a dominant partner, the one with the licking. They all wear dark clothing—a direct contrast to the linen fabric everyone else wears. I scan the patio and see that every other couple is the same. Dark suits for the men. Dark dresses for the women, all in a position of dominance. Just as we reach the door, I make eye contact with a beautiful fair-haired woman sitting on a couch, snuggled up to a handsome man. Her black skirt hitched up her leg. The women glances up at me, eyes shining in the light, but that’s not what catches my attention. It’s her teeth.

Sharp, pointed, terrifying teeth.

She winks and slowly licks her incisor, before plunging them into her partner’s neck. The man slouches back, fisting his hand into the woman’s hair, urging her to drink.

My heart rate quickens, and I squeeze Armin’s hand, but it’s too late. We’re already through the doors and in the room. The décor is different in here. Less spa-like, more gothic. The chandelier is made of twisted iron, and light flickers from red candles. The fabrics in the room are dark—deep red or black velvet—including the clothing of the people inside. At the front of the room I see a man, tall with dark skin and a smooth bald head. When he turns, his eyes are pitch black. The move reveals a couple behind him sitting on a chair, most visible is a young woman—her dark hair trailing down the pale skin of her arm. She’s in a black dress, glittery with sequins, a far cry from the hippie, linen sundress I’m wearing. Her shoes are spiked heels and she’s sitting, curled up in someone’s lap. Her face is nuzzling the neck of her partner.

“Welcome,” the man says, nudging the girl to turn around. “Sweetheart, don’t be rude to our guests, you know they’ve traveled a long way to get here.”

She turns while wiping at the corner of her mouth, her lips curved into a grin.

My stomach plummets. She’s instantly recognizable, to me, to all of us.

“Marielle,” Elizabeth gasps, looking at our former schoolmate; the Vampire Princess. The man, imposing and confident, there’s no question that he’s her father, the Vampire King. Sweat beads on my neck and I know that we are in deep, deep trouble.

“Hello, friends,” she says, twisting so we can’t see her prey. “Long time, no see.”

Before I’ve processed what’s happening before me, I’m looking for an out—an escape.

Armin’s fingers squeeze mine and he whispers my name, “Hildi.”

He jerks my arm to get my attention. He nods at Marielle, then at the man, that she’s revealed behind her. His eyes are glazed, his jaw lax, skin pale and sallow. His head leans against the back of the chair. I think for a moment he’s dead, but the small tug between us flickers. Not quite a bond, but familiarity. Want. It’s been there since the night we…

It’s Miya.

20

Miya

Peace.