Dinner With a Vampire (The Dark Heroine #1)(32)
Author: Abigail Gibbs

‘Relax,’ Fabian murmured in an undertone. ‘You’re safe, I promise.’ I nodded, uncertain, not having the heart to tell him that it was just as much his touch that was causing me to become rigid

Gradually, we moved towards the double doors that led to the ballroom. I vaguely heard Fabian complaining that people should stop loitering in the entrance, but I wasn’t really listening. My eyes were set dead straight, at a head of long blonde curls, twisted into a wreath of tumbling red flowers.

Again, we inched a metre or so forward. I was afraid that if we didn’t keep moving, my feet would stiffen and refuse to move, or worse, my knees would buckle from under me. I was sure that if I went down, I wouldn’t get back up again – the bodice of the dress had been laced so tightly that I had to maintain a completely straight back or face being stabbed by one of the stays.

I found that if I rolled up onto my toes, I could just see the sparkling light of a thousand black candles in the chandelier. The roar of voices in the entrance hall mingled with the muted sound of violins and a choir and the echo of what seemed like thousands of yet more voices.

In one wave, the crowd loosened and those in front of us surged through the double doors and onto the wide balcony where Kaspar had confronted me over Thyme. Fabian, perhaps mistaking it for fear, pulled me closer.

We crossed the threshold into the ballroom and the woman with the blonde curls and her partner veered to the left, descending one of the two sets of steps onto the dance floor. With that, the view of the room opened up.

I gasped.

Hundreds of couples were gathered about the glittering room, the ladies in elegant ball gowns and gentlemen in dress suits. The only source of light came from the chandelier, which threw a pool of light onto the centre of the room. Waiters, dressed in white, weaved about the guests, carrying tall flutes containing a liquid that I’m sure wasn’t wine.

Heads turned as we entered the room, eyes of every colour staring curiously up at us.

‘Is that her? The human?’

‘She doesn’t look human …’

Voices broke through the low murmur, as more and more people turned to look. But I didn’t care. Everywhere I looked there were dark flowing dresses, almost all wearing blood-like crimsons and maroons, blacks and shades of midnight blue and I gripped the banister of the balcony on which we stood with a sort of feverish excitement, breathless as my childish imaginings of fairytale balls were proved true.

Every person in the room looked so dark, so compelling, as the soft light illuminated their haunting, emaciated faces. They were not perfect, like the stories always said: they were not moral enough to be perfect. But they were as damned near as nature could get.

‘Violet?’ I turned to see Fabian beaming down at me, hand on my arm as he took in my animation.

‘It’s beautiful,’ I whispered.

‘Like you,’ he whispered back. My smile faltered and my eyes flickered up and down as they struggled to meet his.

‘I—’

‘Come on,’ he said, pulling me by the arm towards the left-hand set of steps. We descended and began to meander through the crowd. Some parted as we came their way with a respectful silence; others turned away in disgust. Fabian was guiding me, and glancing around; a frown appeared on his face. He muttered something that I could not hear and suddenly his expression was clear again. He grabbed my hand, and started pulling me back through the swarm of people again, who buzzed like flies.

‘Fabian, where exactly are we going?’ I asked, sensing he was leading me somewhere.

‘To my parents.’

‘What?’ I exclaimed. My expression must have looked panicked, because he shot me a ‘be sensible’ glare. I dug my heels in and put up a protest anyway until he gave up.

‘Later then,’ he warned above the sound of the orchestra on the far side of the room, retuning with the grand piano. Gone was the soft, soothing music. Instead, the violins drew out three long, clashing, spine-chilling notes and launched into the most haunting fanfare I had ever heard.

The marching beat of a huge timpani drum sounded, and the violins followed, notes crisp and unforgiving as deep, resounding horns echoed around the room.

The crowd parted, creating a winding path leading from the grand door to the throne at the far end of the room. The hairs on my neck stood on end, as the bloodcurdling sound of a choir joined in with the strings.

My blood ran cold.

‘What’s happening?’ I muttered in an undertone to Fabian, extremely conscious of the vampires opposite staring at us. Whatever was happening, I didn’t like it, as an unwelcome spirit began to take over my flesh, making me shiver, my stomach roll, my legs go weak.

‘The Varns are arriving,’ was all the reply I got.

A compelling thrill rippled through the crowd as they waited with such electrifying excitement that the room seemed to churn like multicoloured water, swaying as one. It struck me that most here probably only saw their rulers on very rare occasions, and that this must be such a long-awaited appearance. And I get to mutter some new curse at the Prince every day. Lucky me.

A bitter draft worked its way up, stirring my hair and dress, tickling my skin. High above us, the candles spluttered in their holders. The room moved from light to dark to light as the soft autumnal glow of the candles returned.

Run! my voice suddenly cried.

My throat was constricting, my skin crawling as all-consuming, vice-like anticipation took over. I had no will left, no strength to stop this irrational desire; this irrational want to set eyes upon them; them, the predators so well suited to destroying my own kind.

Run from the rose!

My breathing came in short, sharp rasps, not enough oxygen reaching my head. My hand tingled and I felt something cold through the gloves. A gentle pressure. I looked down to see Fabian’s white-gloved hand clutching mine, holding onto me as though I might blow away at any second.

‘Keep breathing, it will pass in a moment,’ he said in nothing more than a whisper. I nodded shakily, vision wavering.

Run before it’s too late! Run now!

The music was rising and rising, filling my ears, as it towered to a crescendo, sending my heartbeat spiralling out of control.

Run or face rising to the throne!

The candles completely blew out, a ferocious wind raging through the ballroom, as the great grand doors were flung open. The Varns. The King swept down the stairs in the absolute darkness – darkness that turned to a flickering glow as he clicked his fingers. An astonishing crown sat atop his dark hair, made of some metal that looked to be liquid, lithe to his movements as the dark emerald jewels glinted in their silver settings. Set above those jewels, contained in four points made of glass, was a red, flowing liquid.