he first rosy blush of sunrise was beginning to peek over rolling hills when Julian arrived at the Light Fae Queen’s palatial home in west Bel Air. Another quintessential California residence, her mansion was elegant, old Hollywood.
He knew from memory the open-style entertaining rooms that graced the ground floor, with French doors that opened to extensive manicured gardens filled with flowerbeds surrounding an immense swimming pool. Tatiana loved to entertain, and she had volunteered to host many political functions over the last ninety years.
Yolanthe had tried to insist upon accompanying him, but he had vetoed that idea. He wanted her to stay on point on the search for Justine, so he took a few of his personal guards instead.
He had flown into LAX on the Nightkind government jet. The town car that Tatiana had reserved for him was specifically modified for Vampyres’ use, with dark, treated windows that blocked out harmful UV rays.
As soon as the car slowed to a stop in front of the Queen’s residence, his guards donned the protective gear that all Vampyres needed to wear if they chose to go out during the daytime – clothes made of material that specifically blocked UV light and that covered every inch of their bodies, leather gloves, hoods to cover their faces and heads, and dark glasses. The effect was sinister, but unavoidable.
Unprotected, their movements and actions would soon be severely hampered by daylight, so the guards were following standard procedure, but Julian was under no such edict. Since it was a short distance from the town car to the house, and the sun had not yet crested over the eastern hills, he didn’t bother to don full protective gear. Instead, he grabbed a cloak in one hand and made for the wide, double front doors. His guards fell into step on either side of him.
Before Julian had a chance to knock, two Light Fae guards opened the doors, dressed in their signature blue and tan uniforms. They had clearly been watching for his arrival.
One guard led him toward the rear of the house, to a large, familiar family-style living room.
In the doorway, Julian jerked a halt. “There has to be somewhere else I can wait.”
“Sir,” said the Light Fae guard. “This is the safest room for you. It faces west and won’t get any direct sunlight until late afternoon.”
“I know that,” Julian said shortly.
“Do you want me to escort you to another room anyway?” The guard’s handsome features were puzzled.
His expression grim, Julian gestured to his own guards to remain in the hall as he stepped inside and glanced around. Very little had changed about the room since he had last been in it.
Wrestling with unruly emotions, he told the other male, “Never mind. This will do.”
The guard asked, “Do you require refreshment, sir?”
Surprised, he raised one eyebrow. “Are you offering to donate?”
The guard’s face remained studiously polite. “If it is necessary. Sir.”
It was highly unusual for the Light Fae, or any of the other Elder Races, to offer to feed a Vampyre. The general assumption was that a Vampyre met his needs through his household. By having one of her guards offer him sustenance, Tatiana was making a huge concession in light of his abrupt trip.
The guard did not look enthusiastic at the prospect of letting Julian feed from him, but at least he didn’t appear revolted. Julian said dryly, “Thank you, no. Where is the Queen?”
“She will be with you as soon as she is able. I’ll let her know you’ve arrived. If you will just wait here, sir.”
“Of course.”
Once the Light Fae guard had left and shut the door behind him, Julian turned to confront the empty room.
There, in the corner by the French doors, was where it had all begun.
He fell into memories of the past.
It was the Festival of the Masque, and Tatiana had thrown another massive party. The number of guests was easily over a thousand, as people from all races and demesnes attended. Some wore simple masks and others donned elaborate finery. Fauns chased sylphs, while devils leered, and angels flirted.
Late into the evening, almost everybody was drunk except for Julian when he went looking for a quiet spot. Bored and contemplating leaving, he stepped into the family room.
That night, the French doors were propped open, letting in the cool breeze. A masked woman stood alone beside the drawn, cream-colored curtains, looking out at the revelry.
He knew who she was immediately, of course, but still he had to pause to admire the spectacle she made. Her white, floor-length halter dress accentuated every spectacular inch of her golden, curvy body. Her long, thick hair had been crimped into tight curls that swept off her forehead and cascaded about her shapely shoulders and down her hourglass back like a lion’s mane.
When she looked at him, her eyes gleamed behind a golden cat mask.
“Let me guess,” he said, as he strolled toward her. In an effort to hide how the sight of her affected him, he strove to sound lazy, disinterested. “You’re the goddess of love, Inanna.”