Chapter 91: The Ballroom of the Damned
{IRIS}
The maid’s breath hitched.
Her eyes widened—not with rage, not with hunger—but with raw, naked shock.
A thin, fractured sound slipped from her lips, more startled than painful, as her body jerked once against the blade. Rain plastered her hair to her face, streaking black ash like liquid down the front of her uniform while the dagger drank deeply, greedily.
I twisted the hilt and drove the blade higher, angling it upward without mercy, without hesitation.
Her pupils flared. Fangs snapped down in a belated reflex, a predator’s instinct arriving long after the fatal truth had already settled into her bones. Her hands clawed weakly at my wrists, strength flickering and failing—untrained, unanchored, and utterly useless.
There was no scream.
Only a wet, shuddering gasp escaped her throat as her knees buckled and her weight sagged into me.
Then her body began to crumble.
The flesh gave way first, collapsing inward as though hollowed from within, before dissolving into fine gray ash that slipped through my fingers and scattered into the rain-soaked earth.
In seconds, there was nothing left of her—no blood, no bone—only a faint residue darkening the mud where she had stood.
Her uniform fell empty at my feet.
I stared at it for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
Then I moved.
I stripped off my sodden nightgown and pulled the servant’s uniform on. The fabric was still cold from her body, still carrying the faint metallic tang of the mansion—iron, stone, old blood, and something floral struggling to mask rot. It fit well enough. Close enough to pass.
I tied my hair back, wiped the mud from my face, and straightened the collar with hands that no longer trembled.
When I stepped onto the stone path and headed toward the mansion doors, I did not look back.
====
{IRIS}
I had known vampire parties were... morally questionable.
Even werewolf gatherings, notorious for danger, ecstasy, and volatile desire, carried a raw honesty to them—violence and ecstasy worn openly, without pretense. But nothing could have prepared me for what awaited beyond the mansion doors.
The moment I crossed the threshold, my senses were assaulted.
The stench hit first—blood, cigarettes, wine, sharp alcohol, and the faintly rotting sweetness of ancient vampires layered beneath cloying, expensive perfumes.
It was overwhelming, dizzying. For a brief moment, my vision swam, and I nearly stumbled.
I forced myself upright and drew a steadying breath.
Music thundered through the hall—low, sensual, relentless. Laughter rang out in sharp peals. The imagery was everywhere.
There were so many vampires inside.
They filled the grand hall in noble attire and decadent gowns, silk and velvet clinging to immortal bodies that moved with predatory grace.
Some reclined lazily on lounges, goblets of blood-wine cradled in pale hands.
Others drank directly from naked humans offered up like living chalices, their eyes glassy, their expressions disturbingly blissful.
In one corner, bodies intertwined in open indulgence—blood and desire blurred into something grotesque and intimate. There was no shame here. No secrecy. Even the most private acts were performed as spectacle, as entertainment.
My heart slammed violently against my ribs.
Caroline.
Was she all right?
Where was she?
My gaze darted frantically from face to face, from body to body. Every human I caught sight of, I checked—searching desperately for her.
Nothing.
No sign of her.
Was I too late?
The thought sent a cold spike of terror through my chest.
I moved through the crowd as quickly as I dared, careful not to draw attention. The only reason I could still breathe within the den of my mortal enemies was because I had no scent—no blood calling to them, no virgin scent they could taste.
"Umph!"
I collided with someone in my haste.
"I’m sorry," I murmured meekly, lowering my gaze as a servant should.
Then I looked up.
My breath caught painfully in my throat.
Tall. Slender. Beautiful in that cruel, sculpted way only vampires could manage. Golden hair styled to immaculate perfection, crimson eyes gleaming beneath heavy lashes. Pale skin, flawless and cold, framed by formal noble attire that seemed tailored to command attention.
Sol Evernight.
Oh no.
I had avoided Morgana. I had avoided Valerius and their lackeys with painstaking care.
And yet, of all the vampires in this cursed mansion, I had managed to run straight into him.
"You..." His gaze sharpened. "What are you doing here?"
I reacted on instinct, raising my hands to partially cover my face. Please don’t recognize me. Don’t recognize me.
"Did the others invite you?" he asked coolly.
It was too late. Pretending ignorance would only worsen things.
"I—I’m only here to find Caroline," I said quickly. "Do you know where she is?"
Sol’s eyelid twitched.
"And why," he said, voice edged with irritation, "would I help you? Shouldn’t you be in the back?"
"Huh?"
"The only reason someone like you would be here," he continued flatly, his gaze flicking over my borrowed uniform, "is because you’re meant to be auctioned. That’s why you were invited."
My blood ran cold.
"But it seems," he added, narrowing his eyes, "that you snuck in based on your appearance."
"Wait... auction me?"
Before I could process the horror of those words, the lights dimmed abruptly.
A hush fell over the hall.
Spotlights ignited the central stage, where a tall, slender man with dark skin stepped forward. He wore a polished mask and a tall hat, his presence theatrical and unsettling.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced grandly, "the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Tonight’s auction—the highlight of the evening."
The curtains rolled back.
My vision blurred.
Golden Cages lined the stage.
Inside them were women—adults, all of them—dressed in nothing but sheer nightgowns or revealing outfits meant to entice. They were of different races, different species of the night, each one displayed like a prized possession.
And there—
Caroline.
She was slumped against the bars of her cage, clutching her thin dress as if it could shield her dignity. Her cheeks were flushed—not with shame, but fury. Her eyes burned with defiance, sharp and angry.
She was beautiful.
Dangerously so.
"All are untouched," the host proclaimed with sickening delight, "and for one night only, you may indulge. The bidding begins now!"
