"We could send Della," Xavier said quietly.
Fredrick's hand paused on the edge of the parchment.
"No."
The answer was sharp, immediate. Final.
"Lord Lucas is not someone I would ever willingly place her near."
Xavier said nothing for a moment. Then, with a breath, "He's expected to attend the soirée tonight. Lady Aurelia's gathering."
Fredrick exhaled through his nose, rubbing the bridge of it. "The vampire lord has many titles. None of them comforting."
"He may carry the stones," Xavier offered, low. "Della might be able to sense them. She is a witch, after all."
"She is barely using her gifts," Fredrick snapped, then softened. "And with good reason. Her magic remains... dormant. She would be defenseless if he sensed her for what she is."
Xavier frowned. "He is Logan's cousin, is he not?"
Fredrick's jaw tensed. "Yes. And he's just as clever. I encountered Logan years ago in Gavion...still don't know what he truly is beneath the charm."
"That's exactly why Lucas may have them," Xavier replied. "He's the only one who fits."
Fredrick leaned back, the flickering candlelight reflecting off his troubled eyes.
"I'll think of something. But for now... Della must not know. If Lord Lucas senses what she is—"
"She'll be in danger," Xavier finished, nodding. "Understood, sir."
As he turned to leave, Fredrick muttered under his breath:
"Is it right... sending her at all?"
⸻
Evening descended over Westhill in hues of deep amber and ash.
Inside the Harrison manor, the girls prepared. While Beth adorned herself in pale pink silk, buzzing with anticipation, Della sat still before her mirror, the soft glow of her candles dancing across her red gown.
Her heart was fluttering.
Despite being raised among the elite, soirées never felt like her place. She did not enjoy the gazes, the delicate cruelty behind polished smiles. Beth lived for it. Della only endured it.
She slipped her gloves on with care—white satin enchanted to hide her magic...and gave her reflection a final glance. Her blonde hair was half-pinned, the rest falling in loose waves around her shoulders.
"You'll be invisible," she whispered to herself. "Just as you like it."
⸻
Beth was already in the carriage when Della stepped outside—and paused, surprised.
"Xavier?"
He stood at the reins, holding the carriage door open.
"The coachman fell ill," he said calmly. "I offered."
Della blinked, then smiled faintly as she climbed in. Xavier had always treated her with the respect of a friend, never once faltering at her strangeness or status.
Beth, however, did not share the sentiment.
"Why wear that?" she sniffed, eyeing Della's red gown like it was an offense to fabric.
"I didn't want to go overboard," Della replied mildly.
It wasn't worth fighting. It never was.
The ride passed in tense silence until the carriage halted in front of Lady Aurelia's estate—a sprawling manor lined with glowing lanterns and soft music drifting from within.
Xavier dismounted, opening the door and offering his hand.
Beth stepped down first, her gown flaring behind her like a blossom. She didn't spare him a glance.
Della followed more gently, accepting Xavier's hand with a quiet, "Thank you."
"Will you two be alright?" he asked, his voice low.
Della gave a warm nod. "We'll be fine. Truly."
Xavier bowed slightly before turning the carriage, vanishing into the darkness.
⸻
Lady Aurelia stood at the entrance like a sculpture of grace. A centuries-old vampiress, known for her charm and unnerving insight, she greeted each guest with a smile that never quite reached her eyes.
When she saw the sisters, her expression warmed.
"Lady Elizabeth. Lady Della. How radiant you both look."
They curtsied in unison.
"Thank you, Lady Aurelia," Della murmured.
"You honor me by coming," the woman said with a smile, waving them inside.
The ballroom was lit by chandeliers shaped like frozen stars. Servants glided through the room with drinks. Laughter mingled with music. And everywhere, nobles—human and vampire alike...were dressed like dreams.
Beth leaned toward Della, her voice a giddy whisper. "How will I know if Lord Lucas is here?"
"I wouldn't know," Della replied, glancing away.
Beth rolled her eyes and disappeared into the crowd.
Left alone, Della wandered the edges of the room. She accepted a drink from a passing servant—but froze.
It was a crimson liquid, thick in the glass.
Blood tea.
"I—I apologize, mi lady!" the girl stammered, bowing deeply. "I thought..."
Della smiled, gentle. "It's alright. Thank you."
The girl looked up, stunned. "You're... kind."
Della just nodded, and the girl fled, leaving her glass behind.
Then something changed.
A silence rippled through the room.
Like birds sensing a predator, the nobles' voices lowered to whispers. Every eye tilted toward the grand archway as two figures entered:
One, a red-haired vampire with clever eyes—Sir Oliver, she remembered from Mr. Sailor's shop.
And beside him...
A tall man in black.
Hair as dark as the night sky. Skin pale and unflawed. His suit was stitched in quiet luxury, but it was his eyes—those eyes...that held the room.
His eyes were red. Not the bright red of youth or hunger, but something deeper...like dried blood and smoldered embers. And they did not flinch under a thousand stares.
Lord Lucas.
"Good evening, Lady Aurelia," Sir Oliver greeted.
"Good evening, gentlemen," she replied with a radiant smile. "Your presence graces us."
Lucas did not respond right away. Instead, he took a slow step forward and offered her a bow...not low, not arrogant. Just enough to assert that he chose to be here.
"Lovely soirée, Lia," he said simply, his voice deep and smooth as dark wine.
She laughed softly. "You flatter me."
Then he turned his head—just slightly. Enough that his gaze swept over the room.
Della felt it before it happened.
She knew...knew...the moment his eyes landed on her.