One of Valentine's Hideout
The chamber was cold. Not because of the stone walls or the high ceiling or the single torch that burned with black flame. The cold came from the people inside it.
Valentine sat at the head of a long table, his hands folded, his face calm. The pendant rested on the stone in front of him, its glow faint but steady. He didn't touch it. Didn't need to. Its presence was enough.
Around the table, the representatives waited.
The vampire lord sat to Valentine's right. His name was Marius, and he had not aged in three hundred years. His skin was pale, his hair dark, his eyes the color of old wine. He wore a high collar and rings on every finger. His thralls stood behind him—three of them, silent, their eyes empty.
