Vampires of Eden (Alexander #2)

1. Alexander

CHAPTER 1

Alexander

W hat happens when you’ve been promised something all of your life, but it doesn’t materialize? When you’ve spent years and years waiting—believing in this event that everyone has assured you would come to pass if you played by the rules?

But in the end, it just… dies. There’s nothing.

The promise evaporates.

Hope disappears.

Doubt and suspicion take its place.

Was the possibility ever truly there? Was it all an idiotic fantasy made up in my mind, or was there a moment—if only for a second—that what I wanted was real and tangible. Achievable but just outside of my reach. If I had given a little more effort or made a different choice, would I have everything that I wanted now?

The answer? I don’t fucking know. It all feels like lies, though. A complete scam.

“So, what’s going to happen now that Oliver has fled his estate and broken off this engagement to get the hell away from you?” Ashwin leers from behind her playing cards. One of her eyebrows is raised above the heavy flap of her blunt, ice-blonde bangs .

I don’t say a word. I stare blankly at her and she goes on, snootily examining her two cards. “Since your formal arrangement fell through, your parents will want to sell you to the highest bidder as quickly as possible. That’s what happened to Lily Bridgeworth after Santiago ran away. I heard they shipped her off to Dubai. She’s expected to bond with some wealthy purebred there. New money. Call.” Ashwin tosses two red chips toward the center of the table. “Let’s see your flop.”

With the elegance of a master conductor, the dealer turns over and reveals three cards. Queen of spades, four of spades and a four of clubs.

“God, I would rather die.” Sebastian bristles, using his fingertips to slide two blue chips across the velvet surface. His flashy emerald ring glitters in the low light from the gesture. “I’ll bet twenty. All that hot weather and sand. Ugh. I hate sand. I had sex on the beach once. Did I tell you about that? On the western shore.”

“That does not sound like something Piper would do,” Nadya comments, frowning.

“Not with Piper. Before we mated. Anyway, ghastly. Sand soaks up any and all moisture and days later, I was still finding it in crevices that I didn’t even know I had.”

“Gross. Over-sharer, stop oversharing. We’ve talked about this. Check.” After setting her chips down, Nadya sits back against the tufted chair and lifts her flavored cigar toward her plum-painted lips. The tip of the cigar burns and curls with a thick stream of smoke. It saturates the room in an intense haze of dark spices and smoked almonds. “They won’t ship the next King of Eden off to some foreign aristocracy. We can’t afford that kind of PR nightmare right now.”

“Rumor has it, Golden Boy is going to have to pay out his entire dowry to evil Lord Blakeley.” Ashwin tilts her head, examining me. “No dowry, no power.”

“Oh my God, is that true?” Sebastian draws back, shaking his dark curly head. His mesmeric reddish-brown eyes blink in bewilderment. “You gave up your entire dowry for Oliver? Even though he dumped you? Why the hell would you do that?”

Nadya pulls from her cigar, then lazily blows it out in a wispy cloud. “For love.”

Ashwin scoffs. “Or stupidity. Desperation? Did you think you’d win him back by making some kind of heroic sacrifice? Some grand gesture?”

The room falls silent as everyone stares in my direction with their ethereal eyes. Time stands still. In my peripheral vision, brass lanterns warm the bookcases lining the walls. The flickering lights cast long shadows against weathered spines. It makes them shift and move, like ghostly silhouettes dancing across a haunted library.

I don’t want to be here.

I hate this.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” Sebastian leans forward and the elaborate chandelier situated above us illuminates his rich brown skin. “What’s wrong with you?”

“It is your turn, Master Kendrick,” the dealer says politely. “May I have your choice?”

I take two dark green chips, then toss them into the center pile. “Raise.”

Silence ensues.

Everyone except for the dealer gawks, open-mouthed.

Nadya is the first to move, shaking her head and tossing her two cards toward the center of the table. “Oh hell no.”

“Christ on a bike, Aleksey.” Frowning, Sebastian pushes his cards away as if they’re suddenly made of toxic materials. “Did we not all agree that tonight was low stakes? I fold. Piper will kill me if I lose fifty-thou on a frivolous game with you idiots. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Ashwin’s hazel eyes bore into me as she leans with her elbows on the table, her fingers entwined beneath her chin. The only thing keeping her from looking like a proper mob boss is the powder-blue satin of her ridiculously ruffled suit. “You’re too soft, Alexander. You have all this influence and status in Eden but you waste it. If Oliver had been mine—like he should have been in the first place—there’s no way in hell I would have let him go. You’re a fool.”

I don’t move or respond. I say nothing, because in some ways, I agree with her. I am a fool. But not for the reasons that she thinks.

“Master Griffins?” The dealer turns to Ashwin, breaking the tense silence plaguing the table. “Will you place a bet?”

Ashwin lifts from her mob-boss pose, takes two dark green chips from the edge of the table and tosses them into the center. “Check. You probably don’t even have anything good. I think you’re at the end of your rope, babe. In more ways than one.”

The dealer turns over the fourth card. Five of hearts.

I take two more green chips, then toss them into the pile. “Raise.”

“Holy hell.” Sebastian stretches his spine and places his hands on his hips as if something pains him. “Should I leave? I’m worried that this flagrant show of egotistical recklessness might be contagious.”

“Alexander, are you serious?” Nadya asks sternly, her burning cigar teetering between her fingers. Always the pragmatist of the group. “If you’ve truly promised your entire dowry to Lord Blakeley, you shouldn’t be fucking around with large sums of money like this.”

Never taking my eyes off Ashwin, I wait, because I have nothing to lose. I’ve already lost everything that matters.

Ashwin inhales a discreet breath. Adjusts ever so slightly in her seat.

She’s nervous.

Insecure as always.

Casually, she smooths the length of her platinum ponytail.

“Pathetic,” she spits. An obvious attempt to conceal her unease. “Are you trying to prove some silly point?” She reaches for another pair of green chips, then adds them to the pile. “Check. ”

“This is insane,” Sebastian says. “You all are nuts. Out of your tutti fruity minds.”

“Tutti fruity?” Nadya looks him over, scowling. “Such a strange creature you are.”

Sebastian smirks. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The dealer turns over the final card. Queen of hearts.

Glancing down at the colorful array of chips lining the table’s edge along my side, I pull a light gray one from the end of the row and toss it into the center of the table. “Raise.”

Sebastian turns and grabs Nadya’s shoulder as if to keep himself upright. Nadya ignores him, stiff as a board and with her irises darting between me and Ashwin.

The latter visibly bristles from my action. “Listen—I did not come here to fuck around with two-hundred grand, Alexander. Have you lost your goddamned mind?”

“What’s your choice, Ashwin?” I ask her.

“Do I have one? You’ve trapped me!”

No one moves. Ashwin’s eyes shift nervously. First, toward Nadya and Sebastian. Then, toward the dealer, as if one of them has an answer. Or maybe someone will bail her out.

Ashwin stands abruptly, rocking her chair back as she glares in my direction, then down at her two cards on the table. In a hostile motion, she flips one of them over, revealing its face. A queen of clubs. Three of a kind. A very good hand. “This is what I’ve got.”

“ Ash ,” Nadya chuckles, one palm pressed against her forehead in second-hand embarrassment. “Are you kidding me? You’ve totally lost the plot.”

“What do you have?” Ashwin demands. “A flush? A full house? How can you sit there and bet all this money without batting an eye?—”

“Tell me your choice,” I repeat calmly, sighing. “I don’t need this theatrical bullshit.”

Sebastian cowers into Nadya’s shoulder. “Aleksey is being scary tonight.”

Ashwin straightens, pulls the hem of her jacket and rolls her shoulders. “I hate you.” She reaches down, grabs her cards and flicks them toward the center with a dramatic flourish. “I fold . Happy?”

The tension in the room is thick, as if I’m a gunman holding everyone hostage and making ludicrous demands. Slowly, I turn over one card. Then the other.

“An ace and a jack?” Nadya gawks, awestruck. “You’ve got nothing. Bloody nothing!”

“You bluffed me out of two-hundred grand for kicks?” Ashwin exclaims, her eyes wild with disbelief.

“No,” I say, pushing myself up from the table. An intense swirl of anger, fatigue and dejection fills my chest. I can’t stay here anymore. “I don’t want your money. Keep it. But don’t ever mistake empathy for being ‘soft,’ you mouthy and insecure little snake.”

I step away from the table, but then pause because I can’t help myself as I look her over. “And that suit is hideous. Like something you stole off a corpse from the nineteen-fifties.”

Sebastian chuckles, sitting upright. “Honestly, I was thinking something similar. It reminds me of Beetlejuice . Remember that movie?”

Ashwin balks, turning as I stalk past her and toward the door. “Y-you asshole! This suit came straight off the runway in Paris.”

“It’s trash. Fuck all of you.”

“Not fuck me?” Sebastian pleads. “Why fuck me ? I agreed with you— Beetlejuice . Aleksey, wait!”

Pulling the heavy oak door open, I step through and into the carpeted corridor, then slam it shut. The lighting out here is the same. Gauzy yellow and casting ghostly shadows. It creates that distinctly old-fashioned vampiric mood that I hate. Antique sconces mounted on charcoal and golden damask wallpaper. Gilded frames holding prestigious oil paintings of emotionless purebreds long dead. Polished oak surfaces with fanciful ornate moldings.

Same old same old .

“Your highness?” Raphael bows, pushes off the wall and is behind me in a flash as I move down the hallway and toward the main sitting room. He was waiting outside the games room along with the other handlers. Servants aren’t allowed inside anymore when we play poker because Ashwin and her handler cheat.

As we move, the corridor gently curves, cutting us off from the group of servants stationed outside of the games room. The second we’re alone, Raphael reaches and grips my shoulder. “Hey—Is everything alright? What’s the matter with you?” His eyes bore into me, warm and brown like cedar wood in the low chandelier light.

I shake my head. “I don’t want to be here anymore. I didn’t want to come to this stupid dinner—I’ve shown my face. It’s enough.” Breaking free from his palm, I step forward.

“Alright, alright…” Raphael keeps pace at my side. “So, I’m assuming it was as bad as we thought?”

“Worse.” After the official announcement was made that my engagement was off, I kept to myself at home. Not wanting to face the public at large. Not ready. But my mother strongly encouraged me to attend this dinner tonight. She’d had enough of me, quote, “Sulking like a weak little baby.” Yet another un-princely behavior.

“Hm…” Raphael sighs, sympathizing. “But why was Ashwin shouting? We could hear her outside.”

“Because she’s an insecure twit.”

“Sure, everyone knows that.”

“And I bluffed her out of two-hundred grand.”

Suddenly, I’m walking alone. As if an invisible wall was extended just far enough outward to impede Raphael but not me. The sensation is jarring so I stop and turn. His mouth is agape and his freckled face is utterly stupefied. My eyebrow lifts in confusion. “What?”

“ Two-hundred grand ? Have you lost your mind?”

I shrug, indifferent. “I won the bluff.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“I’m not taking Ashwin’s money.”

“That isn’t the issue here. You do not have capital to play around with right now?—”

“I know that,” I say, guarded. “Don’t lecture me. I just needed to shut her up because she’s a coward. Can we go, please?”

Visibly stressed, Raphael rubs both palms against his face but steps forward.

“Did you shut her up, at least?” he asks as we approach our destination.

“For tonight. But you know her nasty attitude is everlasting. Like a bad roach infestation.”

“You’ve just aptly described about three-quarters of the vampires in Eden.”

I reach for the door handle, but Raphael grabs my wrist, making me pause. “Formalities,” he says. “This is a staunchly traditional house.”

“Right.” I step back and give him access to the door.

Raphael reaches but stops. He glances at me with a quick lift of his chin. “Breathe.”

Rolling my shoulders, I inhale deeply with my eyes closed, then blow it out.

Lately, I’m cracking.

Putting on a polite, smiling fa?ade is extremely difficult when my mind and emotions are in chaos.

I need answers. For someone to explain why everything has gone wrong in my life. Why—even though I did everything they told me to—has the situation fallen apart?

How do I let go of this… what is it? Grief? I don’t know how to deal with this at all.

With his knuckles, Raphael gently knocks against one of the thick wooden doors. When we’re beckoned inside, he straightens his posture and steps across the threshold with a handsome dignity I’ve watched him exude a million times—like an elegant costume he seamlessly slips in and out of. His diction softens. His vowels lengthen and his tone becomes more ceremonial .

“Please excuse the interruption,” he says quietly to the primary butler in his most velvety and posh accent. “Prince Alexander would like a word with Lady Kendrick.”

“Yes, of course. This way, your highness.” The tall, portly butler bows, then gestures for me to follow. Raphael and me exchange a glance, but the transition is smooth as I step forward and he returns to the hallway before closing the door behind him. He’ll wait in the corridor.

Formalities. This is a traditional house where every vampire has their place.

The hazy smoke of expensive cigars is more permeated here. It hangs in the air like a veil amidst the opulence. More velvet tufted armchairs in rich and moody colors—deep plum and maroon. Impeccably polished surfaces recast the subtle lighting like strategically placed mirrors, lending a sparkly glamor to the atmosphere. Crystal glasses clink and artificial laughter bubbles from every darkened corner.

I hear my mother’s distinct giggle as we approach a set of sofas facing each other near the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the outside terrace. The view showcases the nighttime lights of Central Eden twinkling below us and amongst the rolling hills. The estate we’re visiting is high up along the mountain ridge, like we’re floating above the clouds.

“My lady, Prince Alexander is here to speak with you,” the butler announces, bowing. My mother’s head lolls to the side as she casually lies back against the plum couch. Her hair spills like a glossy river of honey. Not quite blonde, not quite brown, but impeccably rich in its indecisive color against her olive skin tone.

“Hello, my darling.” Her well-practiced accent is perfectly light and bouncy as she lifts her head and adjusts her position. As she moves, the fabric of her pale, aqua-colored dress shimmers with a polychromatic spectrum. She looks like an affluent mermaid. “Are you enjoying yourself with your friends in the game room?”

Am I twelve? “With your permission, may I be excused for the evening? Since Father came after us and on his own, I could take the car with Raphael and return to the estate.”

The slightest pause rests between us. As far as moments go, it is brief. Minutia.

However, I know my mother and the intensity of this slight pause speaks volumes.

Effortlessly, she smiles, gesturing toward the couch across from her. “But sweetheart, everyone is so thrilled to have you in attendance tonight. Lord Cherrington was just expressing that he sincerely wishes to speak with you following the game. Isn’t that right, your grace?”

“Good evening, Prince Alexander.” Lord Cherrington offers a sly smile, then bows politely from his seated position, careful not to spill the amber liquid in his glass.

Lord Cherrington is tall, broad and has a thick, wavy mane of silver hair. He is aging well, but he is also ten years older than my goddamned father.

I nod in his direction. “Hello, Lord Cherrington.”

“It is a pleasure to set my eyes upon you, young master. I would greatly appreciate some of your time tonight? I doubt we’ll have the opportunity to speak at the board meeting tomorrow. You always leave quickly once we’ve adjourned.” He swirls his drink with a casual twist of his wrist. The large sphere of ice clinks against the glass like a chime.

“I apologize, my lord, but I’m not feeling well tonight. Perhaps another time.” Intentionally, I avoid posing this as a question because I don’t want to spend time with Lord Cherrington. What he wants from me is perfectly clear—like a wolf pouncing on a freshly wounded animal.

“Shall we arrange something following the meeting tomorrow?” he persists. “If the prince’s schedule allows on such short notice, of course. With the dissolution of your engagement, I imagine you’re suddenly faced with much free time. I was just telling your mother that I’d love to finally settle down soon. And, well, since we both find ourselves available…”

With one of his eyebrows raised, he takes a sip from his glass. His heated gaze never leaves my face.

The insinuation is heavy. Even worse, the intense vivid irises of my mother and every other vampire within earshot has zeroed in on me, awaiting my response.

I swallow hard and straighten my spine, knowing what I should say, but unable to bring myself to utter the words. “Unfortunately, my schedule is full tomorrow. I don’t think I’ll be available?—”

“Lord Cherrington,” my mother’s voice sings, charming and unaffected. “Will you please excuse us for a moment?” Like the most elegant of swans, she unfolds her body from the couch, stands, then walks around to link my arm in hers. “I need a moment with his highness. Regarding your request, I’m certain that something can be arranged. Perhaps evening cocktails?”

“That would be lovely,” he grins, pleased. “I will certainly look forward to it.”

She flashes a winsome smile while scrunching her nose, then urges me away and through the vaporous den. By the time we reach the door, I’m so damn nervous that I can barely swallow. It feels like my throat is stuffed with sand.

God… not Lord Cherrington.

Haven’t I suffered enough?