Filthy Rich Vampire (Filthy Rich Vampires Book 1)
Filthy Rich Vampire: Chapter 39

I wasn’t used to being angry. Not this type of angry, anyway. I was pissed when Mom’s cancer came back. I got mad whenever Olivia finished the milk but put the container back in the fridge. And more than once, I’d cursed Tanner’s name for not changing the toilet paper roll. Those were all Past Thea problems. Past Thea scraped together rent, held down two jobs, and went to school. In every way, Past Thea had it worse than me.

Except one.

Past Thea didn’t know about vampires. She never worried about blood-lust or ceremonial rites or how to walk in five-inch heels. And she definitely wasn’t in love with her temporary vampire boyfriend.

I kept hearing Jacqueline’s musical voice, a trace of a French accent wrapping around her words, as she asked me that question.

Are you in love with him?

Never mind that I hadn’t answered her. Never mind that it was apparently just to provoke a reaction. Never mind that I told myself I didn’t know yet.

Because it didn’t matter.

We couldn’t be together. I knew that now. There was no way I was enslaving myself to him for the rest of my life–even if mine would feel short in comparison. And there was no way I was staying a virgin and settling for only part of Julian.

Not that it was up to me anyway.

He needed to marry and produce baby vampires with some beautiful familiar. He might not want to, but sooner or later, he’d meet someone who held his attention. He’d replace a woman to make his wife.

Would it be next week? Next month? Could he resist the Council for a whole year like he planned? And what the hell was I supposed to do? Staying meant falling harder for him. Part of me–the deluded part–hoped maybe I could catch myself before I tumbled head over heels. But going now was impossible. I’d taken a leave of absence from school. My mother would barely speak to me. I’d lost any chance at the Reed Fellowship. Carmen had even texted that the quartet had found a new cellist. Julian was the one who asked me to leave my life behind, but I was the one who lit it on fire in my hurry to join him.

That should have been a red flag.

I dabbed the corners of my eyes, trying to stop my tears before they fell. There was no way I was going to face Sabine Rousseaux with mascara running down my cheeks. I might have made a mistake coming here, but I didn’t for one second believe what she thought about me. I slipped my velvet opera gloves back on. Not being a vampire or a familiar, I didn’t need to wear them, but tonight I wanted to make something clear.

I had every right to be there.

Julian had chosen me, and I wouldn’t cower to Sabine or any other vampire that tried to intimidate me.

“Mademoiselle,” Philippe said from the front seat. “We’ve arrived.”

Peering out the window, I tried to get my bearings, but it was difficult because night had fallen. A limestone wall with a large iron gate blocked me from seeing where the driver was taking me. I didn’t honestly know what to expect. Jacqueline had given me more details about this evening while we picked my gown, but I hadn’t really heard a word she’d said. I’d been too preoccupied with the question she asked over tea.

Philippe opened my door and hovered nearby. Clearly, he didn’t want to risk Julian’s blood-rage by giving me his hand. I passed my Chanel clutch to him so I wouldn’t lose my balance as I stood. The shoes Jacqueline advised me to wear were dangerous. On the plus side, I could probably use one of the stilettos to stake a vampire if I needed to.

He passed my evening bag back to me when I was on my feet. “I will be nearby waiting.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I said with a frown. “I have no idea how long I’ll be.”

“Orders,” he explained.

Of course my overbearing boyfriend would demand he wait.

“I insist,” I said.

“Monsieur Rousseaux made things quite clear,” he said meaningfully.

He’d compelled him. Why didn’t that surprise me?

“At least eat something,” I muttered. Another car arrived and a few women spilled out from the back seat, dressed in red. Jacqueline told me I was expected to wear red this evening. I tried to convince her to let me pick another color, just to annoy Sabine, but she was firm on the matter.

The group made their way to the iron gate, and I followed at a close distance. In the end I’d asked Jacqueline not to come with me. I wanted to do this on my own. But I realized now I’d been too distracted to pay enough attention to her directions, I listened as one of the women spoke to an attendant waiting past the gate.

Unfortunately, she spoke in French.

Tonight was already off to a great start. I hurried behind them when the gate opened, but before I made it past, the attendant stopped me.

He asked me something in French, and I shook my head.

“Sorry,” I said apologetically. He narrowed his eyes.

“Family name?” he said in a thick accent.

I swallowed. “Melbourne.”

He studied his list. “I don’t have a Melbourne.”

“I’m a guest of Julian Rousseaux.”

His eyes flashed up. “I will need to check.”

“Sabine invited me,” I added.

“I see.” He flipped through his pages and paused to read something scrolled across the bottom in flawless calligraphy. “There you are.”

Something about the way he said it told me that whatever was written on that paper was far from pleasant.

“Please enjoy your evening,” he continued, his eyes scouring me like he was taking notes. “They will announce you at the entrance. You may wish to give the Rousseaux name.”

Because I was a nobody–by their standards.

I strolled through the brick courtyard. Part of me didn’t want to go in. The rest of me was learning how freaking hard it was to walk in heels on uneven ground. By the time I reached the front door, I knew what I had to do.

Another attendant dressed in a simple black gown greeted me. She was friendlier than the man at the gate, but probably only because I’d made it past the gate in the first place. “Name?”

I took a deep breath. “Thea Melbourne.”

“And you are a familiar?” she asked gently. “Is that your family name?”

“Yes, it is my family name, but no. I’m not a familiar. I’m a guest.”

She waited as if expecting me to say who my hostess was, but I simply smiled. She turned and called to the attendees visiting in the lounge. “Mademoiselle Thea Melbourne.”

Heads turned in my direction, but I kept my own high, looking over the tops of them. I didn’t need to know if they were gossiping or leering. Julian thought I was a queen? Acting like one couldn’t hurt. Not amongst this crowd.

“Thanks,” I said quietly, taking a step inside.

“Good luck,” she whispered.

When I made it past the entrance, I looked around. Nearly everyone had returned to their own conversations. Half of the women present wore red, and the other half wore white. The massive hall opened on either side into larger rooms. As my heels clicked against the black marble floor, I realized there were dozens of people present–if not hundreds. Crimson peonies were artfully arranged in silver vases and urns everywhere I looked. Their petals spilled open in lush, exotic blossoms that filled the air with their sweet fragrance.

“Thea!” A friendly voice called, and I turned, almost tripping over my own feet, to replace Quinn Porter, the kind familiar from the night of the Blood Orgy, approaching me. Like me she was dressed in red, but she’d opted for a fitted pantsuit. Its jacket was buttoned at her waist. She wore nothing underneath. The effect was breathtaking.

“Quinn! You look gorgeous,” I said as she greeted me with a hug.

“You do, too. I love your dress.” She grabbed my hands and smiled. “And gloves, I see.”

“I’m trying to blend in,” I muttered.

“As if Julian Rousseaux’s girlfriend blends in,” she said with a laugh. We looped our arms together, and she steered me toward an empty corner. “You are the talk of the night.”

“What? Me?” My stomach flipped over. I could only imagine what Sabine had been telling people.

“Someone let it slip that the eldest Rousseaux was off the market. There are a lot of broken hearts here tonight. I’d watch your back,” she advised.

“He’s hardly off the market,” I said with a frown. Not that I wanted to advertise that either.

“But you’re here,” she said.

“Yes, I am. So?”

“Humans aren’t invited to the Salon du Rouge,” she whispered, looking around as if she was worried she’d been caught sharing secrets with me.

“You’re a human,” I pointed out.

“I’m a witch. Trust me, to them it’s not the same thing.” She shook her head. “The only time a human attended the Salon–”

But before she could finish, a gong rang out. Conversation instantly died, and everyone turned toward the sound.

Naturally, Sabine was the one standing there, a mallet in her hands. She placed it on a silver tray, which was immediately whisked out of sight along with the antique brass gong. Did they have a gong for everything? Her black hair was swept into a tight bun at the top of her head. Black liner curved into dangerous points at the corner of her eyes. But it was the white silk gown she wore that demanded attention. It left nothing to the imagination.

“Vampires must have good genetics,” I muttered. Quinn giggled next to me.

“Most of them. Why do you think so many of us want to be turned?” she said softly.

I remembered what Jacqueline had said about marriages between vampires and familiars. It seemed Quinn hoped to be made into a vampire if she took a husband of her own.

Before I could ask her about it, Sabine began to speak.

“Welcome to the Salon du Rouge,” she said. Excitement rippled through the room at her announcement.

“Tonight, you will learn exactly what is required of each of you to serve as a proper vampire wife.”

“This ought to be good.” A few women nearby glared at me, and I fell silent.

“The Salon is one of our most ancient traditions, and attending it is a privilege.”

I barely stifled a laugh. She made it sound like we were joining a sorority.

“For most of our familiar friends, this is your first Salon. You must understand that what happens here is not spoken of outside these walls. The secrets you learn here must never be divulged.”

Butterfly wings fluttered in my stomach as she spoke. I glanced around and discovered I wasn’t the only one who looked nervous. Several familiars, in their red outfits, were eyeing the door.

“Tonight, we share freely with each other so that each of you–vampire or familiar–will be prepared to take the remaining Rites.”

People began to whisper around me. I turned to Quinn, whose eyes had widened. “Remaining?”

“Tonight, you will be tested,” Sabine said over the murmurs of the crowd. Turning back, I found her eyes watching me as she announced, “Welcome to the first Rite.”