them swim in both green and dark grey. Probably the only distinctive feature about his dull existence.
“I am sorry for interrupting you, gentlemen.” Dylan offers Sam-or-something his signature diplomatic smile. “I need to discuss a few things with my partner. I’m sure you understand that business matters can’t wait.”
“I’m well aware that you’re involved in the murder with them, Hart!” Hampton’s pig son points a finger at Dylan. “You can’t fool me.”
The radiant smile never leaves Dylan’s face. “Those are dangerous accusations, Lord Hampton. I will pretend I didn’t hear them considering your turbulent state and our families’ history.” He nods. “If you shall excuse us.”
The pig blocks our way. “I’m not done—”
My champagne flute spills on Sam-or-something’s waistcoat and dress shirt. The expensive material soaks in yellowish stains. I needed the prick to shut up. No matter how much I want to, I can’t punch him in the face in a place like this.
Face reddening, his jaw tightens and his fists clench by his side.
“Do it.” I mouth. “Hit. Me.”
Although he proved to be a failure of a noble, let’s see if he can at least control his reactions in public.
Dylan elbows me. Hard. His Olecranon a sharp stick to my side muscles.
Fucker.
“Miss,” Dylan calls the nearest waitress. “Please help Lord Hampton.”
I inch closer to Hampton’s son, pretending to offer him a napkin. “Your father betrayed us. See that you learn from his mistakes.”
His eyes almost bulge out, like he’s seeing his father’s ghost. He opens his mouth, but closes it again when the waitress scurries over with a tray of cleaning supplies. Dylan and I seize the chance to leave him.
We make our way through the reception hall. High-quality carpets spill under our feet like clotted blood. Chatter reduces as the veteran mini-orchestra plays Tchaikovsky’s third symphony in D major. I smile. Uncle Alexander’s favourite.
“Your recklessness is crossing the lines, Aaron.” Dylan maintains his show-time smile, his voice detached. “Why would you risk telling Hampton everything? We’re powerful but not invincible.”
“He has no proof. If he intended to report me, he would’ve already.” I pick a drink from a passing butler. “But the fact that the word came out means we have a rat to take care of.”
More blood for me.
Dylan’s relaxed features sweep the guests, nodding and smiling at anyone who crosses his gaze. “That’s one more reason to be careful. This is a sensitive period. I’m not Tristan. I don’t give a damn about protecting you and I certainly find no pleasure in covering your tracks.”
“How do you manage to smile like that all the time?” I ask, struggling with my own show-time smile.
His grinning face slips into a scowl. “Have you been listening?”
I take a long swig of my drink as we stop in the centre of the hall. “You were talking?”
He glares at me, but soon goes back to his smiling façade. Everything in his face is unmovable except the curving lips. “Smile. Lowell is coming,” Dylan mutters under his breath. “He’s the next name on the list.”
Our host’s grey hair comes into view. He marches towards us, a flute of Champagne in one hand, and his young wife latching onto the other.
“Lord Hart, Lord Rhodes.” Lowell nods at us. “You honour our Noble Community gathering.”
“The honour is ours, Lord Lowell.” I smile longer than I’m comfortable with. “The reception you prepared is quite remarkable.”
Not long after, a few other guests join our circle. I receive the usual sugar-coated comments and begrudgingly offer some of my own. Dylan, on the other hand, takes the fake nonsense way too seriously. Offering compliments, and treating the masquerade like some theatrical accomplishment.
Everyone here is an arrogant, egotistical bastard. Dylan and I included. We only come to these gatherings to brag about our royalties, names, and power.
Our noble blood is a deal with the devil. It gives us the power to step on everything.
The world where predators like me hide in plain sight. Nourishing our sadist needs in dark dungeons. I doubt any of them have actual demons planted in their heads, though.
“Ladies, gentlemen.” I nod. “If you shall excuse me.”
I head to the balcony, abandoning the drink on the way. Spending the night fantasising about killing the old men would’ve been a splendid option, but this is much more important.
Lowell’s showy reception hall fades in