A Shade of Vampire 81 A Bringer of Night - Bella Forrest Page 0,45

churn.

As we entered, I was immediately struck by the abundance of gilded sculptures and bas-reliefs that adorned the reception area. The walls were painted white with brass lights hanging from the tall ceiling. A double set of marble stairs arched upward to the first floor, and paintings of various Visentis family members hung everywhere, their eyes following us as we moved across the polished floor.

If the exterior had attempted a mild sense of modesty, the interior of the Visentis mansion was eager to gloat and show off its artful opulence. The furniture was massive, its lacquered surfaces reddish, like cherrywood. Miniature sculptures occupied nearly every flat surface around us—most of them antiques from different cultures of Visio, Rimia, and Nalore. The diversity reminded me of Kalon’s lake house, but an emphasis had been placed on style and visual impact here. Every object in this room was meant to tell me how expensive it was.

“You’ll like my brothers,” Kalon said. Footsteps thundered above, getting louder as they approached the reception area and the marble stairs. “They might seem snotty or elitist, but they mean well. They just have high standards.”

“So, they’re snotty and elitist.” I chuckled.

He smiled, and I could see the horror on Ansel’s face as Kalon put him down and forced him to stand, despite his ankles being bound together.

“Kalon, you wretched fiend! Where the hell have you been?!” A tall Aeternae came into view as he glided down the marble stairs. He stood half a foot over Kalon, but I could still see the resemblance. The sharp blade of his nose. The full lower lip. The inquisitive blue eyes.

“Simmon,” Kalon said. “I’m sorry I left without a word.”

Simmon stopped at the bottom of the stairs, his expression shifting from amusement to confusion. He looked ridiculously handsome in his cream pants, knee-high leather boots, white shirt, and crimson silk vest—though my heart didn’t beat a second faster, still hung up on Kalon. “What… What’s going on?” the younger brother asked.

I remembered Simmon had built and decorated the lake house. He’d put a lot of love and care into that place. I was inclined to assume he was also responsible for this mansion’s décor. Too many elements from different cultures for it to be a random design—no, Simmon had put a lot of thought into this place, too. I could see it in his eyes, in the way his very presence commanded control over his environment.

“We need to talk,” Kalon said, one hand resting on his hip. “Our brother, Ansel, has done something monumentally stupid.”

Simmon didn’t get to reply, as the rest of their brothers came down—both of them basically children. I did some quick math in my head, going over everything Tristan and I had learned about Kalon and his family—Valaine had told Tristan that Kalon had two younger brothers, one aged ten and the other six, but she must’ve forgotten about Simmon, likely because he was a little over two thousand years old and thus closer to Kalon in age.

What truly astonished me was the fact that the youngest had actually fought Kalon in the Blood Arena. A six-year-old! To be fair, the kid looked spry and agile, with hawkish blue eyes that gave off a certain maturity most children didn’t have. Kalon had told me that many Aeternae matured really fast, unlike other species I’d come across. By the time they were ten, the Aeternae were basically self-sufficient. That didn’t mean their families left them behind, but they were at peace knowing that in dire circumstances, their children would survive on their own. I made a mental note to ask Kalon about all this, since I had clearly underestimated the combat prowess of an Aeternae child. Maybe his little brother was some kind of prodigy.

The boys were joined by an Aeternae adult. He resembled Simmon so much that for a moment I thought they might be twins, but the calculations didn’t add up, since I knew Kalon only had four siblings, and I was already looking at them.

“Kalon! Ansel! What are you two doing together?” the elder Aeternae asked.

“And who’s the babe?” one of the kids added with a devilish smirk.

He made me laugh. Kalon scoffed, slowly shaking his head. “Tudyk, don’t be rude,” he said. “This is Esme Vaughn. She’s my guest, and she deserves only respect.”

Tudyk stopped in front of us and bowed politely. “My apologies, milady.”

I was amazed by how mature and adept at etiquette the kids were. I was also a little overwhelmed