A Violet Fire (Vampires in Avignon #1) - Kelsey Quick Page 0,15

foundation for one long station for sitting and leaning, like that of a classroom, and a seemingly important vampire fills each segment. They all eye me warily as I continue to scan, ever so gradually, upward in the direction of his voice. My sight finally reaches the top row of stations, where there are five prestigious vampires backed by one or two lesser vampires. They are intimidating with their fierce wardrobes and malignant auras, each represented by a colored triangular tag that sits in front of them upon their shared desk. Sapphire, Emerald, Gold, Amethyst, and ...Ruby. My heart skips a beat, and my eyes drift one inch more, focusing on the vampire representing the brash color.

Dark stone-grey eyes, only detectable by the cascading moonlight, capture mine with an essence so sharp and demanding that I can’t help but drop my gaze.

“I did not say you could look away.” His tone stiffens beneath his words, leaving me with no other choice but to attempt round two.

This time, I focus on his remarkably familiar traits. So platinum it’s silver, Zein’s hair cascades to his clavicles, caressing a thin scar that spans from left eye to right ear, highlighting lifted and crafted cheekbones—a symmetry paired with something so dreadfully imbalanced. His perfection contradicts the innate, imperious aura of a killer—one that can petrify thousands with fear. He has not changed even a little. Nothing in his appearance has altered from the last time that I saw him. Not a wrinkle present, nor blemish added. Youthful, as if he were no older than myself, no older than the memory I have of him. And it makes sense. Zein, like every other vampire, outlives humans by an astronomical amount of time.

“Ah, yes.” He concludes with a hint of a smile. “Your eyes give away your disloyalty. Tell me, are you not grateful to be receiving yet another chance at life?”

My eyebrows twitch with annoyance, though I’m sure it doesn’t go unnoticed by the room. Numbness and fear ebbs away to accommodate rage.

How very like vampires. To think living while enslaved is something to be appreciated.

When I don’t respond, he continues. “Even if I were to permit you into my castle out of pure and unearned mercy, I am certain you would still find something to be ungrateful about.” His voice is deep and acidic. He leans on one arm, mulling over my fate as if trying to decide which fabric to don. The atmosphere in the room lightens, while the void in my heart desaturates to pure black.

“All right,” he says, “I will spare your life, human. I will take you to my castle. But first you must beg for the forgiveness of myself and my colleagues for all the trouble you have caused.”

My eyes widen and my limbs waver with shock. This guy... I wish I could drive a stake through his heart. Luckily, I have enough control to refrain from trying, but it does take every ounce to prevent myself from telling him and every other vampire in this room what I truly think.

As if an unquenchable flame of defiance reignites within me—filling every pore and coursing through every vein—I recall, and dwell upon my dorm mother’s words.

If all you have left is your pride, leave this world with your pride...

My arms gradually lower from their submissive position.

“Too frightened to speak? Must I send you back to Nightingale to relearn Acclevin?” Zein toys with me and the room erupts with laughter.

Giomar, represented by the amethyst tag, calls out almost drunkenly. “If you won’t keep ‘er, mate, I will. I personally like it when they don’t talk. Their screamy pitches ‘re so bloody annoying.”

Zein offers a smirk as Giomar continues. “Yes, yes. Maybe we should put in a request for Nightingale to remove their vocal cords before sendin ‘em to us.” The room laughs again.

It snaps.

Something within me snaps and I can’t hold it back anymore.

“Well!” I proclaim as every head whips toward me. For a second, I doubt myself. I could play the sudden octave off as nerves and beg for forgiveness. I could claim to have hiccups or I could try and hang it behind the tapestry…

...but I don’t. I don’t want to. My mouth opens, and it refuses to close.

“Since you so clearly don’t like to let things go to waste, why don’t you—all of you—do each other an immense favor and stop wasting your time?”

Everyone, aghast, looks to Zein whose playful smirk has since fallen to a taut line.