Far from the bloodthirsty cries of the arena, down a long corridor of marble and onyx, Lady Vivian stood beneath a domed ceiling glittering with crystal light.
She was a vision in soft silver—a gown of pale silk clinging to her curves like water, trailing behind her with every elegant step. Delicate jewels sparkled at her neck and wrists, sapphire and garnet catching the candlelight with every breath. But it was her eyes that stood out most—unmistakable, piercing red, the color of noble vampiric bloodline and a soul that had long since tired of pretending to be kind.
Across from her stood Harriet—body slender but muscles taut under simple black fighting leathers, her breathing calm, measured, but no less intense. Her dark hair, usually plain, had been streaked at the ends with a deep shade of crimson. It was subtle, but noticeable.
Lady Vivian's gaze slid over her, unblinking.
