Chapter 12 · Bid With Blood

The chamber smells like old money and fresh blood.

Vivian stands at the back wall, Lucas half a step behind her. The auction hall is bigger than she expected—stone arches, velvet curtains, chandeliers dripping with crystal that catches the torchlight and throws it around like broken stars. Rows of seats carved from black marble, most of them filled.

Vampires in silk and leather, a few witches in the corner whispering behind their hands, and up front, in the box seats, the council elders. Cyrus Grey sits dead center, legs crossed, one hand on the armrest like he owns the room.

He probably does.

Vivian keeps her face blank. She learned that early—how to look like nothing's wrong when everything is. Her dress is still torn at the hem from the dungeon floor, her wrists bruised from the iron cuffs they only removed ten minutes ago. Lucas hasn't said a word since they were dragged up here. His jaw's tight, shoulders locked, and when she glances at him his eyes are fixed on the stage.

The stage is empty. For now.

A vampire in a crimson coat steps up to the podium, his voice echoing off the stone. "Lot seventeen.