Page 99 of Let Sleeping Vampires Lie

“Valerian?” Con asked.

“Yes.”

He surveyed the room again, posture tightening. “Can you pinpoint him?”

“No. He is masking himself. Blending with the crowd.”

Con stepped slightly forward, shielding my body just enough to block an angle of approach. “Then we stay vigilant.”

I let my gaze sweep the glittering chaos.

Enhanced guards lined the walls. Buyers whispered behind half-masks of wealth and malice. Magic thrummed beneath the surface like a pulse.

And somewhere in the shadows of velvet-curtained balconies, Valerian watched.

The auction was about to begin.

And I had just become the center of the game.

CHAPTER 17

Marcus spotted us before we spotted him.

He stood near one of the marble pillars at the edge of the crowd, a glass of amber liquid in hand, posture relaxed in a way that said he belonged here. His suit was a shade lighter than Con’s, tailored just as perfectly, with a silk pocket square that probably cost more than some people’s rent. The moment his gaze landed on me, his expression brightened.

He lifted his glass slightly, then moved through the clusters of buyers with practiced ease. By the time he reached us, the mask of charming host was fully in place.

“Cassara,” he greeted, taking my hand as if we had arrived at a legitimate charity gala. “You clean up nicely.”

His fingers were warm and smooth, grip firm but not possessive. He brushed his lips close to my knuckles without actually touching them, the perfect imitation of old-world manners.

“Marcus,” I replied. “I see criminal enterprise suits you.”

“It keeps me in good whiskey,” he said. His gaze flicked to Con. “Constantine, I hear you conquered the eastern plains back in the day.” I knew he was playing a part. Making sure those around us heard our conversation.

Con’s eyes cooled by a degree. “All lies.”

“Those are the most interesting kind,” Marcus replied lightly.

He shook Con’s hand as well. He did it like a man unbothered by the fact he was touching a predator. No flinch. No hesitation. Only a subtle awareness in his eyes that told me he knew very well what sort of man he dealt with.

“You both arrived on time,” he said. “The organizers appreciate punctuality.”

“As do we,” I said.

Marcus took a sip of his drink, studying the room with a sidelong glance. “You are not the only ones here for the artifact.”

“The Pentacoris piece,” I said.

“The fragment,” he corrected. “The hosts insist it is just another relic, but their security around its movement suggests otherwise.”

“You saw it?”

“I saw the case,” he said. “And the way they handled it. Not like something fragile. Like something dangerous.”

His attention flicked to the far side of the room, where a pair of guards moved with just enough extra focus to mark them as responsible for more than simple crowd control.

“And the serum,” I said.