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Goosebumps pebble across my skin, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. Adrenaline crashes through my body, fight-or-flight triggered, absolute sureness in the knowledge that I am the prey, and that these people—these are all the predators.

"Steady on, lass," Lachlan tells me through gritted teeth, and there's no denying the growl I hear emanating from somewhere in the region of his diaphragm.

Polite applause finally breaks out, and I manage to paste a rictus smile on my face and bow my head just slightly, as imperiously as I can. I don't know that any gazelle has ever bowed before a lion and lived to tell the tale, but I'm not sure what else to do.

"Well, go on now," Julian St. George tells us cordially, voice dripping with that Southern drawl that's beginning to grate on my ears. "Get out there and dance. Be rude if you didn't take advantage of the party," he says, making a shooing motion with his hands.

I look to Lachlan, who's still frowning, the growl still vibrating out of him. But he holds out a hand, stepping away from me just slightly, and I place my palm in his, trying to pretend like the fear raging through me isn't in charge.

"I am the master of my fate," I say under my breath.

"I am the captain of my soul," Lachlan replies.

Some of the fear melts away. I feel less scared with Lachlan catching on to exactly what I was saying and repeating it back to me.

We're going to be okay, I tell myself as I follow him, hand in hand, to the middle of the dance floor.

The bodies in front of us have parted like the Red Sea, making space for us to join them in a dance I've never seen. Thankfully, the music changes from the strange song playing when we walked in, and Lachlan, despite his huge size, moves like liquid on the dance floor—holding one hand at my hip and the other in his palm, leading me through a series of complicated steps with deft feet and even a pleasant expression on his face.

If I didn't know better, I would think he was in love with me from the way his gaze travels across my face, the careful way he avoids stepping on my feet and making my blunders look like they're part of the choreography I've never learned.

"Thank you," I whisper as he twirls me close.

"Lass, I'm the last person you should be thanking."

And as he dips me, holding me close, he runs his nose across the column of my neck, making a delicious heat spread through me in spite of the danger we're no doubt in.

Oh boy, I'm in trouble where Lachlan's concerned. That much is for damn sure.

Finally, the music begins to slow, then stops. Lachlan spins me one last time into his chest as the vampires around us part, stepping away as Julian walks forward holding a gold and silver chalice encrusted in red gemstones that I realize, on further inspection, must be rubies or some other precious stone. The whole fucking cup is likely worth more than anything I've ever owned in my life, and the thought makes me slightly ill.

"A toast for the heir of House Midnight. Long may she reign," Julian says in his thick accent, grinning at me superciliously as the vampires and blood mages of House Sanguine all around us erupt in applause.

A mirror hangs opposite me on the wall, and I catch my reflection in it. My cheeks are flushed, my lips bright red, and sure enough, Lachlan's standing beside me, looking every inch the protective fiancé.

Then it hits me what's off about it.

There should be dozens of people blocking my ability to see my reflection in the mirror, but there are only a few around the fringes.

I swallow hard, a memory of long-forgotten lore surfacing.

Vampire reflections can't be seen.

My hand tightens around Lachlan's arm, and he pulls me close, nestling me into his chest, his breath softly feathering warm over the top of my head. I realize with a start how cold it is in this ballroom, how it feels like the only warm thing in here is the bear shifter who's holding me close in order to keep me from absolutely losing my mind with terror.

"Come on now, Vivienne. It would be rude not to drink," Julian intones, his drawl practically a purr.

His eyes glitter in the dim candlelight of the crystal chandeliers suspended overhead—a relic the likes of which I've never seen anywhere other than an illustration or a description. I wonder how long Julian's had it, before I nod at him and force myself to take the chalice from his hands.

It's even heavier than I expected, and the thought of how much this cost—this solid gold cup—sickens me. The excess of these vampires. The excess of this entire society I'm now part of, spent on things like solid gold cups while people are struggling. The fact that they drain their victims dry is not lost on me.

I glance down at the liquid in the cup, well aware of the fact that the vampires all around me and the blood mages and whatever else has sworn its allegiance to House Sanguine have stopped their dancing. And all pretense of this being some high-society party vanishes.

Fangs are bared.

Lachlan grips me in his arms, holding me close enough that I can feel the honey on his breath. The cup swirls as though a whirlpool has taken hold inside of it. And the words I read in the Midnight library echo through my head. Do not drink the toast.

How the hell am I not supposed to drink the toast? This is obviously the test. He's given me the cup, he's told me to drink, and I'm surrounded by predators that are ready to rip Lachlan and I to shreds should we not do exactly what he's told us to do.