In its own macabre way, it was an elegant scene. Vampires are a picky bunch. Oh, they’ll feed on pretty much anyone in a pinch, but they’re very choosy about who they change. As a result, they tend to be quite attractive, aside from the whole creepy undead vibe they give off. They move with a preternatural grace that hints at their predator’s speed and strength. They dress well, too, although they tend to favor clothing that looks like it comes from a different century.

Predictable, yes—and yet effective.

Lady Eris was ensconced on a thronelike chair with a high back of padded red velvet at the far end of the ballroom, clad in a black lace gown with a plunging décolletage that showed off her motionless cleavage. I’d met her briefly the first time we’d come here, just long enough for her to confirm that I was indeed a member of the eldritch community before dismissing me as not worth her while.

I had a feeling this time it would be different.

Her gaze pinned me as the throng of partygoers parted at my approach, shying instinctively away from dauda-dagr’s presence. Lady Eris’s delicate jawline tightened and her long white fingers drummed on the arms of her chair, but she showed no other signs of discomfort. She looked younger than I remembered, but then again, I wasn’t a teenager anymore.

“Welcome.” Her voice was neutral. “Pansy, isn’t it?”

“Daisy.”

“Daisy.” Unexpectedly, her voice shifted out of neutral into drive, which, for a vampire, means full-on hypnotic seduction mode. Uh-oh. The weight of her gaze intensified. Lady Eris curved her red lips in a smile, careful not to show teeth. “Come.” She indicated an ottoman before her. “Take a seat.”

“Thanks, but I’d rather—”

“Sit,” she crooned.

Oh, great. My vulnerable mortal half betrayed me. I found myself sitting on the ottoman without any conscious recollection of having done so, gazing up at Pemkowet’s vampire mistress. Lady Eris was straight out of central casting, with wide-set eyes almost as black as my own, raven tresses caught back in a chignon, and bone-white skin so luminous it almost seemed lit from within.

Those white, white fingers stroked my cheek, cold and undead, and yet . . . gah. My tail twitched with involuntary pleasure. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t just the mortal half. Goddamn eldritch Kinsey scale. “Such warm skin,” she mused. “You run hot, little half-breed. It makes for a delightful contrast, don’t you think?”

A shiver that wasn’t entirely distaste ran over me. “I don’t know,” I managed to say. “But it sure as hell freaked out my pediatricians.”

Her crimson fingernails raked over my skin. “Do you really wish to offer me further offense?” she inquired.

My mind had gone temporarily blank. “Um . . . no?”