“A dance, possibly?” The stranger said, his eyes never leaving mine. I was trapped, falling into their eternity. My lip quivered, weighing a response.
“Possibly.” I muttered. I couldn’t give in that easily. And yet he had me all along.
The room waited, silent, a collective breath held. Finally, I nodded, taking his large hand. Mine fit perfectly into his; so small, encased by his strong bones. He pulled me to him, the harmony of violins sounding with our step.

For once in my young life, I felt beautiful, because I was with him. The world seemed fair; the lights more bright, our audience’s smiles authentic and wide. My dress billowed around us as we hovered over the floor. His eyes never leaving my face, mine never leaving his. It was as if immortality was ours; the reason for our immortality was this. No matter the purpose of a vampyre –to eat, to hunt, to feast- this justified our savageness.

Suddenly, it ended. My attention was torn by the cry of a victim, their lifeless breath escaping a final time. An audience member had become bored with our dance, snacking during the waltz. I rolled my eyes. I noticed how he watched me, his hand still in mine though more couples had joined us on the floor. He smiled fondly at me, at my mannerisms. As if we’d spent a lifetime together, sure to spend another by each other’s side. He kissed the soft, cold, dead skin of my inner wrist. If I had a pulse, it would have jumped.

“My lady, I will bring you refreshments.” He teased and turned, disappearing with a crooked smile and a twinkle in his eye through the crowd of jewelled silks.

“You stupid girl!” My sister appeared, hissing at my side. Jealousy, no doubt. I had danced with the most beautiful man here, his tall darkness lethal and delicious. And he was a potential partner –not just prey- given that he, too, was undead. It had possibilities. At least he wasn’t human; that way, I’d obviously end up killing him despite best intentions not to. I was delirious in love already.

“Silence yourself, sister, before I do it for you!” I warned her not to crush my happiness. She stayed quiet, thankfully. But she pulled me to the stairs, where we could view the dancers from the gallery above.

“Do you know who that is?!” She whispered, nodding to my stranger returning to where I had been. Just as she did, a man tapped his arm and he turned away, momentarily distracted from me. I felt a pang of guilt, for not being there.

“Who?” I mused. Hopefully some Viscount that I could justify my love for. Father would be pleased with a suitor of nobility.

“Viscount Montarov.” She said, this time without emotion. The blood drained from my face. My eyes scanned the crowd, finding him again. His back had stiffened, the pale knuckles stretched over the goblet of ruby liquid he’d fetched for me. Any tighter and...snap! The glass split into a thousand diamond shards, crimson dripping down his forearm.

He turned, his face as pale as mine, apparently receiving similarly morbid news of my own ranking and family.

We shared a yearning glance as I was dragged from the Montarov ball by my sister, for a Capulsky cannot be here.

And they certainly cannot love a vampyre from their enemy coven.