So damned much rested on this.
Ridge led her across the gleaming white and black checkerboard expanse of the marble floor to the other side of the room. Three huge tables stood lining the long wall, spread with a dazzling selection of appetizers. A towering ice sculpture stood on the central table, depicting a woman’s arm thrust upward, holding a sword that shone with condensation.
“The Lady in the Lake,” Ridge said. “Didn’t happen like that, but Arthur loves that story.”
“You know King Arthur?” Kat’s voice spiraled upward into an embarrassing squeak.
“Yep.” He nodded. “In fact, there he is.”
The man who stepped into the center of the room didn’t look like an immortal vampire knight. He was dressed in a tux, for one thing, though he wore his curling dark hair in a shoulder-length style, and a short, neatly trimmed beard framed his square jaw. Though not tall, he was as muscular as Ridge, and an air of power lingered around him like cologne. He lifted a hand, and the music stopped. “May I have your attention, please?”
Dancers stepped away from each other and turned to listen. The ones in white studied Arthur with the same staggered, wide-eyed fascination Kat felt. The rest listened with evident respect.
“As you’ve probably heard,” Arthur said, “we’re recruiting.” This drew a dry chuckle from a few people, though others looked grim.
“Those of you in white are Latents—the mortal descendants of the knights and ladies of the Round Table. And like all Latents, you have inherited the genetic potential to become immortal. Vampires, in the case of the men, while the women could transform into Majae.”
“Please don’t call us witches,” a dark-haired woman in a red velvet gown called. “We don’t like it.”
“And believe me, you don’t want to piss Morgana Le Fay off.” Arthur smiled as the group chuckled.
“Morgana and her fellow Majae worked a spell to find all the Latents who could survive the transition without going mad.” He paused, his expression going grim. “Obviously, we didn’t invite the Latents who’d be driven insane by the process.”
“Nobody wants to deal with a case of Mageverse Fever,” Ridge murmured in Kat’s ear. “We’re usually forced to kill the poor bastards—hopefully before they start piling up victims.”
“But just because you can safely become one of us, that doesn’t mean you should.” The smile dropped away from Arthur’s face. Suddenly there was something very old and very tired in his eyes. “Despite what you may think, we’re not really immortal. We may not age, but we can be killed. And recently, a great many very brave Magekind died in some very ugly ways.” He began to pace around the silent circle of the crowd, pausing here and there to stare into someone’s eyes. No one spoke, or shifted, or coughed. It almost seemed no one dared breathe.
“Your respective escorts have the task of deciding if you should become one of us. It’s their responsibility to determine if you have the intelligence and courage to join us in our fight. It’s not a decision to be made lightly. Any mistakes you make may cost not only your lives, but the lives of the rest of us as well. And worse, you could kill the innocents who depend on us for protection.” Arthur paused again, this time directly in front of Kat. She caught her breath as her heart began to pound in furious lunges. Those dark eyes bored into hers. She had the feeling he saw the deep hidden core of rage, the craving for revenge that roiled inside her.
And the fear, carefully hidden and barely acknowledged.
At last he turned away. “Fifteen hundred years ago,” Arthur continued in a quiet tone that still carried to every corner of the room, “Merlin tested me and the members of my court to determine if we were up to the task of protecting mankind from its own suicidal impulses. Those of us who passed his tests drank from his magical grail and became immortal. Now it’s our turn to determine if you are up to the task. We need you, but only if you are willing to pay the price.” The former king lifted his voice until it rang around the room. “If you are not willing to risk death, to fight and die with us, please leave now. We will honor you for your honesty and sacrifice, for it’s no easy thing to refuse the promise of power. But if you stay, know the risks. Rest assured, your Magekind sponsor does. He or she will not make the decision lightly.” Arthur paused, sweeping his gaze over the crowd. His mouth twitched in a slight smile. “Now that I’ve killed the mood, have a nice evening.”
On cue, the music rose again. People drew together, heads tilting as conversation began to buzz.
“You still want that punch?” Ridge asked.
“Is it alcoholic?”
He grinned. “I think so.”
“God, yes.”
Laughing softly, he started toward the punch bowl. Kat licked her dry lips, and frowned at the sudden sensation that someone was staring at her.
She turned to meet the stare of a tall, brawny blond man with such sharply chiseled features, he could have posed for an Armani ad. His eyes were pale and gray as winter ice, and just as cold. “I couldn’t help but notice your necklace.” In contrast to his gaze, his smile was as charming and warm as a sunny day. “It’s lovely. Where did you get it?”
Kat’s fingers closed over the engraved heart. “It was my sister’s.” His smile widened. “Really?”
She went still, going on the alert. “She died.”
“Did she?” Sympathy, rich as cream, filled his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“Trey?” An older dark-haired man appeared at his elbow. “I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet, son.”
“Sorry to bring up painful memories,” the blond said, and turned away with his father.
Kat frowned after him, tense. It wasn’t the first time she’d met a man who made her instincts howl. But here, among people who were, by definition, the good guys? She snorted in disgust at herself.
She was getting as paranoid as her mother.
THREE
Adelicate crystal cup appeared before Kat’s eyes, held in a strong brown hand. “You making friends with the werewolves too?”
“Werewolves?” Startled, she looked up at Ridge. “I thought you were all either vampires or witches.”
“Majae,” he corrected, and took a sip of his own cup. The contents were a delicate pink. Apparently he wasn’t restricted to blood. “They don’t like the ‘w’ word, remember?”