Dressing up to such an extravagant degree only to be used as a glorified blood bag seemed superfluous even at such a lavish event. Most employers never required such opulence. But the host of this particular party - Lord Astarion Ancunin - was rumored to be a man of very particular, very refined (and sometimes depraved) tastes.

You quickly look yourself over in the mirror- your elegant garb and perfectly coifed hair. You could easily blend in as one of the aristocrats or politicians in attendance. Except one thing set you apart. You were very much alive unlike the vampiric guests; therefore, you and several others were being subcontracted as blood donors…and were to be paid handsomely for it. Very, very handsomely. Which is why you took the job to begin with, as the thought of being fed on in a room full of vampires was more than a little intimidating.

You take a deep breath, steel yourself and step in line with the other donors and venture through the ornate mahogany doors of the palace ballroom. You disperse into the crowd.

Your heartbeat must thunder over the music of the bards. The scent of your blood must be more intoxicating than the Elverquisst and Thayan Red. Hungry eyes immediately find you, roam over the bare skin of your exposed throat. You instantly wonder if you’ve made a horrible mistake.

It isn’t long before the steady, professional voice of a servant jars you from your thoughts. “I beg your pardon, but Lord Ancunin has personally requested your services.”

Your eyes flick from the servant to where he is gesturing across the room. The devastatingly handsome vampire lord with cold garnet eyes lounges there on a crimson silk upholstered settee, looking like royalty, watching you, studying you. Then he crooks a finger in your direction, beckoning you to him.

Oh hells…