The soft melody of classical music, elegant and charming, complements the artfully depicted walls and high-dome steeple ceiling. Reid tilts his head, peering at the new wallpaper at an awkward angle. The longer he stares, the stranger it becomes: twisting vines wrapping and weaving, snakes entwined around nude women's necks, men with wings and curved swords fighting in nameless fights. It's an endless, strange delineation of sheer chaos.

"For fuck's sake," Kenneth gripes. His green eyes sweep the room, giving any of the unlucky delegates who encounter his gaze the meanest look he can muster—it's hilarious.

"Gabriel will know we've shown up by now." Reid pats Kenneth's chest. He doesn't move his hand away, lingering and smoothing nonexistent wrinkles down Kenneth's pressed black button-up shirt beneath his open jacket. "Now we wait for our execution like good dogs."

"He demands you show up and then makes you wait," Kenneth growls, and shoves Reid's wandering hands away angrily. "Fucking jerk."

The playhouse is alight with a symphony of combating voices, chatting, laughing, and whispering. Reid had spotted a few familiar faces when arriving, mostly vampires from Fawnhill. He'd rather choke to death on the disgusting caviar being served than go out of his way to ignite conversation. The sea of hoity-toity suits and silk-draped bodies makes him physically ill to be too close to for a long period of time. Hence, they linger in one of the quieter corners.

From the corner of his eye, he catches sight of a familiar silken dark-green gown belonging to Hannah. She's a beacon of real beauty in a crowd of fakes. Reid breathes easier glimpsing Lucas close at her side, murmuring something in her turned ear. She's a spitfire, but with Lucas, she's safe if any of the lingering eyes decide to act on whatever dark interest is flitting behind their sordid gazes.

Before entering, they'd made a strategic decision to have Lucas and Hannah go off together. During the execution—Reid's taken to naming being in the same room as his father as such—the pair will see if they can dig up some more answers elsewhere while snooping.

And if this meeting turns out to be a trap, well, it'll be nice to have backup. They'll reconvene afterwards in the parking lot.

"You know, if I make a ruckus, Gabriel will absolutely show up to give me a reaming." Reid rises onto his tiptoes and cranes his neck to see over the crowd, looking quite unpolished if the numerous stares he receives tell him anything. It exhilarates him to see their looks of revulsion.

The main chamber of the building is where most of the socialites will be congregating for the evening. Reid has memories of lying against the ivory tiling of this giant room, empty and gazing distantly at the glass dome ceiling. On the far end of the room, there's a pair of winding staircases that will lead up to the playhouse's theatre. And sitting between a pair of lofty bookshelves is a narrow stairwell leading to an apartment. He hasn't the intrepidity to return, even if he craves to, because last time, it was covered in his mother's blood.

Reid chortles past the unease his dismal thoughts have caused as Kenneth grabs his arm tightly in warning. "I won't make a scene. It was just a suggestion."

"Don't suggest it," Kenneth whispers severely. He releases Reid's arm with a breathy curse.

Reid follows Kenneth's gaze, and his smile drops upon setting eyes on the creature approaching them. Alma. The eldest son of Sinclair Coven. He has all the looks of a handsome and proper businessman: perfectly styled black hair, a pressed black dress shirt, and dark suit pants. Reid despises him right down to his stupid, shiny shoes.

"Reid," Alma greets with a phony smile, coming to a stop a few feet away with a hand in the pocket of his trousers and a tilt to his head that's no doubt practised to give him a regal aura. He ignores Reid's lack of answer and nasty glare. "I almost didn't recognise you. You look so lively!"

It's not subtle. Reid resists the urge to take the bait. He's not actually offended all that much, not when he did nothing to hide his behaviour, having left similar events for an entire year stumbling and out of his mind, but he's peeved that Alma is going out of his way to try to garner a reaction.

Kenneth's deathly quiet, and from Reid's peripheral view, he can see how hard the man is clenching his jaw. This might turn ugly. But for now, Kenneth's merely posed to pounce and hopefully remains that way—even if it would be satisfying to see pompous Alma Sinclair taken down a notch.

"Yes, well, that's behind me." Reid forces a smile; it's so fake it aches. "I've healed. Moved on. Yada yada."

Alma hums patronisingly. He takes a minute step closer, bringing them a foot apart, disguising the forwardness in the guise of hushing his voice: "Your mother. Her death must have been so hard for you to weather. My condolences. Did they ever find out who perpetrated such savagery?"

"No," Reid says, his faux smile faltering. "They didn't." He's pierced with a bout of uneasiness. "Why? Do you know something?"

Kenneth shifts, the air tensing, and rather than starting a bloody brawl, his palm becomes a gentle, supporting pressure against Reid's lower back.

Reid's grateful, calming at the touch.

Alma disregards the question and subtly inhales the air between them. Reid catches the slight flare of the man's nostrils. Alma's eyes dilate darker than the smile quirking his lips. "Have you come here tonight to display solidarity with Gabriel?"

Reid sneers, "No, of course not."

Another condescending hum and Alma's fangs peek from beneath his lips as he grins. "Then, perhaps, it's best you don't choose this evening to act as your return."

It's enough of a veiled threat to have Kenneth's fingers against Reid's back twitching. Reid's heart beats rapidly against his chest. To have Alma say such a thing without worrying about who's listening, only a man who's sure he's going to win would be so foolish. The vampire begins to back away, grinning.

"Alma," Reid growls, impulsively shadowing the vampire's steps. "What are you planning?" He's going to strangle Alma until the jerk gives up all his secrets. Well, Kenneth is going to strangle the vampire, and Reid is going to watch and enjoy it immensely.

The vampire apparently doesn't wish to play their game anymore, looking elsewhere and finding a new interest in the thronging crowd.

It's a farce.

The moment Reid reaches out and his fingers graze the soft fabric of Alma's suit jacket. The vampire's gaze sharpens and he's suddenly close, stealing all sound from the room.

Quick as a bullet, Kenneth's hand clamps Alma's shoulder, holding the vampire back. "Don't you fucking dare."

The threat doesn't deter Alma from whispering, "Change is coming. Haven't you felt it? In your very bones. In your blood. Chose your loyalties, Reid, or they'll be chosen for you."

Reid's words are stuck in his throat. He feels dazed and dizzy. He nearly leans into the hand that Alma raises towards his face, lips parting, longing for whatever is making the air so heady. But Kenneth's fingers seize the vampire's wrist, preventing the damning touch and shattering the delusion.

Reid inhales sharply.

Alma slowly takes in Kenneth's towering height and looks wholly unimpressed. He twists his shackled hand, the red Sinclair signet ring glinting against the chandelier lighting. He eyes the healing bite on Kenneth's palm—no longer requiring a bandage, but the obviousness of what had caused it is evident; the bite is deep.

"So it is true," Alma drawls. "Kenneth Rainer lost to a lone vampire."

Kenneth snatches his hand back. "Yeah, maybe, but he was tougher than you'll ever be."

Alma grins, and in doing so, he bares his fangs, and Reid involuntarily shivers. "Ever thought of becoming a vampire yourself? You'd be unstoppable." He snorts softly when Kenneth's reply is to glare harder. "If you ever reconsider, I'd have you."

Reid has an absurd swell of possessive anger burning his blood. He tapers it down even though his fingers shake. "You've said your piece. Vamoose." He waves a hand in front of his face. "You're exhausting me." Kenneth is trying to keep back a smile.

Alma's grin remains, but his eyes dilate darker ever so subtly, giving away his outrage at being dismissed. "I'm sure we'll speak more later. It won't be difficult to locate you. I could smell you from across the room." He hums softly. "I can't place it, but it's lovely. Enticing."

The jerk devours Reid's look of paling horror and tips his head back with a cackling laugh as he finally walks away and disappears into the crowd of silken-clad bodies.

"What an asshole." Kenneth grabs a fistful of Reid's hair and sniffs. "You don't smell like anything." He inhales Reid's shirt and shakes his head. "Nothing. Just you."

Reid chortles. It's hard not to; the roughness tickles and the fact Kenneth is sniffing him outright in the middle of a black-tie event is making Reid giddy. "I've been told it a couple of times now. I guess it's a vampire thing."

Kenneth snorts. "Fucking weird."

From their right, Axel's sudden voice rises above the din of chatter and music: "Kid..." He's in a grey suit, no tie, the collar of his white shirt unbuttoned, showing off the glint of a silver chain. "The boss is waiting for you."

"Satan awaits," Reid mutters.

Reid's pleased that Kenneth's palm keeps a gentle contact against his lower back as they move to follow Axel through the crowd—obviously, so they don't get separated, but Reid basks in the comfort of the touch anyway. He can't help but feel like he's walking voluntarily into his sacrifice.

A streak of red passes his distant vision but he's too lost in thought to react, and then somebody bumps into his shoulder in clumsy urgency.

"Sorry!"

Reid starts to say, "It's..." He stops walking.

There are times in his life when he's experienced the sensation of yearning. It's usually in the throes of passion while inebriated, and his body doesn't know what's good for it. But right now, as he takes in the woman as she walks backward, never pausing her haste, and bumps into a few other delegates, there's an electric pull.

Reid gives the mystery woman one of his genuine smiles, and she returns it with a sweet blush colouring her cheeks. They both laugh when she nearly trips in her soft-soled shoes. She's beautiful; curly red hair, expressive greenish eyes, and freckled tan skin that glistens with glitter. She must be a dancer, wearing a tight black leotard outfit adorned with feathers of bursting colour around her hips.

Reid struggles against the push of Kenneth's hand on his back and shouts, "You're beautiful!" Because she is, and it should be said. "What's your name?"

Kenneth snorts, and Axel laughs.

The red-haired beauty slows her pace. "Rowan!"

The way her tongue peeks out along the seam of her quirked lips is pure flirtation. She's stoking the flame of desire, which he's resisting terribly.

And, then, she's turning and hurrying away, weaving through the crowd to wherever she'd been hastening this entire time.

Reid walks to his execution with a smile on his face. Rowan's her name. Of course it is—a pretty name for a pretty face.