She hurried inside.

The interior was softly lit by several torches, yet the flames couldn’t ward off the unnatural chill that permeated the air. The typical pews were not here. It didn’t look like a church at all, but an elaborately furnished house. Velvet divans and chairs littered the main room, whilst marvellous murals and astonishing works of art embellished the walls. The far side of the church was one magnificent window, the coloured glass depicting angels and saints. But the large end table in the centre of the hall held Brooke’s attention, and the supernatural occupants dining there.

She gasped when she saw the vampires, like a house of ghosts illuminating the old church. Faces of extraordinary beauty stared back at her, mocking in their supreme glory. Their crimson eyes shone with dark amusement, or else arrogance, or worse, hunger.

Glistening scarlet smiles flashed and gentle laughter erupted at their approach. A dozen damned denizens filled the hall, and all of them sat serenely, drinking from wine glasses. Their beauty and supremacy was overpowering. Brooke found it hard to meet their eyes.

The vampire at the head of the table had the blondest hair she’d ever seen, falling across his slim chest like the finest silk. The hair framed a curious face, long nosed with a thin, cruel mouth. Yet it was still a face the finest artist would be proud to paint. It was this vampire who spoke first, silencing the murmurs of his companions.

“Ah, Malian, you’ve brought a morsel for us to dine upon.” His eyes shone with sick humour as he appraised Brooke.

Silvery chuckles tinkled from the other vampires. 

“And you have brought the anomaly with you, how…mysterious he is,” a female beside him added. Her hair was the same shade of platinum as the male moroi, her mouth just as cruel. Brooke suspected they were siblings.

“Yes, dear Nalia, he could be one of a kind.” The male moroi spoke as if Arantay wasn’t there. “But I’m afraid that my eyes wander more to the Venator. I’ve often wondered what it would be like to taste magical blood.” He licked gleaming lips.

“Cazantian only plays,” Malian said, his voice tinged with irritation. “None of this coven will harm you, on my word.”

“Just a taste?” Cazantian rasped, his fangs catching the light.

Brooke met Cazantian’s eyes at last and stopped herself from flinching. She wouldn’t show him any weakness.

Arantay took a step forward, his expression cold. “Enough games. Where’s Hallia?” he demanded.

“Hush, half-blood.” Cazantian raised a hand for quiet.