"Ah, there you are!" a familiar voice chortles. "Up to no good again, I see."

Emelia sags against Malcolm's frame, feeling a wave of sudden and unexpected relief.

She hears a sharp hissing sound from behind her and doesn't need to turn around to know it's the other vampire.

"Excuse my interrupting," Malcolm addresses him, unperturbed by the display of hostility. "But it's a bit too early in the evening for that, isn't it?"

"I don't see how it's any of your business," the other man bites back. It is clear that he doesn't appreciate his hunt being thwarted.

When Malcolm speaks again, his voice is a lot grittier and far less friendly.

"I'm sure His Grace the prince will see it as his business since it was he who invited her here tonight. If you were not such a brainless invalid, then her attire would have made it perfectly clear to you that she is a guest at this event, not one of the servers."

A moment of tense silence passes before the man answers, this time in a much calmer and subdued manner.

"My mistake. I wasn't thinking."

"Clearly," Malcolm scoffs. "Now, if you would kindly apologise to my friend before getting out of our sights."

"Of course," what's-his-face replies and Emelia can feel his gaze on her back when he says, "My sincerest apologies, miss. Enjoy the rest of your night."

The sound of his receding footsteps echoes through the hall. Once they have disappeared entirely, Emelia extracts herself from Malcolm's hold and takes a step back.

"You followed me," she accuses, crossing her arms and glaring at him.

"I think the words you're looking for are thank you," he replies, "Seeing as I just saved you from becoming someone's snack."

"I wish you had followed Sofie instead."

Reaching down, Emelia viciously removes her godforsaken shoes and releases an audible sigh of relief as the cool floor soothes her aching soles.

"Also, I'm not your friend," she remarks as an afterthought. "I only have one of those and thanks to you she's currently missing, so if you'll excuse me."

Not waiting for a response, Emelia turns away and goes to the door. It rattles when she pulls down the handle and stubbornly refuses to open. You have got to be kidding me.

"Sounds like the lock has jammed," Malcolm comments from behind her.

"Fantastic," she mutters, mentally cursing what's-his-face for breaking the door's internal mechanism and hoping he falls into a pit of stakes for making her night a whole lot worse now than it already was.

"There is another exit further down the hall," Malcolm informs with a tilt of his head in that direction. "I am happy to escort y-"

"That won't be necessary," she interrupts brusquely, marching past him. "I can find it myself. Don't follow me," she warns from over her shoulder, not slowing her pace to hear if he replies.

The vast hall is as long as it looks and it takes Emelia a number of minutes to locate the second exit which she discovers leads out to a different part of the palace gardens.

She shivers. The temperature of the outside air seems to have dropped - or perhaps it's just the effects of her adrenaline wearing off.

There is no sight or sound of people here but music from the ball can still be heard playing faintly in the distance.

Emelia begins heading in the direction of the melody - bare feet patting softly as they carry her across the slabs of the garden path - when she hears a sound coming from somewhere closer by.

She freezes and whips her head around to scan the darkened surroundings, more than ready to use one of her shoes as a weapon. Her intense gaze catches nothing out of the ordinary; just trees, flowerbeds, and hedges.

After a prolonged moment of quiet, Emelia starts to think she might have imagined the sound but then her prickling ears hear it again. A low groan, a wet gurgle.

Goosebumps rise on her skin and her heart quickens. What is that? An animal?

She doubts it. The sound is too guttural, too human but at the same time not, affirming that something is definitely wrong.

Pushing down the unease, Emelia steps off the path and moves toward the trees.

As she gets closer, the strange noise gets louder until it sounds like it's right in front of her. Stopping near some bushes, Emelia squints into the shadows, catching sight of a suspicious figure by the base of a tree.

When her eyes finally adjust enough to the darkness, they encounter a horrifying sight.

François is crouched down in the grass, hunched over the woman lying limp in his arms. Emelia recognises them in almost an instance. It's the serving girl - the one who had offered her champagne - but her appearance is drastically different from what it had been an hour ago.

Her once sun-kissed skin is now ashen. The only part of her body that still retains any colour is her neck - where François' lips are firmly pressed.

Oh my God.

As the breath catches in Emelia's throat, the heels slip from her hand and the sound of them hitting the earth alerts François' to her presence.

His shoulders stiffen and a ferocious snarl tears past his lips but cuts short the moment he sees her.

They stare at each other in silence for what feels like an endless moment - the air tense and heavy between them - before François languidly rises to his feet, allowing the woman's bloodless body to slip from the embrace of his arms. She lands on the grass with a gentle thud.

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Well... that was unexpected 👁👄👁 Happy Saturday, everyone! Hope you're having a lovely day and enjoyed this update.