Seeking a momentary diversion, Emme nodded toward a small tiepin Gus wore. “Tell me about your pin,” she said.
“It is a glass-blown heart that provides identification amongst vampires of goodwill. When I see a person wearing the heart, I know he or she is a non-predatory vampire or someone sympathetic to our cause. We have hidden in the shadows for so long we have learned how to survive by finding one another.” He touched the pin with his fingertip. “The glass symbolizes transparency and pure intent, and the heart shape is for the heart inside us that ceased beating at the moment of Turning. Most people are unaware that the majority of the vampire population are Turned against their will. But truthfully, we want to remain in the earthly realm with friends and loved ones.” He paused and then smiled. “I suppose the notion of a symbolic heart is at odds with your prior assumptions about vampires.”
Emme nodded, her throat aching with the symbolism. “It is,” she answered honestly, “but given what I know of the shifter community and the hatred they face, I am not surprised.” She returned his smile. “The glass heart is beautiful—a lovely symbol.”
“Thank you, dear lady. I confess, the Summit has given many of us a sense of hope. Heaven willing, we shall see clear skies between now and the week’s end.”
The Grand Hotel gathering hall that evening was a lavish affair, beautifully appointed and sparkling with light. The mood was festive, champagne flowed, and people laughed as they tried to overcome language barriers and mostly succeeded. Summit attendees and visitors from all around had descended upon Edinburgh, and the air was charged with excitement and possibility. The predinner social event was by invitation only, and as the face of the ISRO, Emme was well on display. Josephine, the maid, had outdone herself in selecting a ball gown for Emme to wear as well as choosing a hairstyle for her. Much to Emme’s surprise and delight, Gus was also an adept hand at managing curling tongs and accessories.
Emme and Oliver had both managed a long nap, Oliver in his hotel room and she in hers, but with the adjoining door left ajar should something happen. As much as her ankle throbbed and her bruised body protested each movement, she felt rested enough to enjoy the gala and all it signified.
Their friends had arrived in time to check into their rooms and attend the dinner social, and her colleagues showered her with careful embraces and well-wishes. Signore Giancarlo helped her make the rounds of the room, speaking with ambassadors she’d previously met and a few whose faces were new to her. Her ankle throbbed, but her giddy relief at knowing they’d actually made it in relatively one piece to the Summit after all the months of preparation outweighed the pain.
As she moved through the room, one hand on Carlo’s arm and the other maneuvering a crutch, Oliver was never far behind. She felt his presence constantly, and it gave her a sense of peace she wouldn’t have imagined possible. He had met Carlo in London the day of the carriage “accident,” and the two had developed a quiet communication as they navigated the crowd. Now and again, she would hear Oliver’s low murmur and catch Carlo’s subtle nod as she spoke with dignitaries, sharing the ISRO’s mission and the benefits it brought to countries, cities, and towns.
She noted the military men and constabulary mingling subtly among the crowd; Carlo told her the entire city was guarded carefully after law enforcement had foiled two minor plots to disturb gatherings at the Princes Street Gardens pavilions.
The only dimming factor of the evening was her worry for Oliver. He did not verbalize concern for anything other than his mission to keep her safe, but since the discussion with Gus about Lawrence Reed’s narcissistic and ruthless control over the vampire world, there was a heaviness to Oliver she’d not felt before. She wanted to take it from him, or at least help him shoulder it, but she was learning that sharing intimacies and personal concerns was not usually part of his repertoire. Perhaps in the future . . .
That she was considering a future involving Detective-Inspector Reed and his personal burdens was an irony not lost on her. It played in the back of her mind as she mingled and smiled, chatted and made lighthearted comments about her injured foot and her clumsy use of the crutch. She wanted to see Oliver smile, and knowing he felt responsible for all in his purview—whether the men under his command in India or the entirety of England itself—suddenly seemed grossly unfair. Little wonder he had been so fierce in disrupting her efforts at disruption; his determination to keep the peace and ensuring order was part of who he was.
Had it been only twenty-four hours since they boarded the airship in London? She thought of her mad leap from the airship, the soul-crushing fear as the ground had grown closer, and the relief mingled with guilt when she saw him touch down behind her.
The kiss—oh, the kiss. It had been one of the most majestic moments imaginable. She would remember it as long as she lived. She allowed herself the luxury of glancing at his mouth, his face, and the way his shoulders and frame perfectly filled the formal tuxedo.
He touched her shoulder and asked quietly if she felt well, and she nodded at him with a smile, missing Carlo’s introduction to an ambassador from Port Lucy. Oliver inclined his head toward the guest, his lips twitching in a quick smile at her, and she whipped her attention back to the moment at hand. She flushed but figured she would be allowed an occasional moment of distraction—everybody knew she’d
