Larten secretly hoped to captivate the legendary Lady of the Wilds. He had a way with ladies — few had been able to resist his charms when he was a Cub — and he was confident that she would fall for him as many others had. If Evanna mated with him, he’d become the founding father of a new generation of vampires and his power and fame would be assured.

“I would have worn finer clothes if I had known we were coming here,” he whispered to Wester as they sat on a couch laden with feather pillows.

“Don’t worry,” Wester grinned. “If Vancha is your only opposition, you can’t fail.”

Though Wester had also dreamed of winning the hand of the famed Lady, now that he’d seen the intent in Larten’s eyes, he put such thoughts from his mind. He always gave way to his best friend. They had never fought over a woman or anything else that Larten set his sights on. Wester thought of Larten as his brother and he loved the orange-haired vampire totally. He never tried to take the things that Larten desired, even if he craved them himself.

The tent seemed larger inside than out. There was a plush bed in the center, paintings hanging from beams, statues set around the sides. Huge candles burned steadily, while bowls and jugs overflowed with fruit, vegetables, water and wine. There was no meat or fish, which surprised Larten until he recalled a rumor that Evanna didn’t eat anything that couldn’t be grown.

Three young women brought the bowls and jugs to the vampires once they were seated. Al were dressed in plain white shirts and beige trousers. Larten had only rarely seen a woman in trousers and his gaze kept flicking over the servants. One of them — she had long dark hair and sharp gray eyes — caught him looking and glared challengingly. He tried his infamous smile on her — it set most women’s legs wobbling — but her glare only deepened. Surprised and unsettled, Larten coughed and turned his head aside. Wester saw this and hid a smile.