The Parasol Protectorate Boxed Set by Gail Carriger

vampires. Though she knew none of them socially,
she had read some of Dr. Caedes’s research during her more adventurous academic pursuits.
    â€œHow do you do?” said Miss Tarabotti politely.
    The party all made the requisite social murmurings.
    Lord Ambrose was a large, exceedingly comely man, looking the way romantic schoolroom girls expect vampires to look—dark and
broodingly arrogant with aquiline features and deep meaningful eyes. Dr. Caedes was also tall but skinny as a walking stick,
with thinning hair stopped mid-retreat by metamorphosis. He had with him a doctor’s bag, though Alexia knew from her readings
that his Royal Society membership rested on his extensive engineering work, not a physician’s license. The last hive member,
the Duke of Hematol, was nondescript in a premeditated way that reminded Alexia of Professor Lyall. Consequently, she regarded
him with great wariness and respect.
    â€œIf you do not mind, my dear, might I shake your hand?” The Westminster queen moved toward her with that abrupt and smooth
supernatural suddenness.
    Alexia was taken aback.
    Up close, Countess Nadasdy looked less jolly, and it was clear her rosy cheeks were the product of artifice, not sunlight.
Under layers of cream and powder, her skin was ashen white. Her eyes did not sparkle. They glittered as hard as the dark glass
used by astronomers to examine the sun.
    Miss Tarabotti backed away.
    â€œWe need to confirm your state,” the hive queen explained, still coming at her.
    She grabbed Alexia’s wrist firmly. The countess’s tiny hand was impossibly strong. The moment they touched, much of the hive
queen’s hardness vanished, and Miss Tarabotti was left wondering if once, long, long ago, Countess Nadasdy had actually
been
a shepherdess.
    The vampire smiled at her. No fangs.
    â€œI object most strenuously to this action, my queen. I want it known before the hive that I disagree with this approach to
our situation,” Lord Ambrose spoke curtly.
    Alexia was not certain if he was angry at her preternatural state or at her physical effect on his queen.
    Countess Nadasdy let go of her wrist. Her fangs reappeared. They were long and thin, almost biologically spiny, with what
looked like barbed tips. Then, with a lightning-fast movement, she lashed out to the side with sharp clawlike fingernails.
A long line of red appeared on Lord Ambrose’s face. “You overstep your bond duties, child of my blood.”
    Lord Ambrose bowed his dark head, the shallow wound already closing and healing itself. “Forgive me, my queen; it is only
your safety that concerns me.”
    â€œWhich is why you are my
praetoriani.
” In an abrupt change of mood, Countess Nadasdy reached to caress the very part of Lord Ambrose’s face she had just sliced
open.
    â€œHe speaks nothing but truth. You allow a soul-sucker to touch you, and once you are mortal, all it takes is one fatal injury.”
This time is was Dr. Caedes who spoke. His voice was slightly too high-pitched, with a fuzziness around the edges, a sound
wasps make before they swarm.
    To Alexia’s surprise, the countess did not claw his face open. Instead she smiled, showing off the full length of her sharp
barbed fangs. Alexia wondered if they had been filed into that extraordinary shape.
    â€œAnd yet, this girl does nothing more threatening than stand before us. You are all too young to remember what real danger
is inherent in her kind.”
    â€œWe remember well enough,” said the Duke of Hematol. His voice was calmer than the other two but more malicious in cadence—soft
and hissing like steam escaping a boiling kettle.
    The hive queen took Miss Tarabotti gently by the arm. She seemed to breathe in deeply, as though Alexia smelled of some scent
she loathed but was trying desperately to identify. “We were never in any direct danger from the female preternaturals; it
was only ever the males.” She