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... e: accusing an elite vampire of holding her by her skirt or dousing him with orange juice—a vibrant splash against the stark white of his shirt, which was left exposed as he carried his Sexton robe draped over his arm.

The sweet scent of citrus wafted around them as the bright liquid dripped down his shirt. Her heart raced as her gaze nervously climbed to meet his furious eyes, which darkened like storm clouds gathering on the horizon.

Run, Ruelle!

In a fit of panic, she ...

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