Gem looked dejected without Claude at her side, but she masked it well with a mechanical smile and all that silver glitter around her eyes. Claude was an attentive friend to her, and perhaps I wasn’t gregarious enough to be good company during events like these. Gem didn’t care much for dressing appropriately—she had a different approach when it came to style. Her fairy dress was made of chiffon and had a bustled skirt that didn’t quite reach her knees. The colors were beautifully blended shades of violet and ivory, and she was decked out in crystal necklaces and bracelets that sparkled beneath the lights. She even had a crown of flowers on her head. Guests at these functions didn’t notice people who went over the top. The ones who got the side eye were people like Wyatt, who was wearing his THE FUCK I GAVE WENT THAT WAY T-shirt.
I set my empty glass on a tray when a waiter breezed by. Standing alone was awkward, but when I decided to head over and talk to Gem, my plan fell apart as I saw her getting chatty with Hooper. Gem didn’t drink, so she couldn’t have been requesting a complicated drink order. They both shared a funky sense of style, and since like generally attracts like, I decided to leave them be.
Shepherd slowly climbed the stairs, distancing himself from the crowd. Viktor had a glass of wine in his hand while two patrons listened with rapt attention as he told the story about how children sold on the black market are stolen from their mother’s arms. Blue looked liked she wanted to dodge the attention she was receiving from a tall man who couldn’t take his eyes off her sage gown and feather earrings, which he kept touching. But she was dutifully encouraging donations with her plunging neckline and guile.
Perhaps I needed to do the same.
I entered a grand room where a string quartet enchanted the crowd with heavenly music. It was as if my music box had come to life. Couples twirled and glided, every one of them in perfect form. Sumptuous gowns floated gracefully, creating a magnificent array of color and texture.
Christian appeared next to me.
“Holy fuck. I thought we were mercenaries, not ballroom dancers,” I said, gawking at the dancers before us.
“Is bathing and putting on decent clothes the worst thing about your job?”
“No. Smelling your rancid cologne is.”
He chuckled. “The ladies do like.”
I stole a glance. Christian had on a suit vest—no jacket. The most dressed up I’d seen him was in a silk shirt or a Henley, but this was a whole new look to marvel over. Even his grey slacks matched his vest. While he had knotted his tie to precision, there was one thing unkempt about him—his sleeves were sloppily rolled up to the elbows. Christian didn’t just look like a gentleman—he portrayed himself as a powerful man who belonged among these people, which just went to prove what a chameleon he was.
The only thing he hadn’t done was shave, but I suspected that would happen on the day that pigs grew wings.
“Why don’t you ask a lady to dance?”
He rocked on his heels and put his hands in his pockets. “Are you afflicted in some way? I don’t dance. It’s a frivolous custom for fools.”
I glared up at him. “I’ve seen you grinding on women in the club.”
He winked. “That’s not dancing, lass.”
“Ah, yes. I forgot. That’s how you decide who’s good in bed. For your information, how a woman moves on the dance floor won’t tell you anything about what kind of lover she is.”
“If you say so.”
“Well, I’ll just let you stand here and watch other people having virtual sex.” I smiled and strutted alongside the wall to the other end of the room in search of the waiter carrying the champagne.
“Would you care to dance?” someone asked, his French accent collecting my attention.
I raised my head at the man standing just behind me, his black suit and tie blending him in with half the crowd. Why not?
“Sure.”
He took my hand and led me to the floor. My palms began to sweat when couples turned and glided all around us, as if they were following an invisible pattern on the floor. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
If I could survive a hail of gunfire, surely dancing couldn’t be that difficult. I clasped his hand and followed his lead. Thankfully, he went slowly at first. He must have sensed by my trembling knees and lack of eye contact that I’d never done this before.
“It takes practice,” he said. “You must be young. Perhaps a Relic?”
“No, a Mage.”
I glanced at those around us, mirroring their moves. What I couldn’t do was mirror their confidence.
“These gatherings are such a bore,” he continued. “Always the same food, the same people, the same music.”
“Maybe someone should hire a DJ.” I grimaced when I stepped on his foot. “Sorry.”
“Stop trying to take the lead,” he said. “Relax and follow me.”
“Maybe I’m not a follower.”
When I finally got the hang of the steps, I smiled and looked up.
The blond-haired man blinked in surprise, and his eyebrows gathered in a frown. “You lost a contact lens.”
“Nope. These are my eyes.” I stepped on his foot again. “Is there something here you’re bidding on? The orphans could really use your support. I never realized what a problem we had with all the black market stuff until recently. It’s sad that so many kids get caught up in it, don’t you think?”
The man continued to stare, and it made me self-conscious. It wasn’t so much the staring but the shift in his expression from uncertainty to what looked like revulsion. What was spinning in that little mind of his? Was he questioning my Breed? His gaze flicked from one eye to the other until I finally stomped on his foot.
“Ow!”
“What the fuck is your problem?” I spat.
A few people gawked as they glided around us.
The man gave me a sour look and simply walked off.
So there I stood in the middle of a ballroom after telling a nice man to fuck off.
Good job, Raven.
Embarrassment heated my cheeks as I fled the dance floor. But when a few dancers made way, I met eyes with Christian, who moved in my direction with a purposeful stride.
“Is there a problem?” he asked, not a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Apparently someone didn’t like my moves. Why do immortals make such a big stink about physical features? There are people walking around with blue hair and nose rings, and nobody gives them a second glance. But I get shit all the time for something so innocuous.”
“Because they’re dolts,” he replied, taking my hand in his.
Before I knew it, we were dancing. Only, Christian didn’t move anything like the other man. His grip and moves were smooth and demanding, and I could sense his direction before he even turned. Christian knew how to lead, and there was something erotic in the way he locked eyes with me as our bodies drew closer together.
“What did you and my father talk about?”
“Oh, manly things.”
“If there’s one thing Crush doesn’t lack, it’s candor. I’m sure whatever he said was brutally honest. Just try not to hold it against him.” I fell silent, the room spinning as Christian led me around the dance floor.
“I saw one of your pictures on the wall,” he said. “You were a little badass.”
“Was that the one of me in the short leather skirt? I went through a phase.”
“You’ll have to let me know when the phase ends.”
Just when we found our stride, the music ended, and light applause fluttered through the room. When I looked to the right, I glimpsed a familiar bleach-blond haircut. My friend from Club Nine held eye contact with me for just a second in the doorway before disappearing. I needed to thank him for leading us to Cristo.
“There’s nothing wrong with your moves,” Christian said, giving me a wolfish grin. “Sometimes you just need the right partner.”
I straightened his tie. “Thanks for the dance, Mr. Poe. I think it’s time for us to mingle.”
He inclined his head and swaggered across the room toward a bevy of women who were preening in hopes of receiving his exclusive attention. I smiled and watched him work his magic.
Christian was a wild mustang, and whether or not he could be tamed was irrelevant. He didn’t want to be. I’d known men like that my whole life, including my father.
Maybe they had more in common than I’d first thought.
Shepherd wasn’t feeling up to a party, but he continued with the charade at Viktor’s request. What he really craved was a bottle of hard liquor. He was hanging back, looking for an excuse to leave, when he suddenly caught sight of a woman with wavy blond hair. She might have been a ghost from his past, but when she turned around, a stranger’s face stared back at him. His heart clenched, and that sealed the deal. He needed to escape the crowd and be alone.
Killing Cristo had brought him an immense amount of pleasure and pain all at once. Shepherd had always imagined it in his head, but Cristo’s death hadn’t brought him the closure he’d expected would follow. In those final moments, Shepherd became the monster that lived in the dark corners of his soul. He wanted Cristo to beg for mercy and apologize, but all he got were screams as he stabbed the man who had tortured so many women, including Shepherd’s only love. Cristo laughed when the alarms went off, as if the cavalry had come to save him. Enraged, Shepherd sliced him across the belly. Murdering Cristo was a fruitless task that brought him no joy. It didn’t bring back Maggie. Instead, it pushed him even further away from the man he once was. Perhaps what really died in that room was the last piece of his soul.