Chapter 41
Timothy
The ballroom is alive around us–crystal flutes catching light, a string quartet in the corner, their music weaving through the murmur of voices, and towering Christmas trees casting soft shadows across the marble.
Arianette moves through it like she was born for this kind of night.
The truth is that her uncle trained her for it.
The way she carries herself in the dark red velvet gown is reminiscent of royalty, although the way it hugs her body is altogether different.
Each step is like a quiet promise. The off-the-shoulder neckline exposes the elegant line of her collarbones, ones I long to suck and lick.
It’s why I took her down that back hall, and made my own promise I plan to keep.
Even if everyone in the room didn’t already know she belonged to me, the peacock tiara gleaming in her dark hair would be a reminder.
The multicolored stones catch every flicker of candlelight and chandelier glow.
She’s radiant. Composed. Grinning at something Eileen Stratford, the head of the community theater, just said.
She’s having an amazing time. No trembling hands, no darting glances toward the exits, no white-knuckled grip on her champagne flute. She’s behaving herself perfectly. Gracefully. Like the Baroness she’s become.
I watch her from across the room, gloved hand resting on the stem of my own untouched glass, and feel something loosen in my chest. I can do this.
I can be the husband she needs. Not just in the bedroom, not just in the dark hours when she’s trembling under me and whispering wicked, dirty taunts like a prayer.
I can be the man who stands beside her at events like this, who doesn’t flinch when eyes turn her way, and who doesn’t hide her away because he’s afraid she’ll break.
DK’s words from the hotel office still burn behind my eyes.
He was right–brutally, infuriatingly right.
I was furious when he stormed in, all righteous anger and zero deference, but the truth landed anyway.
Arianette has taken everything we’ve thrown at her.
Everything. She didn’t crack when we asked her to kneel, when we pushed her limits, when the world tried to tear her open again.
Cutting her off from nights like this wouldn’t protect her. It would only make her smaller.
I’ve already seen how that ends.
Killian’s Lady–Story–approaches Arianette with a bright smile, the two of them falling into easy conversation. Arianette’s laugh carries over the music, light and genuine. My mouth curves at the sound despite myself.
Killian leans against a marble column that divides the ballroom from the dining room, arms crossed, watching his woman with the kind of focus most men reserve for survival. I cross the floor casually, stopping beside him.
“Any update?” I ask, voice low.
He doesn’t look away from Story. “We’ve been watching Lex. Nothing but diaper changes and midnight feedings. Kid’s got that thing where he cries a lot…” he frowns, thinking. “What’s it called?”
“Colic?” I ask, memories of those nights rushing back to me.
“That’s it,” he nods. “Keeps the whole house up.”
Sounds right for having an infant. I never really suspected Lagan, but it’s good to look at everyone. “What’s the status with Warren?”
“Knight is dragging his feet and using the outstanding charge and court closures for the holidays to keep Ballsack behind bars for now.”
I glance across the room to Simon at the bar, bottle of beer dangling between his fingers. “I’m sure he’s not happy about it.”
Killian follows my gaze. Simon looks bored, dangerous and very much alone. My son isn’t here with him tonight, and neither is his Duchess. “Nope.”
I turn so my back is to the party, voice dropping further.
“My men have been mapping the city from underground. Every territory has access points. The tunnels aren’t random, they’re a network, but we’ve found that we’re not the only ones using them.
It’s how the girls are on the street one minute and gone the next.
” Killian’s forehead creases while I talk.
“We’ve found a few other things, but I don’t want to discuss it here. ”
Killian’s jaw tightens. “As soon as the holidays are over.”
Story returns to his side and Killian pulls her close immediately, kissing her temple, arm banding around her waist like she’s the only thing keeping him tethered.
The smile she gives me is guarded. “Baron King.”
I incline my head. “Lady.”
My eyes scan the crowd again–automatically searching for red velvet, for the flash of peacock sapphires in dark hair. “Where is she?”
“Arianette?” Story blinks. “She saw someone she knew and went to say hello.”
My heart rate kicks up hard. “What did he look like?”
“Young,” she says, frowning as she tries to remember. “I think it was one of your guys. I’ve seen him before.”
“One of my Shadows?” My mind reels. “But how would they get in? There’s a guest list.”
Story shrugs, but the room around me ceases to exist.
There’s one way to access closed spaces in Forsyth. One way to get in and out without being seen.
I spin, crowding Story, gloved hands snapping out to wrap around her upper arms. “What did he look like?”
“Get your fucking hands off her,” Killian growls, stepping forward fast. “Now, or it’ll be the last fucking thing you do.”
I release her instantly, but don’t step back. I’m not afraid of Killian, but there’s no time. “Tell me.”
“I, uh, I don’t know.” She glances at Killian, rattled. “Like I said, he looked familiar. From the Fury, maybe? Or around campus. I don’t know.”
“It’s not her fucking job to know,” Killian snaps at me, arm sliding protectively around her shoulders. “She’s probably in the can or having a smoke.”
Tristian has joined us now, frowning. “What the hell is going on?”
I feel the panic rising–clawing up my throat. She’s not in the restroom or smoking. Christ.
Simon appears at the edge of the group, bottle still in hand, making the circle feel suddenly too small. Caged.
“I need to find my wife,” I say, voice flat, eyes darting between the other Kings. “Immediately.”
Killian’s eyes hold mine, like he’s trying to determine if he wants to get involved, but ultimately he relents.
“Babe, go check the restroom.” Killian drags his gaze from mine to his Lady. “Please.”
“Of course,” she says. “Be right back.”
The mask feels tighter than it should, the metal suddenly suffocating against my skin.
I force my breathing to stay even, force the tremor out of my hands.
Control. I have to maintain control. If I lose it now, if I let the rage and fear spill over, I’ll only make this worse.
She’s probably just overwhelmed. Stepped away to catch her breath.
Hiding in a quiet corner because the crowd, the lights, the eyes on her finally became too much.
That’s what I tell myself.
That’s what I have to believe.
Because the alternative means I was right all along.
I never should have brought her. Never should have trusted her to hold it together in a room full of vipers who still remember the half-dead girl they found by the creek.
Never should have had faith in a girl carrying more trauma than she can bear to face.
I should have kept her locked away where nothing outside of the House of Night could touch her.
But I didn’t. I was soft. Manipulated by DK. More worried about making her cry than keeping her safe.
“What about security?” I ask Tristian, eyes skimming the room behind him.
He blinks like I’m testing his patience. “Benedict handles the door and no one is getting past him that isn’t on the list. Besides that, my father has cameras all over the fucking place and guards posted all around the outside.”
Killian must sense that I’m close to making a scene because he makes a sharp gesture, causing people to scatter.
Tristian leaves to find the estate’s head of security, and a few guests who seem to know it’s best not to cross my path drift to another part of the ballroom.
Story returns a moment later, cheeks flushed from moving fast through the crowd.
“She’s not in the bathroom,” she says, breathless. “I checked all three down here. I didn’t see her anywhere.”
“What about the person she was talking to?” I ask. My voice stays level. Barely. “Any sign of him?
She shakes her head. “No.”
Tristian returns and speaks low. “Come with me.”
He leads me toward the security office tucked behind a discreet panel near the grand staircase. Killian follows close behind. Even Rathbone has materialized from somewhere–silent and watchful.
Tristian leans over the desk, speaks low to the head of security. “Anything unusual tonight? Uninvited guests? Gate crashers?”
“You know how important this party is to your parents,” he shakes his head. “The guest list is tight. No walk-ins.”
I lean in, speaking to him myself. “What about my wife? She’s wearing a red velvet gown. Peacock tiara. Dark hair–”
“Young enough to be his daughter,” someone mutters. I turn and Rathbone smirks. Another night and I’d lure him into my crypt and make him pay for the disrespect.
I clear my throat. “Any sign of her leaving on her own?”
The guard simply shakes his head and says, “No one’s exited since the last sweep fifteen minutes ago.” He flips through some still footage and a grainy black and white image of Arianette shows up. “Cameras show her in the ballroom. Then nothing.”
An uneasy feeling coils in my gut, cold and certain. She wouldn’t walk off without me. She wouldn’t leave. She knows better.
It hits me then, hard like a fist, that this may be more than her having another breakdown.
“What are you thinking?” Story asks quietly, the knowledge of what it means to be a woman in Forsyth right now etched on her face.
My brain runs over everything we’ve learned over the past few days. The fact that someone is using the tunnels with unfettered access. The entry under Strong Manor. Mayfield. It’s too much but not enough. Pieces that almost fit but refuse to lock together.
I turn to Story again. “Tell me anything you remember about the person she was talking to. Spare no details.” My eyes meet hers. “I have to find her.”
“Um…” She’s nervous, eyes darting between her Lords. “Dark eyes. His hair was also dark, and kind of…” she nods, more sure. “I think it may have been back in a ponytail.”
The words land like ice water.
Turning to Tristian, I demand, “Show me where they are.”
“Where what is?” he asks.
“Show me the access to the tunnels.” My voice drops to something dangerous. “I know you know where they are.”
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have.
But the room is too bright, the music too loud, and Arianette is gone. Somewhere beneath our feet, in the tunnels and a darkness, someone has swallowed up my world.
Mercer must realize I’m one second away from doing something we’ll all regret because he gives me the smallest nod and says, “Yeah, I think I know what you’re looking for.”