Chapter 42
Arianette
The ballroom feels like a dream I never thought I’d be allowed to have.
Story stands beside me near one of the silver-and-sapphire Christmas trees, her fingers brushing the edge of my sleeve as she studies the black lace.
“This dress is stunning,” she says, eyes bright.
“And that tiara. God, it’s breathtaking. Where did it come from?”
I smile, small and careful, but real. “It was a solstice gift. Passed down from the Barons.”
Her brows lift. “An heirloom? From the King himself?”
I nod once. “Yes, a gift from my husband.”
She exhales softly, impressed. “Maybe there’s more to that man than secrets.”
“Yes,” I say simply. “There is.”
But what… well, that’s for me to know and for me to keep. I’ll do anything for my husband. Harbor all his secrets. Play the role of Baroness-wife among society, and Daughter of Darkness in his bed. I’ll white-knuckle it through a party where everyone seems to know more about me than I do myself.
“You’re doing beautifully. No one would ever guess how much it costs you.” She gives me a knowing look–kind, not pitying. “Trust me, I know.”
I glance toward Timothy. He’s across the room, deep in conversation with Killian, back turned, but I feel his awareness of me like a physical touch.
So far, I’ve been fine. No racing heart, no tunnel vision, no spiral.
Maybe it’s the secrets that keep me steady.
Knowing there’s something bigger than myself at stake.
He put his trust in me tonight by letting me stand beside him without the mask forging a wedge between us, and I don’t want to fuck that up.
Behind Story, a familiar face cuts through the crowd.
Long hair in a low ponytail. Dark suit. Mateo.
My stomach drops. There’s no reason for him to be here, not unless something’s wrong.
I look back at Timothy, still turned away, still talking, but Mateo tilts his head, a small gesture that says come here.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I tell Story. “I see someone I should go say hello to.”
She grins. “Sure. Killian’s been shooting me daggers ever since I left his side and your husband walked up. I should probably go rescue them from whatever’s about to blow up.”
I slip away, weaving through clusters of laughing guests, the train of my dress whispering across the marble.
Mateo keeps moving–just ahead, always just out of easy reach–until the crowd thins and we’re in a quieter hallway off the ballroom.
The corridor where the waitstaff comes and goes with trays of food and drink.
The music fades to a distant hum. Wall sconces cast long shadows.
I catch up to him near a closed door. “What are you doing here? Did the guys come with you?”
He turns. No easy smile. No warmth in his eyes. Just a flat, unreadable stare. A tickle of panic rises in my chest.
“Is something wrong?” I ask when he doesn’t answer. I notice the suit, nice, but rumpled with a faint dusting of dirt along the hem of his trousers. My frown deepens. “Mateo?”
That’s when I see his hand. The blade is small, ornate–ritualistic–curved and blackened steel, handle wrapped in dark leather. By the time I think to react, it’s already pressed to my side, just under the ribs.
I open my mouth to scream.
“Quiet, Baroness,” he warns, voice calm. Too calm. “Or I’ll gut you right here.”
I snap my jaw shut.
“Good choice, Sinister Sister.” He steps closer, blade never wavering. “Now, quietly and without alarm, I’m going to need you to follow me.”
Everything in me screams no.
I shake my head. “I’m not going with you.”
A flash of memory hits hard–being on campus, someone approaching, someone with long hair. Not Mateo but someone else, his face familiar, but just out of reach. I’m on the path and then I’m not.
“I don’t want to go back,” I whisper, snapping back to the here and now. “I can’t go back.”
His grin is cold and empty. Nothing like the man I’ve come to know, the one who fights for the Barons and takes care of kittens. “Don’t worry, Arianette. This isn’t a kidnapping.” The blade presses harder. “The Guardian has no use for you in their plans. They haven’t for a long time.”
The Guardian?
He pushes me down the hallway, toward the kitchens. I pull my dress up to keep from tripping over the long hem. The door is ajar; inside I see cooks and waitstaff bustling, white jackets, clattering pans, and steam rising. If I can just get in there. Just reach one of them.
The knife jabs into my lower back–a warning.
Right before the kitchen, another door opens. Another set of hands grabs me from behind, yanking me into the night.
Cold air hits my face. Mist swirls. I blink up at my second abductor–long hair knotted at the nape of his neck, same as Mateo’s–and gasp when I see the mask.
Black steel. Covering the upper half of his face with curled horns.
The beast.
Another memory slams into me–I’m being tossed into a cell. Darkness. Dank air. Footsteps. Voices. Male. A masked captor lurking nearby. Other females crying in the dark. Fear. Terror.
“He’ll find you,” I say to Mateo, voice shaking. Wet grass soaks the hem of my dress. My toes turn to ice. “He’ll kill you when he finds out you betrayed him.”
“He hasn’t found out yet,” Mateo says, pulling his own mask into place as we walk across the snow-covered yard.
“And he won’t. He and his Barons are too consumed with his new bride and her crazy little head and her tight little pussy.
” He sneers. “How many piercings do you have now? Three? Four? They’re obsessed with you and that’s why this had to happen. That is why you must die.”
There’s an outbuilding ahead–old metal and wood, maybe a gazebo or a patio structure. The darker it gets, the harder it is to tell who is who. They look like twins now–same height, same build, same low ponytail.
“This is his fault, you know,” Mateo continues, voice eerily calm. “He’s the one who betrayed the natural order of things. That betrayal sealed the fate of every sacrifice, of every girl who gave their last breath to set things right.”
My mind whirls. “But why me?”
“You were chosen before you ever understood what you were,” he continues. “The moment your uncle bound you to Maddox, you were already promised elsewhere. A life for a life. Blood to balance blood. That’s how it’s always been done.”
My stomach twists. “I didn’t kno–”
“No,” he agrees softly. “You weren’t meant to know. Sacrifices rarely do.”
The knife shifts, gliding higher until the edge rests under my jaw. I feel the whisper of steel at my throat. “You were taken,” he says. “Consecrated. Brought to the threshold. You were supposed to cross it. That was the design.”
My breath becomes shallow. Images fracture through me–rope, dark, hands, the horned mask and the–
“You fled the altar. Crawled out of the dark and back into the world.” His eyes search my face like I’m something holy and ruined at once. “The Guardian was denied what was owed.”
Ice slides through me. “So you’re… what? Finishing it?”
“I’m restoring it,” he corrects. “A broken rite poisons everything around it. This will not end until your blood spills, Arianette.”
“Who is the Guardian?” I ask, voice trembling as they drag me around the side of the gazebo. “Why do they hate me so much?”
“It’s not about you, Arianette.” Mateo’s tone shifts–fanatical, almost reverent.
“It’s about this place. The way it’s been lost. Softened.
The old rites, the old blood, they kept the balance.
They kept the darkness in check. He thinks he can wear the crown and play house with you, pretend the old ways have no use in a modern world.
But they do. They’re waiting. And they’re angry. ”
Torchlight flickers from below. Bulkhead doors–old, rusted metal set into the ground–swing open to reveal a dark pit. Stone steps descend into shadow. More people wait down there. More masks. More blades.
The knife pierces the skin at my throat just enough to sting. He slices upward, cutting through the collar, the leather strap falling to the ground.
“Don’t worry, Baroness,” the masked man behind me whispers, breath hot against my ear. “Just like the others, Laura and Kelsey, you’ll welcome death when we’re finished with you.”
I feel the world tilt.
The party back at the house is still going, the music, laughter, and champagne are only yards away.
And I’m being pulled into the dark.
Again.