CHAPTER TWO
A sleek black box sits on my doorstep, incongruous against the peeling paint of the hallway. I drag it inside, pulse racing.
When I lift the lid, red silk slithers into my hands.
The Dior dress.
It’s fucking amazing.
Crimson as sin, it pools onto the floor as I lift it from the box. Beads and sequins catch the light, winking seductively.
I strip off my clothes and slip the dress over my head, the cool silk caressing my nipples into hardened peaks. It clings to my curves like a lover's hands, hugging my waist and hips. I mean, if sex was a dress, this would be it.
The neckline plunges between my breasts, so yeah, those will be on display for all to see. For once, I don’t mind. I’ve done worse for the common losers I keep bringing back to the apartment. A slight peepshow for some of the most influential Society types in the city? Sure.
My phone buzzes with an incoming call. Speak of the busty devil.
"Did it arrive?" Sab purrs through the speaker.
"It's stunning,” I tell her, turning to admire my reflection in the mirror, running my hands over the slippery fabric.
"Send me a picture."
I pause, then snap a quick selfie and text it to her. "How do celebrities avoid panty lines in dresses like this?"
"Ah, they don't wear any."
A blush steals over my cheeks at the thought. "But then everyone will see..."
"That's rather the point of an outfit like this, isn't it?" Sabrina laughs, the sound curling in my belly. "Go on, take them off, you big prude. I'll be there soon to zip you up."
“Fine.” I hang up.
I slide my panties down my legs. The silk slides over my bare sex, teasing my sensitive skin. I gasp at the sensation, warmth flooding my cheeks.
It feels naughty, wrong, knowing I should be nowhere near such luxury, such opulence.
The air itself seems to caress my nakedness as I move, raising goosebumps across my skin. I've never felt so exposed, so aroused by a damn dress. Who needs Mr. Fumble-Fingers when you’ve got liquid sex like this to swan around your Manhattan apartment in?
If only.
A needy whimper escapes my lips as I squirm against the silk dancing between my thighs. Come Monday morning this very dress will be back on the rack at the fashion label, and no one will be any wiser. That thought alone is deliciously evil.
Sabrina arrives half an hour later in a stretch limousine—compliments of her boss. Read: he wants to fuck her silly, even though she’s got no interest. She’s smart like that, has always played that aloof flirtiness well.
Me? Not so much.
I’ve gone light on the makeup, little more than foundation and blush, but couldn’t resist red lippy to match the Dior.
I slide into the cool leather seat beside Sabrina, hyperaware of my exposed sex against the smooth surface.
Sab pops a champagne cork with a grin. "To new adventures."
I dodge left as it pings off the window, laughing. “Okay then.”
Sabrina takes a flute from the shelf next to the door and pours me a glass, passing it over. “Come on. Take it. You look fucking amazing, by the way. Knew that dress would slay on you.”
I take the flute of champagne. “If you insist.”
The fizzing liquid chases away my nerves, replacing them with giddy laughter. It’s easy with Sabrina. She gets me. She always has, even if we are technically from different sides of the tracks.
I’m not a big drinker, the champagne going straight to my head.
When was the last time I felt this carefree? This happy?
Too soon, the limo slows outside a worn brick building in a seedy part of Brooklyn. My laughter falters as I glance out the tinted window into a dim alleyway.
Sabrina squeezes my knee, leaning close to whisper in my ear. "Don’t worry, you're going to love it."
Getting stabbed and left for dead? Not so sure.
The back door pops open, our driver standing to attention beside it.
“Ladies first,” Sab grins, extending her hand.
I exit as gracefully as I can in these heels, the breeze sweeping underneath the Dior.
Sab steps out beside me looking equally fabulous in an inkpot-dark one-shoulder midi.
Apprehension and curiosity war as she leads me to an unmarked steel door at the end of the alleyway.
Sabrina pauses with one hand on the door. “You ready?”
I give a light nod, unsure.
But it’s too late now.
Sabrina pushes through the door. I follow.
A woman in a Venetian mask stands in front of us, inspecting us with a bored gaze before stepping aside.
Sabrina gives me a wink.
Holy shit. We’re in.
Not even a password? A secret handshake?
We enter a small, dark room where another masked woman waits. She presses two masquerade masks into our hands without a word and opens an inner door, gesturing us through. No tickets, no QR codes, no nothing, which is curious in itself, but who am I to argue with the way Society works? They’ve been doing this weird shit for centuries.
I glance at Sabrina, who grins and secures her mask in place. The mask is themed after an owl. “Hoot, hoot,” Sabrina laughs. “Go on, put on yours.”
I look down at the mask, a lamb, which okay, is a bit on the nose, but whatever. With a deep breath, I follow suit, the feathered edges tickling my cheeks. “Baa,” I state in monotone.
“Perfect,” Sabrina smiles.
The hidden chamber opens into a scene straight out of a gothic romance.
The champagne has left me pleasantly dizzy, but I’m still blown away by the lavishness on display here.
Dark wooden beams stretch across a vaulted ceiling, lit by ornate chandeliers that cast a warm glow over the profligate decor.
Plush velvet couches and chairs are arranged in intimate groupings, occupied by animal-masked guests engaged in hushed conversation—and more given the glimpses of skin I see flashing in the shadows. A grand piano plays itself in the corner, the keys depressed by some invisible force to produce a dramatic, stirring melody.
My heart gallops along as I take it all in, overwhelmed by the palpable sensuality and mystery. There's something illicit about this place, a confrontational sexuality that thrills and unsettles me in equal measure. It’s amazing how I want to stay and get the hell out of there at the same time.
Sab presses another flute of champagne into my hand, leaning close to murmur in my ear, "Just relax and enjoy yourself. You’ll be fine."
I nod, though my pulse races as I follow her to an empty loveseat near the bar. We sit, and I take a grateful sip of champagne. I figure I’ll need quite a lot of liquid courage if I’m going to get through the night.
A gentleman in a bear mask saunters up to us, his gaze lingering on Sabrina. "Care to dance?" he asks, extending a gloved hand.
Sab winks at me, already rising to join him on the floor. "Don't go anywhere," she says with a playful grin before allowing him to lead her into the crowd.
Perfect—barely a minute in and I’ve already been abandoned.
Panic rises in my chest at being left alone, my fingers tightening around the flute's stem. I scan the room, taking in the other guests and their mysterious masks.
Who are these people? What exactly is going on here tonight?
Questions, fucking questions.
I don’t get a whiff of magic—real magic—but it’s possible. It’s not like you just look at someone and go, ‘Oh, shit, you’re a wizard, or witch.’ It doesn’t work like that. No, these people prefer the closet—unless they’re surrounded by their own, of course.
I shudder, unsure if it's from fear, excitement, or the weight of unseen eyes following my every movement. Perhaps it’s all of the above. I feel exposed, like a fragile creature suddenly surrounded in this den of secrets and forbidden pleasures, because I’ve got no doubt that’s what this really is—just a big old orgy for the rich and haughty.
Yet there's something thrilling in that vulnerability, in not knowing. I crave more, wanting and dreading all that is to come.
Well, if anything comes at all.
This is dangerous. Reckless even. I am surrounded by what I know are powerful strangers. None of them are willing to show their face, to risk exposing their true identity. Just those two facts alone should send me straight back out the door. I love my comfort zone. I don’t leave it without very good reason, and yet, here I am, standing near Society royalty.
But I’m not going to leave, for all the discomfort that’s been rampaging through me ever since I stepped foot here.
A presence looms over me, dark and foreboding. I glance up to find a tall man in a wolf mask gazing down at me, piercing jade eyes glinting from behind the disguise. Several inches over six feet, he towers there—a suited obelisk.
My breath catches at the intensity of his stare. He says nothing, merely observing me with a predatory gleam as I struggle not to squirm beneath the weight of it.
His lips are scarred—severed.
Finally, he speaks, his voice a low rumble that resonates through me. "You seem lost, little lamb."
Heat floods my cheeks at the implication. I open my mouth, but no words emerge, my tongue suddenly useless. There is a spell for that.
He chuckles, the sound both mocking and sensual. "No need to be frightened," he murmurs, sliding onto the loveseat beside me. "I don't bite." His gaze slides over me.
A shiver races down my spine even as a traitorous ache awakens between my legs. I can feel the heat of him, smell the spice of his cologne mixed with the primal scent of desire.
He’s older—hard to pin down with the mask.
I dare to meet his gaze again and find smugness there, as if he knows exactly what he's doing to me.
Perhaps he does. His nostrils flare as he leans closer, close enough for me to see the intricate tattoos ringed around his neck peeking out from beneath his mask. "Unless you want me to."
I suck in a sharp breath, pinned by the promise in his eyes. This man is danger incarnate. I’m as certain of that as the sun rises. I know I should leave, get away while I still can, but I'm frozen by the magnetic pull of him.
There’s just something about those eyes, the ‘whole’ of him—a power and presence that demands compliance.
My sex clenches in response, embarrassingly wet given he’s been sitting here for what? Thirty seconds? A minute? Mortification and need war within me.
A wolf in disguise, I muse. How appropriate.
He smiles, but it’s subtle, broken. “You don’t practice?”
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “Don’t practice what?”
His smile grows, eyes glinting. “I think you know, but I can play along, pretend I too am indoctus.” He lets the ‘s’ linger, lips parted.
Latin for ‘uneducated,’ a word Gran used often to describe those not privy to magic, those ‘blind’ to the greater world.
The Wolf holds out a black card between long, elegant fingers. "An invitation."
I stare at the card, gleaming gold numbers against a dark background. "To?"
"Lumina." His smile is slow, sensual.
“The magic academy?”
He nods slowly. “If you would like to put theory into practice, so to speak.”
Lumina. A mysterious magic academy for would-be witches and wizards, invitation only, the kind of pompous, shadowy shit I always promised Gran I’d avoid. To be honest, I thought it was bullshit—a fairytale. But there’s nothing fictional about the creature in front of me.
Still, my eyes widen at the impossible. "What's the catch?"
"No catch,” the Wolf whispers, leaning closer until I have to force my thighs together to stave off the ache between them, “but if you want to push your limits, set yourself free in ways you never dreamed of, find the power you’ve always wanted, this is your chance.”
I reach for the card, hesitating. There’s no harm in taking it, after all.
His gaze holds mine, bright with challenge and promise. It could be enchanted, maybe cursed, but fuck it. He slides the card across my palm, offering me a nod of approval.
I swallow hard, unable to look away from those transient eyes. The card seems to pulse with mystery in my peripheral vision. "What do you mean ‘power’?"
Why is my mouth so damn dry?
He smiles. "Power of every kind, over everything. Of control and release. Of pain, and pleasure." His voice is a dark caress that stokes heat through my blood. "It will be intense. Overwhelming. And like nothing you've ever known. Can you handle that?" he says, eyes dropping to my traitorous sex.
My heart pounds as I imagine what he's implying. Images flash through my mind, a chaotic tumble of silken bonds and naked flesh and—
But no, surely not. I’m sure Lumina would be many things, but that? No.
I jerk back to the present, face flaming. I can't think about this. I shouldn't even be having this conversation. I should get the fuck out of here.
Yet I can't seem to make myself leave, to force myself to move. And that’s a problem, because this guy could bend me over this seat, fuck me senseless, and I don’t think I’d be able to stop him.
I can't ignore the liquid ache between my legs or the traitorous curiosity unfurling inside me. His voice alone…
I stare at the card, at the elegant gold text. Below that, there’s a phrase in Latin, unfamiliar.
"What does this mean?" I ask softly, my finger running over the embossed print.
"'Enter in submission. Leave in ecstasy.'" His gaze bores into mine, bright with who knows what kinky Society shit. "The choice is yours, little lamb. Take my offer or walk back into obscurity."
There’s an implied challenge there, my heart a gavel in my chest trying to warn me. I know I should refuse. Know that a place like Lumina would be well beyond me. I don’t even practice. What could I possibly offer?
But how can I walk away from such an opportunity? I’ve got nothing to lose. I’m about to be evicted. At least at Lumina, if it exists, I’d have a roof over my head, meals, heat…I wouldn’t have to work a crappy job for a stupid boss with shitty customers. If nothing else, I would be spending time with him. I’d get to know more about this shadowy, mysterious figure in front of me. Which only makes me wonder who ‘he’ is. A scout? A Society member? Satan?
His smile is slow, victorious as he stands.
I look down at the card once more, but when I look back up, he’s gone.
Poof.
Sab chooses this very moment to return, two more glasses of champagne in hand. "Sorry about that.”
I take a glass, still thinking of the Wolf. “Ah, what happened to your gentleman friend?”
“Turns out he wasn’t quite a gentleman,” she smiles, straightening the top of her dress.
She eyes me. “Ana? Everything okay?"
I open my mouth, close it again. How can I possibly explain this?
Sabrina follows my gaze to the card. Her eyes widen. "What the fuck is that?"
So the card is real.
"An invitation." My voice sounds distant to my own ears. "To Lumina."
"Lumina?" Sab takes the card, scanning the text with a slight furrow between her brows. "It’s just a number. But what does 'enter in submission, leave in ecstasy' have to do with it?"
Heat floods my face. Of course she would notice that. Most of the enclave kids are bilingual before they’re out of diapers. "I don't know," I mutter. "The man who gave it to me didn't say. He was kind of aloof about it all."
"What man?" Sabrina's gaze darts around the room. "Where did he go? Did you see what he looked like under the mask?"
I shake my head. I can't tell her about the Wolf. Can't repeat the things he whispered to me or describe the way he looked at me, as if he could see right through to the darkest places inside me, those little-light coves I’d rather keep hidden.
"Annabelle." Sabrina studies my face, worry etched into her pretty features. "I don't like this. Lumina? You’ve heard the stories, right? Shadowcraft? It’s dangerous.”
And there’s the big ‘S’ Gran loved to bitch and rant on so much.
“So it exists?” I ask. “Lumina.”
Sabrina falters, pressing her lips together as she thumbs the card. “Apparently, but who knows, right?”
"Yeah, it's probably nothing, a joke." I force a smile, holding out my hand for the card.
She hesitates, before returning it with a frown. "Be careful, okay? I don't want anything to happen to you."
"I will." Guilt twists inside me at the lie. I hate lying, especially to Sab. But I can't give up this chance. Can't walk away from such an alluring temptation or the man who offered it.
Not yet.
“Enough of that, let’s dance,” Sabrina says, dragging me to the dance floor.
This is her thing. Every eye turns towards her—a snake, a leopard, a lion. They all want a piece of her as she gyrates and laughs, effortless.
I do my best, attract my own share of attention, but I can’t help keeping an eye out for the Wolf.
Just when I think I see him in the crowd, he’s gone, an apparition.
Like he never existed at all.