Chapter 16
“After all of this, he’s not going to show.
I can’t believe I actually put this dress on and have been looking at the door for the past half an hour like an idiot,” I huffed, dipping a cup into the gigantic glass punch bowl filled with some form of tropical punch laced with ambrosia wine thanks to Dionysus.
“You’re overreacting,” Aella said in a sing-song tone. She wore a flowy blue dress with torn sections that mimicked water, leaving trails of silver glitter wherever she walked.
“Maybe. But I was already on edge about him. The least he could do is show up on time.” Grumbling, I watched Chelsea and Dion dancing.
She looked beautiful in her wine-colored sheath dress, Dion wearing a shirt to match, his usual torn jeans, and combat boots.
Chelsea hooked a finger around one of his curved horns and brought his lips to hers, kissing him.
I sighed and turned away, filling my glass with more punch.
“Maybe he’s making himself look extra hot for you. You weren’t even on time, Sylvie. Remember? All fussing over your hair? Wanting it more poofy?” Aella mimicked my bodacious, voluminous hair by raising her hands above her head.
A group of males, two demons, and a gargoyle chatted in a corner. One demon groaned and flicked his spade tail at the wintry surroundings.
“This place is lame. I heard they opened a burlesque on the outskirts of town. We should go check it out,” said the antsy demon.
The gargoyle sighed and clicked his talons together. “Whatever.”
“When you say burlesque, are we talking all females?” The other demon asked, appearing unamused at first.
“Nope,” the other demon countered, crossing his arms. “Place is advertised as anything goes.”
“I’m in,” the suspicious demon said, all smiles now.
Growling, the gargoyle pointed between them. “Fine. But if you two get drunk off your asses this time, I’m not flying you both home. It’s embarrassing how much you flail around and sing. Do we understand each other?”
The band leader demon slid an arm around the gargoyle’s shoulders. “Of course, Vorthak. If we drink too much, we’ll call for a Port-me-There, right Daevas?”
The other demon held up a pinky. “I’ll pinky swear on it. Come on, Vorth, make use of your night off.”
The gargoyle rolled his eyes and shoved Daevas’s hand away before storming for the exit, the two demons in tow.
Mayor Tibbs approached us, his glowing, amber, reptilian eyes glancing around the elaborately decorated space. I’d hardly taken a moment to appreciate it, being so preoccupied with a certain Frosty the No-show Man.
Tibbs was a dragon who often donned his more human form, considering he’d scarcely fit anywhere in full form.
The townspeople had elected him as head protector of the Cove long before I arrived.
Tibbs scratched his head between two vertically curved black horns, the smaller version of his brown dragon wings folded behind him, the talons on the arches twitching as they moved.
“I don’t believe Town Hall has ever looked as festive. You all really outdid yourselves.”
I popped a sugarplum into my mouth with an extra dose of pride. “Thank you, mayor.”
Tibbs’ copper, scaled tail whipped back and forth, dusting the floor, escaping through a custom hole in the back of his pants. Several females whispered, giggled, and pointed at Tibbs’ handsome features, his long chestnut hair falling in waves to his chin.
“He’s the only reason I ever attend town meetings,” one female said, biting her thumbnail.
If Tibbs heard them, he paid it no mind, ever the professional. He lifted a pewter goblet to his lips, his hands matching the scaled texture of his tail, fingernails replaced with deadly black talons. “Have fun tonight, ladies.”
“Tiberius, you old dog. Get your ass over here,” Finneas yelled, waving the dragon mayor over, his long horns vibrating as he laughed.
Though his visit was brief, it was more interaction than I’d had with him in months.
He always kept himself busy and obsessed over the Cove’s safety.
As he sauntered away, I noticed for the first time that he didn’t wear shoes, his scaled, taloned feet clicking on the floor as he moved.
My fascination with his reptilian form soon came to an abrupt halt.
Jack. His calming scent, faint from this distance, hung in the air, and I closed my eyes, inhaling greedily.
“Sylvie? Is something—” Aella started, but cut her words short when she caught sight of Jack. “—Have fun.” She leaned in to kiss my cheek, and I dragged my fingertips there, still staring through the crowd of Cove residents at Jack’s resplendent choice of attire.
Jack’s eyes met mine for a moment before a smirk played on his lips and he disappeared within the crowd.
Blinking, as if I’d somehow imagined him, I turned circles, hitching my skirts to keep from tripping on them.
My movements had become far too erratic, and I smoothed a hand down my bodice.
My wings hadn’t gotten the memo and continued to flap excitedly.
Townsfolk laughed, chatted, and danced circles around me, some accidentally bumping into my shoulders from my lack of attention. Nerves bubbled in my stomach, and I rubbed the tip of my ear, pulling some of my hair over it.
“Sylvie,” Jack said, but he sounded far away. A hand delicately wrapped around mine and guided it away from my ear, leaving it exposed.
There was a flash of Jack’s face, the same devious grin dancing on his lips, but Finneas’s giant minotaur head soon blocked my view.
Gasping, I shimmied past Finneas, ignoring his grumbles and mutterings of what was wrong with me.
But Jack had already disappeared again. Was this his magic? Was he even here?
It had become an ethereal game of jacks, and I was the bouncing ball.
Jack’s mocking chuckles echoed off the walls, and I stood still in the middle of the dance floor, frustration cinching my spine. “Are you looking for me, faerie? Got worried I stood you up, did you?”
Glaring into the void, I forced my wings to settle, only flapping languidly now. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
A male basilisk in a dark blue tuxedo, dancing with a female demon, gawked at me warily, a film flashing over his large, black orb-like eyes.
“Not you.” Wincing, I lifted my hands. “Not to say you shouldn’t be flattered by—”
Chilled lips pressed to the shell of my ear, scents of fresh snow and vanilla sending a furious blizzard swirling through my stomach. “How sweet,” Jack said, his voice a low rumble that enticed a tightening in the depths of my core.
Chelsea’s words about his true desires for a queen and my own determination to get the truth out of him catapulted me into whirling around to face him.
I opened my mouth to speak, to yell, to demand answers, pushing away from him.
Jack’s hand snatched my wrist and pulled me toward him, my chest colliding against his ribs.
His actions were so brazen and abrupt that the words got lost in my throat. “What are you—” The mask Jack wore took my breath away. Not only was it entirely carved from ice, but it emerged from his skin like bone. It was a form of macabre beauty I never knew I could appreciate so fondly.
“I’ve come to realize that I’ve been going about this entirely the wrong way.” Jack rolled his shoulders, drawing my attention to the satin shoulder pieces flaring from his jacket, the snowy white lapels with glittering silver filigree.
I wanted to run my fingers over the embroidery and even went so far as to lift my hand, but curled it away. “Oh?”
“Mmhm,” Jack responded in a gravelly growl. “I believe my approach in persuading you needs to be a bit more—” Jack leaned forward, his bottom lip ever so slightly brushing the tip of my ear. “—tactile.”
A pulse between my legs had me clenching my thighs together, his feathered touch on the point of my ear more sensual than I could’ve imagined. “What does that—”
Jack pulled me tighter against him, one hand trailing to my lower back, the other slipping into mine in an invitation to dance.
There were two sides to me now—the one that wished to throw all caution to the wind and give in to this, and the other that warned to seek out his intentions first. “If you think man-handling me is going to coerce me one way or the other, Jack, you’ve got another thing coming.”
Jack trailed a finger up my back, sending delicious chilled magic through my skin with each vertebra he passed. “You haven’t begun to feel the way I could handle you, Sylvie. What’s your name, anyway? I imagine that’s short for something?”
We slowly began to dance around the sea of townsfolk, a wintry waltz now playing over the speakers—a mix of violin, sleigh bells, and fantasy.
“Is it really that important to you?” I couldn’t help roaming Jack’s face, the chiseled bone structure, the well-kept beard—he was just so unbelievably handsome.
“Ah,” he responded, moving his hand across my back, a knuckle grazing the bottom of one wing.
The brief touch made my breath catch in my throat, and I tensed—not because it hurt or because I didn’t welcome it, but because it felt nice.
Jack’s brow bobbed at my reaction as if he was storing that for later.
“You feel like revealing such a secretive thing as your real name will put you at a disadvantage, I see.” Jack picked up the tempo, flawlessly cascading us around the space without brushing another couple.
“Let me take away that burden for you, then. My name is Jakzair.”
His reveal had my mind humming, and a small smile edged my lips. “Just Jakzair? Not Jakzair Frost?”
Jack teased the callused tip of his middle finger against my palm and pressed his cheek to mine, his lips hovering by my ear. “Just Jakzair. Just Jack.”
Without thinking, I nuzzled against him. “Sylvaria,” I whispered.
Jack’s grip tightened at my back, and a low growl bubbled in the back of his throat. “Did you happen to notice I designed this dress to accommodate your wings?”