Chapter 19 #2
“Nice choice.” He smiles widely. “Need help putting it on?”
“Absolutely not.”
I inhale deeply and lift my arms to place the beautiful mask upon my face. A sting of pain flows through me, and stars dance in my vision, causing me to double over. I groan and try to straighten, but the burns overwhelm me. I gasp, struggling to catch the breath that was just taken from my lungs.
Crew’s hand wraps around both of my arms and gently helps me rise. I jerk my arms away, sending another zap of pain through me, causing my face to scrunch.
“Do not touch me again.”
“I’m trying to help you,” he says.
“I’m fine,” I spit back, and attempt to raise my arms again, failing miserably. “I don’t know how many times I have to say that.”
He crosses his arms and begins to tap his foot, but not an ounce of amusement shows on his face this time. He’s growing tired—of me.
“We can sit here all night if needed,” Crew observes. “I have nowhere of importance to be, so go ahead. Try again.”
“No females to torture tonight, or have you run them all off?”
He smirks. “Only you.”
“How unlucky for me.”
“Nah,” Crew responds. “Most women would die to be in your shoes.”
“I highly doubt that.” My words carry multiple meanings.
I grind my teeth together and lower my hands to my sides, taking a deep breath.
I try again, and this time tears well in my eyes from the blinding pain.
Each time my arms raise, I feel the burns ripping, as if my skin is reopening to start the healing process all over again.
The pain is overwhelming, but at least I feel something.
Like the prison, I’ll let the pain overtake me again and again so I can feel something real.
“This is ridiculous,” Crew huffs.
Annoyance, the feeling of helplessness, and rage make me snap, and I move inches from him. “I told you, I don’t need you.”
Even with the mask covering most of his face, I can tell his patience is wearing thin.
“Mara. Stop.”
With my defiance, Crew grows angrier, watching me struggle and hurt myself repeatedly instead of asking for help. I’m not sure if it’s my pain that bothers him, or if it’s the fact that he’s useless to me—a feeling he’s not used to.
“Just stop,” he says, harsher this time. “You are hurting yourself.”
“Who cares?” I sigh, the pain making my words shaky.
“I do,” Crew responds.
“Why?” I nearly shout.
I move to lift my arm again, but his calloused hand slaps around my wrist, squeezing it to stop me. His silver eyes darken, and for the first time, he raises his voice—using a tone I don’t recognize. A low grumble reverberates around me, causing a few people to pause as his words snake out.
“Turn. The. Fuck. Around. Mara.”
I freeze as my stomach drops.
“Now.”
The deep boom echoes around us, jolting me with its suddenness. I can only stare at him, and for a moment, I don’t recognize Crew. His eyes have shifted, his wings are darker, and something sinister oozes around him. He’s pissed.
I remain motionless, unsure whether to run or widen my stance to fight him.
My hand instinctively reaches for the knife strapped to my thigh, and I keep my eyes fixed on his.
He steps forward, and my grip on the knife tightens.
It may be a stupid decision, but I’ll drive this knife into his heart if needed.
Just as quickly as it happens, he inhales deeply, calming down, and his eyes revert to a bright silver.
“Let me help,” Crew says, sharply. “I will not ask again.”
I cuss at myself internally, but I’m tired of the pain and am ready to get this over with.
I jerk my hand forward, giving him the mask, and I turn, fully exposing my back to him.
I close my eyes, ready for another crude remark, but I only hear a heavy exhale escape his mouth as he gazes upon my mangled back.
“This looks bad,” he says. “Last night didn’t warrant this. I’m not worth torture.”
I huff a sarcastic laugh. “Not everything is about you.”
“I’m serious.”
I shrug. “Watching a bullet go through you was worth it.”
“Was it?”
Crew gently places the mask on my face and secures it with a tie. A shiver runs up my spine as I feel his fingers trail down the back of my neck gently. I turn to face him, and his expression is far from entertained.
“And I assume Lowell made you wear this dress to showcase your punishments?”
“Right again,” I reply. “Isn’t it lovely?”
“No, but you are,” he mutters, and my body goes rigid.
I realize that I’ve yet to take my fingers from the blade wrapped around my thigh, and with Crew so close to me, I choose not to let go.
His presence is all-consuming in a way that would make the strongest man uncomfortable, and he smells of smoke and deadly nightshade.
I step back, releasing the knife, and scowl at him through the golden mask.
“They look like burns,” he mumbles. “What did he do to you?”
“None of your concern, Crew.” I look toward the door.
“Fine. Don’t tell me.” His lips form a thin line, and he points toward the door. “Lowell and the other Elders are in there. Would you like me to go first?”
For the first time tonight, Crew says something I’ve liked, because the thought of walking into that room first sends a wave of nausea straight to my core, but instead of giving him the satisfaction, I push past him.
“No.”
I open the door to a large conference-like room with a round wooden table in the middle. Just as Crew said, the Elders sit in no particular order, talking quietly. Lowell faces the door with Carver next to him, followed by Theo, the Elder of the Ren Order, and Griffin, the Elder of the Kaa Order.
Their conversations hush as we enter, and a bead of sweat forms on my brow. Never have I been in the same room as all the Elders, and from the intimidating looks burning a hole in me, I don’t want to do this ever again.
They all stand as we enter, and I walk directly to Lowell out of habit.
I glance at Theodore Ren—the peacemaker of the angels—and smile.
He is older than the others, with short white hair to match his height.
From his face, I can tell he is kind, which makes me wonder why he agreed to be here at all.
His warm aura fills the room in a bid to compete with the evil that threatens to take over.
Next, I glance at Griffin Kaa—the Elder of the Kaa Order—notoriously known for never showing his face.
That may explain the masquerade ball tonight, as the Kaa Order is the most reclusive of all.
They are demons that dwell beneath the city, and rumor has it they prefer the abandoned subway lines.
Dark horns adorn his head, and although a mask covers his face, I can see the harsh features beneath.
His crimson eyes flash to mine, and I quickly drop my gaze as I approach Lowell.
“Mara.” Lowell stands as I approach. “Everyone, please meet Mara Castten, our fearless assassin and seer of death, here to ensure balance is restored between the Orders.”
The Elders nod, and I bow before them. I might be incredibly annoyed to be here, but disrespecting every Elder would be a death sentence.
Carver stands next. “And this is my son, Crew Bannermin. He will be assisting Mara on these assignments.”
Theodore Ren speaks next, “It’s been centuries since an angel and a demon have bonded together for a common purpose.”
I mumble under my breath, “There is no bonding.”
Oh, shit, why did I say that?
“Poor choice in words, Mara.” Theo smiles. “I simply mean working together.”
Lowell snaps his head in my direction, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
Shit. Again.
Carver continues to speak. “Tonight is to honor the coming together of all Orders. Theo, we are so sorry we must do this to begin with, but things will be restored once our assassins are successful in their mission.”
The Elder smiles and nods in thanks, not hiding the sadness flooding his eyes.
Carver continues, “We will begin this celebration with Mara and Crew sharing a dance. It symbolizes unity, bringing us together as we once were. Now, we should all head that way.”
Irritation hits me, and I tilt my neck up, letting my head roll around my shoulders.
I look at Lowell and begin to open my mouth, but his eyes narrow in a threatening way.
I keep my mouth shut as he moves toward me, placing his hand on the small of my back.
Lowell pushes harder than necessary, making my knees weak from the pain—another threat to keep me in line.
The other Elders stand and make their way across the threshold toward the larger area where the party has begun. Carver and Crew walk ahead of us and exit next. I quickly hurry behind them in a desperate attempt to escape Lowell, but his hand wraps around my bicep.
“Do as you are fucking told,” he threatens. “I’m not sure what this defiance is, but it needs to stop. I don’t want to see you receiving another punishment. The imperfections aren’t a good look on you.”
I only look at him, unable to respond.
“You will dance with Crew. You will go on these assignments. Or I’ll make sure your worst fears come to life.”
I nod and open my mouth to speak, but Lowell raises his hand as if to slap me.
“And I suggest you stay silent.”
I allow him to pull me forward, and we exit the room. Crew leans against the doorframe, picking his nail. He crosses his arms as we exit the office, and I glare at him.
“Sorry, Crew.” Lowell smiles. “I was catching up with Mara before the festivities kept her busy for the rest of the night.”
“Of course.” Crew dips his head. “I will walk Mara to the party from here.”
“I have her,” Lowell responds, his grip tightening. “Go ahead.”
“No, Lowell,” Crew snaps, harder than intended. “I will walk her.”
Lowell raises his brow and hesitantly pulls his hand from my back, allowing Crew to step forward and separate us.
“Thanks, Elder,” Crew says, as he steps fully between Lowell and me. “Enjoy the party.”
A wave of relief washes over me as Crew turns around. His gaze shows he heard everything Lowell just said to me, but I’m thankful he stepped in, even after I put a bullet in him.
Lowell proceeds ahead, catching up to Carver and the other Elders, and I power forward, not waiting for Crew to escort me. I make my way under the grand staircase toward the large room.
“I can’t tell who is worse, my father or Lowell Lyre,” Crew says, catching up with me.
I cut my gaze to his. “I can promise Lowell is worse.”
“Possibly,” he responds, and we walk toward the ballroom.
“Thanks for stepping in,” I say. The words taste bitter on my tongue. “But I can handle Lowell.”
He jerks his gaze to mine. “Did you just say thank you?”
I roll my eyes. “And I regret it.”
“We should share stories sometime about the Elders and their fucked ways of handling us.”
“I wouldn’t enjoy that.”
“You are probably right, for once,” Crew responds. “How depressing for us tortured souls.”
“I’d win,” I say.
He smiles. “Want to arm wrestle over it?”
“No,” I huff. “But again, I’d win.”
“Challenge accepted, little angel.”
A crowd of people fills the space, and although I’d rather be somewhere else, I am struck by the beauty of the party.
Candlelight flickers, illuminating the room with an elegant glow and casting a golden hue over the many masked guests.
Crimson and ivory silks are draped on the walls, while statues of ancient beings and gargoyles loom over us.
Haunting violin melodies intertwine with deep drums, making me feel as if I stepped back in time.
The demons move across the dark marble floors in black velvet tuxedos or dresses in deep reds and purples.
Their elaborate masks, decorated in various colors, conceal the crowd's faces.
I walk through them, tall and confident, even though my burns threaten to make me crumble at any moment. Hushed whispers move through the crowd like a secretive breeze as I make my way to the middle of the room, following the Elders.
Carver’s thunderous footsteps draw everyone’s attention as the whispers fade.
With a wave of his hand, he clears the dance floor, signaling that my moment has arrived.
I stand still in the middle of the dark marble floor, taking a deep breath.
The crowd’s eyes bore into me as Crew approaches.
He stops a few inches away, and I focus on his chest. My anger toward him is softened by my anxiety about being the center of attention, and I tell myself that the sooner I do this, the sooner I can slip into the shadows.
“Can you dance?” he whispers.
“I think it’s too late for that question,” I reply.
“I can fake a heart attack or something if I need to,” Crew responds. “Say the word, and I’ll fall on the ground.”
“Please stop talking.”
He clutches his chest and grimaces. “Ah, the… pain.”
I grab his hand, squeezing it as tight as I can to avoid the pain in my back. “Stop it. People are looking.”
“I don’t care.” He glances around. “I’m just joking.”
“Hilarious.”
“I felt so rejected at The Neon Sin that night.”
“You are exhausting.”
Crew winks. “And you are chronically grouchy.”
“Am not.”
“Oh, Mara,” he laughs. “You are somewhat hysterical.”
I gaze up at him through my lashes and tighten my jaw.
I’m not short by any means, but Crew towers over me.
I refuse to look anything but confident next to him.
The butterfly on his neck twitches from a hard swallow, and his hand slips around the small of my back.
His touch is powerful yet gentle against the wounds on display.
He carefully takes his other hand and raises my arm to rest on his shoulder. I wince from the pain, but the assistance helps.
“Sorry,” he whispers. “I’ll be gentler with you.”
“I can handle it,” I respond.
A sly grin spreads across his lips. “Noted.”
His hand moves from his shoulder, and he looks at me for permission before intertwining his fingers with mine. His rough hand slowly slides against mine, and I inhale sharply. I keep my gaze forward, unsure how to handle myself this close to the man I cannot stand.
“Ready?” he asks.
“To leave,” I huff.
“Can I come with you?”
I squeeze harder than I need to against his hand, hoping to cause some pain, but he simply squeezes back. I glare at him, letting my annoyance show through my masked face, and Crew’s gaze meets mine. His eyes flicker in the candlelight, and a shadow falls over me.
Get a grip. It’s just a dance.
His wings wrap around me, shielding my back as much as possible from the crowd, while confusion washes over me. A black feather brushes against my back, and I jolt from the sensation.
Why is he helping me?
The music begins, the crowd falls deathly silent, and Crew presses his chest into me to initiate our first dance.
“Let’s do this,” he whispers.