Chapter 19
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
Xavier
O n my second turn through the main two-tiered barge, I lift a minipad from the table of spares. They’re activated by thumb print, and no doubt the fucking Queen of Sabine herself keeps an eye on who registers with a second device.
I’ve heard she’s into micromanaging, and all society matings are sanctioned through her.
But the mini gives me something to do, helps a man like me blend in as I reconfigure it to bypass the print.
As I wait for Iris to arrive.
When Killian said keep an eye on her, he didn’t mean stalk her. He didn’t mean put on a tux and lurk.
It made sense to ask me to do it since I’m the one making the delivery of booze to the ball. He meant if I see her.
He meant case the joint. He meant to then stick about outside, for when she might leave.
I’m with him on wanting to make sure she doesn’t bring the authorities down on us. Neither of us think she will, she’s too young, too hungry for disruption and adventure, too turned on by us to even bother to do that. But that’s just opinion. It’s not fact.
We never thought Tamara would leave her child behind—us, perhaps; Emmie? No—and yet she did. So, opinion and belief don’t equate with cold hard facts.
So here I am. Upping the game. Taking it all the way to next level.
And my personal fact is I’m not here to keep an eye on her for the cause. I’m here to watch her, to breathe her and her world in, in any way I can.
The barges are big and are strung over this part of the river where the land on either side is private. The Borderline of city living and countryside estates, the houses here are mansions, with vast gardens and private river access.
During the day, someone is able to follow the boardwalk along the edges on a walk.
And they can pass through the water on a boat or barge, but really, this part of the river lives for the word idyllic, meaning though fishing’s illegal, there aren’t many fish of size to make the trespassing worthwhile.
Down to where the river flows into the sea in the dock lands, if you’re brave enough, or up to the real countryside where it meets other rivers that flow into bigger waterways.
But right here, along this stretch, the word opulence doesn’t begin to describe those who own these homes.
The rich who like to stay close to the city and still state they’re rich enough to have their chunk of private land as if they’re in the country.
The Mendelson family own both sides, the other the start of their vast lands that lead to their actual country estate miles away.
But this side of the river is the one with the boardwalk connection to Sabine City. It’s where I delivered the booze to the Mendelson staff. This part of the river is usually empty apart from a rowboat, but it full now with the barges that stretch across from one bank to the other.
They’re open, big, rooms to dance, drink and party in, fancy barges with second stories and the three barges are connected by little temporary bridges.
It’s a masterclass of showmanship, and I’m betting they hired someone to come up with the idea and execute it.
The river is a sea of paper lanterns that glow and twinkle. The barges themselves are lit by lantern so they’re dark, with strategically lit up areas, creating a romantic atmosphere, and hothouse flowers with a strong perfume I suspect might be added twine the railings to the bridges.
But the spectacle isn’t just the water and the barges.
It’s the entrance on this side of Sabine and then there, and on the other side of the river is the orchestra, the main dancing and seats to drink and eat at.
The entrance side, where I am, is for arrivals, for quiet conversation, and I’m just waiting for Iris to pass onto the first barge via the bridge.
Her brother’s got her boxed in, so I move ahead, taking the cover of the next announced arrival and stepping on and crossing to the shadows to wait.
I don’t have to wait long.
Iris really is beautiful.
Emmie would whisper loudly how Icy is a princess and I think in a way she’d be right.
Sure, I think the term for the dress on her might be fugly. It’s meant to skim her figure, but be demure, so it’s just not her. It covers the interesting bits, like her long legs. And there are way too many sequins, bows, and frills.
She looks like a three-tier cake dipped in ink and glitter.
And she hates it. I can tell. She tugs at it and stomps in on dainty heels that make her wobble when she stamps her foot down too much. I dip my head to hide my smile—old habits—as I move through the people in the crowd.
I’m too tall to be invisible, yet I can be when my scars and tattoos peek and brush me as imperfect, something not to be ogled by polite society.
It’d be a problem normally, since it’s a strange type of invisibility, the seen and pretend not see type. Normally.
But here, in a sea of people wanting to secure matches, there are private lists each Alpha and Omega hold, whether contender or parent.
All, that is, except Iris. She challenges each Alpha with a fierce look until they glance away. I make sure she doesn’t see me, the many shadows my friend as I move.
Only two people stare at me.
Her littlest sister—she has a touch of Iris about her and is with the family unit. And the redheaded friend who stares at me in shock.
I raise my finger to my lips and she goes red as her hair in the lantern’s light she’s next to and finds something else to do.
“Stop it, Heath,” Iris grumbles, a little too loud from just up from where I stand, at one of the wooden pillars as the Gardeners head for the center barge. “No one’s going to want to date me if you’re hanging around like an unwanted chaperone.”
“I am an unwanted chaperone. That’s what a chaperone is. Unwanted. It’s to stop you getting into trouble.”
She glares up at her brother. “Do I look dressed for trouble?”
“I don’t know. Are you?” he asks.
“Oh, Heath,” her mother says, “leave Iris alone. She’s here and she looks lovely. Mari and Rue are here and the purpose of this is to meet and find a mate. When she goes on a date, you can be the discreet chaperone. Now…” she offers her arm to her son. “I’d like a drink.”
They leave and Iris’s shoulders sag as she looks around.
“I’m gonna see if I can find anything cool to Stitch about. And by cool, I mean scan-da-lous!” The little sister says.
Iris rolls her eyes. Where I am I can see her perfectly.
“Don’t say that, Rue,” she says, “people will think you’re the Queen Bee.”
The who now? I don’t do the modern trends online. That…Stitching. Killian’s more up to date with that shit. He and Freya have worked out a way to try and get more supporters to the cause through it.
“Maybe,” Rue says with a laugh, “I am.”
And the kid bounces off, long hair fluttering as she does.
“Who’s looking at me, Mari?” Iris asks. “And why isn’t Vi here?”
“No one that I can see,” her sister says with a dose of good humor, the type I know. The type that hides and cloaks. “They’re all preening and trying to catch a mate. And Violet’s pregnant. Stephan’s not letting her come to this because of the water or something. Drowning, maybe? Nausea?”
“How do you know?” Iris accuses.
Mari shrugs. “I just overheard Stephan and Heath’s earlier vidcall. Heath wanted her here to keep you in line.”
“Typical,” she mutters. “Why is he an ass?”
“He’s not,” her sister says, patting Iris’s back. “He’s stressed. It’s not just reputation, Iris. It’s making sure we’re all taken care of.”
“I don’t need that. I can look after myself.”
“Don’t shoot the messenger. Just…” Her sister looks about. “Find someone to flirt and dance with and we’ll get through the night. I’ll hunt us down a drink. Just look…pretty.”
With that her sister takes off.
I like her fire. Her brat with teeth stance. She might feel beaten down, but there’s no submission to her and she won’t give in without a fight.
She glances at her mini, sniffs, and hesitates before hitting something.
My stolen one pings. It has a number of times, and I’ve ignored it, but this time, as it came when she did something on hers, I look.
There’s a tab I open, and it lists Omegas and if they’re accepting or being asked for a dance.
And sure enough, the latest one is Iris’s. The Alpha’s an asshole named Jerome Creed.
He likes our bar.
He likes to hit on women in there.
Occasionally he gets one home with him, but more often than not he’s a pest. As are his friends.
Christ, Iris. Him?
Then again, I go over her brother’s words. Of course she’s booked the dance.
It’s not for a while.
The system is fucked, the girls nothing more than items for sale to the highest bidder. And it’s something we can bring up at the meeting. Killian can. No one’s gonna be able to hear me.
There are more than dances. There are options for a drink and a chat if someone wants, so I imagine the other bank is where that happens. Along with walks. It all looks so basic and cute for something that is, at its heart, transactional.
I understand transactional.
Iris’s name glows and pings again when Donegal Ames books her for a walk.
I think he’s a friend of the first fuckwit.
Iris starts to look around and her gaze falls on me. Powerful, electric, even though she can’t see for sure who I am, she senses me.
And that makes my cock start to stiffen.
Fuck she’s dangerous.
I love danger like this.
Oh, shit. There’s a private messaging system. I can choose anyone and, though when I glance around I can see others on their minis, not all of them are making dates or booking dances, some must be messaging.
I open up the DMs to Iris.
Hello, from Mr. Scarsby.
I look across at her as she get the message and she seems to light up, snapping to attention.
Iris
Are you trying to write yourself in for a dance? She sends. Because I’ve got very strict standards.
So I see. But I don’t send that.
Like what?
Iris
Dark, empty rooms. Moonlight to dance by. The rhythm of heartbeats and breaths to sway to.
Fuck, the girl’s even hotter. I’m not actually sure how to respond.
She’s a world away from Tamara. This one’s a universe of her own.
I’m going to need a cigarette when this is done.
Noted.
Iris
You asking?
Your dance card seems full.
I can see her huff out a breath.
Iris
Jerome? Hardly. Are you scared, Mr. Scarsby?
Are you ready, cupcake?
She glances down at her dress.
Iris
Very funny. But are you ready?
I’m always ready. Is that a yes?
Iris
That’s a TBA.
Mysterious.
I smile.
You look like a cake.
She smiles, too.
Delicious but overdecorated.
That has her glancing around before settling her gaze back on me.
Iris
And what do you do with cake like that? Put it back?
Fuck no. I like to take off most of the frosting, licking as I go. And then I eat it.
She doesn’t respond, but I can see her, staring at the mini, her mouth slightly parted, and I can imagine her blushing. Though, where she’s standing, she’s too in the shadows.
The desire pulsates in the air.
I like to save the best for last.
I want to cross to her, to touch her. Taste those lips again.
Iris
The best?
Oh yeah, that sweet, lickable center.
Her brother heads in my direction. He’s not looking at me, his gaze is on the redhead who’s making her way to Iris.
Still… I put the mini away and turn, moving into the shadows, ready to head to the middle barge and its second level where the bites and the drinks come and go from. It’s the only triple decker barge.
But he catches the redhead and steers her away, and when I turn back, I don’t see Iris.
She’s gone.
Fuck.