Chapter 1
EDEN
You’d think for a girl known throughout supernatural society as the Harbinger of the Apocalypse, sneaking around and breaking rules would be second nature.
The truth was, I was a glorified daddys’ girl—how could I not be with four very protective dads?
A goodie-two-shoes. A good girl who aspired to break free, except one step out of line and all the horrible rumors about me would be proven true.
But tonight was my chance.
With an extra hour to go before my scheduled summons, I approached the bouncer standing outside the open, nondescript door I knew led into Lilith Duval’s infamous club, Iniquity. The heavy bass of house music vibrated from the darkened hallway behind the gargoyle.
“Name, love?” he asked, arms crossed over an impossibly jacked chest.
“Eden. Eden Farrell. I’m expected this evening.” The false confidence in my voice was obvious to me, but he didn’t even flinch.
“Lilith has you down for a later arrival.”
“I know. But if you’re not early, you’re late. I can just wait at the bar until she’s ready for me.”
He stared at me for a second and I thought for sure he’d make me wait it out, but then he winked and offered me a black silk mask. “Masquerade night. You’ll need one of these if you want to blend in.”
“Thanks,” I said, stumbling a little over the word due to my nerves as I took it from him.
“Have a good time, little miss. If anyone bothers you, just ask for Joff. I’ll see ‘em off with pleasure.”
I flashed him a grin before affixing the mask to my face and heading down the hall. The walls and ceiling were painted midnight black, the only light a softly glowing crimson coming from beneath the low hanging fog covering the floor.
Following the hallway, I stopped just before crossing the threshold that spilled out into what looked like a massive rave. I couldn’t remember ever seeing this many people in one spot before, unless you counted the pack full-moon parties, but even those were maybe a third of the size.
It also couldn’t be more glaringly obvious to me that I did not belong here. There was so much skin and glitter on display and I’d dressed for a meeting.
Internally groaning and chastising myself for not thinking to bring a change of clothes, I bit the inside of my cheek and tried to figure out how to repurpose my outfit.
First step, take off the soft black and white flannel shirt and tie it around my waist. I’d worn a black lacy cami bra, which for me felt incredibly revealing, but here was practically conservative.
At least now I had some cleavage and belly showing. It was something.
Smoothing my hands down my tight jeans, I adjusted the lacy top and took a deep breath before pulling out my hair tie and shaking my dark tresses until they fell in loose waves down my back.
My hair was my favorite feature. Long, thick, and shiny, there was no way to tell which of my parents I had to thank for it.
All of them were blessed by the hair gods.
The song morphed into another, this one a little sexier, and the crowd cheered before couples paired off and began grinding on each other. Glancing at the bar, I decided a little liquid courage was needed before I let my inner baddie out to play.
“Here goes nothing.”
I sidled up to the illuminated bar and leaned just far enough forward to allow the bartender a generous view of my cleavage in hopes he’d pay attention to me. Since almost everyone around me was doing something similar, my plan didn’t exactly strike gold.
I huffed out a breath and drummed my fingers on the sticky surface of the bar.
“Seattle?” a deep, masculine voice asked from beside me.
My gaze snapped to the right, and I had to suck in a breath.
I’d seen my fair share of handsome males, but there was something about this one that hit me like a punch in the chest. The man was gorgeous.
Cheekbones that could make an artist weep, a jawline men would pay insane amounts of money to have, and full lips I didn’t want to take my eyes off.
Even with the mask covering his eyes and the bridge of his nose, I noticed his mesmerizing irises.
This light made them appear dark green like a forest at night, but I wondered what they’d look like in the sun.
“Excuse me?” I asked, realizing I’d yet to respond.
He gestured to the flannel around my hips and Dr. Martens. “You look like you’re from Seattle. That’s where the grunge movement started, right?”
“Colorado.”
He frowned. “No, I’m absolutely certain grunge started in Seattle. Kurt Cobain, Nirvana, etc.”
I laughed. “No, I meant I’m from Colorado. Not Seattle. I’ve been there a few times, but never lived there.”
“I see,” he murmured, taking a sip from his highball glass.
It gave me a second to drink in a few more details about him. His platinum blond hair was short on the sides and long on top. Styled in a way that looked like it took hours and half a can of hairspray, not a single hair out of place. I immediately wanted to muss it up.
As he moved to put his glass back down I caught a hint of something spicy. Cinnamon, maybe? With a little bit of amber and…what was that scent?
I didn’t realized I leaned closer to fucking sniff him, until he glanced down at me with an amused smirk.
“May I help you with something, Seattle?”
That knocked me out of my scent induced haze. “Oh, we already have nicknames? Moving fast, aren’t you, professor?”
He balked. “Professor?”
“Yeah.” I waved my hand to indicate his outfit. “The pleated pants, button down shirt and jacket combo? If I’m repping grunge, you’re giving academic.”
He made a humming sound low in his throat. “If you say so.”
I pointed at the guy in tiny bootie shorts who’d just sauntered to the bar and demanded attention. “Well you definitely didn’t dress like him.”
“No, I definitely didn’t.”
“Where are you from? Boston? New York? Connecticut? You’re giving Ivy league, collegiate, probably with tenure.” Leaning back, I inspected his sleeves. “Hmmm, no elbow patches, though. Do you have spectacles in your breast pocket?”
His lips twitched in the barest hint of laughter. “No. I have perfect eyesight.”
“Shame.”
The man would ruin an entire generation of women in some slutty little glasses. Add in a couple of nicely veined forearms and I bet the men would go with us.
“So, who does a girl have to kill to get a drink around here?” I asked after a few awkward seconds passed.
“No murder necessary,” he murmured, flagging down the bartender with the slightest gesture.
I was more than a little annoyed, until I saw the look on the guy’s face as he approached. I was absolutely not his type and these boobs were never going to work on him. But the professor’s whole vibe? It worked like a charm.
“Need another?” the bartender asked, not even sparing me a glance until the professor pointed at me.
“I’m all set, but she needs something.”
The bartender had to forcibly pull his gaze away from the handsome man at my side. I couldn’t blame him. I was ready to fist bump him in solidarity.
“Uh, a Dirty Shirley please.”
“Coming right up,” the bartender said before spinning around and grabbing a bottle of vodka.
I immediately wanted to punch myself in the face. Out of every possible drink the best I could come up with was Dirty Shirley? Could I make myself seem any younger or inexperienced? Not even a Cosmo? Or a Long Island? Ugh.
“So you like cherries, do you?”
My cheeks burned. “Yes. They’re my favorite. Do you have a problem with that?”
He held up a hand in mock defense. “It was just an observation. I myself have a sweet tooth, but not when it comes to drinks.”
“Let me guess, you’re drinking an eighteen year old Scotch, no water, only made in one remote place in Scotland.”
“I’m a man who values enjoying delicacies unpolluted. Pure. Unspoiled.” He brought the glass of amber liquid to his lips and took a taste.
The impulse to ask him whether virgins counted hit me hard and fast. My best friend Nox was going to shit himself laughing at me when he heard about this. Eden Farrell’s first time clubbing and she’s ready to let the first man she talks to deflower her? Such a stereotype.
My drink magically appeared in front of me, though it was less likely magic and more likely distraction as I watched the way the professor’s throat worked when he swallowed.
Reaching for it, I brought the two little red straws to my lips and sucked down half in one go, not really tasting anything at all.
“How’s your drink?”
I speared a cherry with the end of one straw and brought it to my mouth. “Good. These cherries are delicious.”
“I’m sure.”
“Want one?” I asked, offering the second cherry to him before I even realized what I was doing.
He looked between me and the cherry for what felt like the longest second in the world before leaning forward and biting the little fruit. I had to swallow back a moan as his lips wrapped around it and he tugged it free.
Oh to be a cherry.
Or anything that man’s lips were on.
I fanned my face. “It’s really hot in here.”
“Is it?”
I downed the rest of my drink, then pushed away from the bar. “Want to dance?”
Who the hell was this woman? Bold and confident with one drink?
But I was never going to see him again, and Nox always told me I should seize the day.
I was one night away from heading to Ravenscroft University.
One night away from years of higher education and political training so I could lead like the rest of the students sent there.
We were the future of the supernatural world, powerful and, some might say, elite.
But with that expectation came the immense sacrifice of our freedom to live our lives the way we wanted.
In order to serve the people, we had to abandon ourselves.