Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
B eaufort
The shadow weaver common room at the Firestone Academy is something of legends back in Onyx Quarter and I have to admit the place does live up to the hype. The room sits right at the top of one of the towers and once upon a time was an observatory for stargazing before our kind claimed it as our own. The glass roof and large panoramic windows still exist though, lending views over the entire academy and out over the land beyond. Inside, a large fire roars in a central fireplace, velvet armchairs and chaises are scattered around and golden chandeliers provide flickering candle light. Below our feet, smooth black onyx covers the floor, reflecting back the light.
Nearly all the shadow weavers are here tonight for the inaugural party, all draped in their finest clothes from home with a lot of skin on show. Most of the men wear their shirts unbuttoned nearly to their navels and several of the girls are dressed in skimpy dresses that leave nothing to the imagination.
I search the crowd. Thorne won’t be here. He never comes to events like these. Dray went out running this evening, but he must be here somewhere. He wouldn’t miss a party if his life depended on it.
In fact, in the next moment, my bond brother is bounding up to me, usual manic smile pinned on his face. He’s always in a good mood after a run. The sulk from the day before is over.
“Want a drink?” he asks me, slapping me on the shoulder and motioning to the bar in the corner, a collection of multicolored bottles set out for us to help ourselves.
“Sure,” I say.
We step that way, and Dray proceeds to unscrew each bottle, sniffing the contents until he finds one he likes and pours a slug into one glass and then another. He hands me his and then clinks his glass against mine.
“Is it me,” he says, bouncing on his toes, eyes scanning hungrily over the small crowd of people, “or did everyone just get a whole lot hotter? Did you see Elaine? Man, her tits. They must have doubled in size since we last saw her.” He shakes his head.
I follow his gaze. He’s right. Everyone did get a lot hotter. Filled out in all the right places. Tightened up in others. However, I’m not interested. Which is damn strange. I’m not like Thorne. I’ve always been as keen as Dray to sample the goods offered up to me on a plate – especially when the goods offered are so damn hot and so fucking tasty.
But tonight, there’s no spark of arousal, no desire to go out and hunt down pussy.
No, none of the women here pique my interest.
Not in the way the Slate girl does.
The Slate girl who failed to turn up at our room as I commanded.
I grip the glass tightly in my fist and take a slug of my drink, the alcohol stinging the back of my throat and warming my gullet.
“If you’re going to–” I start to warn my brother.
“I got a name,” he says quietly with an even bigger grin on his face.
“What?”
“I got you a name. Her name. Little Miss No-show.” He takes a long sip of his drink, peering over the rim of his glass at me with mischief brimming in his eyes. He knows I’m as impatient as hell and he loves to tease me.
Once he’s swallowed, he takes his time licking his bottom lip, fiddling with his lip ring, and I’m tempted to grab the lapel of his jacket and shake the information out of him.
“Are you going to tell me?”
“So, you are still interested, even though the little brat failed to show up as asked?”
“I’m even more interested because she didn’t turn up,” I growl.
“Yeah,” Dray says, eyes twinkling, “me too.”
“So, what the hell is her name?”
“Briony,” Dray says, “Briony Storm.”
“Storm?” I repeat, frowning. It’s an unusual last name and yet it stirs something in the back of my mind. Like I’ve come across that name before. Or is it just …
“I have a feeling our little brat could be stormy by name, stormy by nature. Maybe this could be fun after all,” Dray says.
“So you’re now in favor?”
“I don’t have a choice,” he answers, “so I’ll make the best of the situation. And,” he tips the rest of his drink down his throat, “have some fun in the meantime.” He winks at Dahlia, slams his empty glass on the bar top and goes to stalk off in her direction. I grab ahold of his arm and stop him.
“How about the black eye? Did you find a name for that too?”
“Possibly,” he says, “some kid called Stanley.”
“Stanley,” I repeat, committing the name to memory.
I let go of Dray and he walks away, leaving me on my own.
Not for long though. It doesn’t take two minutes for Henrietta Smyte to slide up alongside me. She is the taller of the twins, her straight red hair falling in curtains around her pale pointy face. She’s wearing an ivory dress that, against her pale skin, makes it look as if she’s wearing nothing at all.
“Why the long face, Beaufort?” she says. Her lips are painted a blood red to match her hair and it leaves an imprint on the rim of her glass as she takes a sip of wine, probably in a manner she believes to be seductive.
“My face is the same as it always is,” I grunt. Henrietta and I were an item last year. She wasn’t happy when I ended things. She’s been trying to manufacture a reunion ever since. It’s not going to happen. The girl is vain and boring.
“Did your little thrall not live up to your expectations?” She laughs, high and shrill, making my teeth hurt. I’ve always hated it. “Was she a disappointment? Any one of us could have told you that. I mean, Beaufort, a girl from the Slate Quarter, what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking I don’t have to explain myself to you, Henrietta, or anyone else for that matter.”
I’m not going to tell her our thrall never even showed up. That would set the girl purring with delight.
“Our thrall is an absolute dream. So obliging, so willing, so good with his hands.” She curls her tongue up inside her mouth and steps a little closer. With the bar behind me, I can’t step away, instead I draw myself up to my full height. “I’d be happy to share.” She places her hand on my chest, sliding her fingers across the soft cotton.
I snatch her wrist and yank her hand away.
“Go bother someone else, Henny,” I say in my most bored tone, pushing her away.
She snaps her arm forward, tossing a bolt of magic right at me, I block it with the swing of my arm and it explodes right in front of my face.
I take a step towards her, lifting my hand. My magic crackles in warning.
The common room is silent, everyone suddenly staring our way.
“Careful,” I warn her.
She sneers at me, tosses her head like an irritated mare, and saunters away, probably to try to sink her claws into some other poor unsuspecting soul.
I glare at all those still staring my way, and they drop their eyes in alarm.
Then I’m striding right out of the common room, my body broiling with annoyance.
Because both Dray and Henrietta are right.
Our thrall is a brat and a disappointment.
Why her?
Why the fuck her?