The Faceless Omega: A Meddlesome Moirai Tale

1. Masquerade pt I

Chapter 1

Masquerade pt I

B rinley stared at her painted reflection in the rearview mirror once again and pushed out a slow, not helpful breath. She couldn’t believe she was going through with it. But the car was parked, the engine cut, the dress strapped onto her body, and the paint painstakingly applied to her face. There was no backing out. She studied what she could see of her face one more time.

The structure was still visible, of course, but those online tutorials had really paid off. She’d done a great job of applying shadow and contouring in a way that tricked the eye into seeing subtly different sculpting to her cheeks, which would help to disguise her identity. Not that anyone at this purportedly high-society soiree would know her from any other face in a random crowd. Brinley just preferred being able to blend in.

That thought firmly in mind, she picked up the final touch—her carefully decorated mask—and set it over her eyes. The mask rested atop the bridge of her nose and a thin silver string wound around her head, tying at the back to hold it in place. She paused again, examining the way the bedazzled and feather-adorned, silk-soft party mask complimented the special paint on what remained visible of her face. Two layers of obscurity was probably overkill, but it was a masquerade party, and the invitation had specifically said anonymity and masks were a must.

Brinley quickly swept her naturally wavy blonde hair up into the final twist she’d planned, scooped the necessary clip out of the cupholder, and let go. With her hair up in the curly, fancy-ish messy-bun like style, it hid the string holding her mask in place. Somehow, that felt safer. It also felt more freeing. She tilted her head side to side, making sure her hair didn’t shift, fixed the positioning of her rearview mirror, and forced herself from the car. The party had already started. It was best not to make more of a scene than necessary.

I still can’t believe I let either of them talk me into this.

The words played like a mantra in her mind as she walked too stiffly through the private, underground parking area and into the elevator. Where she promptly balked at the unexpected sight of an actual bellman standing in the corner.

“Here for the party, ma’am?” he asked with a smile.

Brinley continued to gape like a moron. She knew she wasn’t well-traveled, but she was still surprised to learn this was even occasionally still a thing.

“Ma’am?”

She clamped her lips shut, embarrassment rushing through her, and nodded sharply. One more step took her fully into the box and she awkwardly put her back to the opposite wall, both hands gripping her clutch. That raise better be so good. It was one thing for the weird, moody girl at the raffle to have pushed the ticket on her—at least that was her job—but for Brinley’s own boss to have been so insistent was entirely another.

Although she certainly wouldn’t have managed such a nice quality dress without his credit card, she supposed. There was that. She would have to be sure not to spill anything on it.

The elevator doors slid open again with a soft ding, assuring her as easily as the wafting music that followed that they’d reached the main floor.

Brinley pulled her lips into a smile and aimed it at the bellman. “Thanks.” She scampered off, nearly forgetting she was wearing three-inch heels, and wobbled for a precarious moment as her ears guided her to the main event. She’d never been to this hotel before, of course. It was well beyond her means and equally above anything her cheapskate employer typically sprang for. But there was no mistaking the direction of the ballroom, where the invitation had specified the party was being held, or the fact that it was an actual for real ballroom.

She almost pinched herself.

Instead, Brinley squared her shoulders and took a beat to extract the invitation from her clutch. It was little more than a laminated index card, on reflective gold paper with shiny, swirling lettering, but the damn thing would probably have paid her utility bill if she’d tried selling it instead of telling her boss about it. Too late now.

A stony-faced man in an impeccable pinstriped suit that strained, just a little, around his biceps stood at the entrance. He held a scanning device in his hand and used his other to motion for her to stop. His face was partially obscured by a Phantom of the Opera style mask that almost looked like an afterthought. “Invitation, ma’am?”

Brinley managed an easier smile and tilted her precious golden ticket at him. “Do you need to search my purse?” She’d chosen the clutch purposefully. Of course her phone was tucked inside, along with several bills of cash, but as per the instructions, she’d brought no identification. That remained in her car. Really taking the anonymity thing seriously.

The man shook his head. “No, ma’am,” he said. He made no effort to pilfer her invitation, either, but rather, lifted the scanner. “Please hold still a moment.” Without waiting for her response, he tapped a button near his thumb and proceeded to sweep the outfacing side over her from head to ankle. He straightened smoothly, stepped to the side, and repeated this motion once before reclaiming his post. “You’re all clear. Enjoy your evening.”

Okay, that’s interesting. “Does that scan for, like, weapons or something?” Brinley asked, batting her eyes carefully as she tucked away her invite.

He inclined his head. “Just a precaution. No weapons allowed.”

He was a real conversationalist, this one. She smiled anyway and thanked him before continuing inside. It wasn’t like she had any interest in smuggling in a gun or anything of the sort. Nor did she believe that every weapon under the sun could be detected by that little handheld device. It hardly mattered. A quick glance around the wide, expansive ballroom and she could tell violence was not at the forefront of the partygoers’ minds.

Bodies in expensive suits and gowns dotted the room, standing off to the side and swaying in the center of the space. More than a few already appeared intoxicated. Masks much more elaborate than Brinley’s home-decorated one adorned the faces she could see. Some even used the old-fashioned type that had to be held up by a stick.

The scene was like something out of a movie, and in that way shockingly surreal.

I really can’t believe I’m doing this… But it was far too late to back out now.

Theoretically she was one of three lucky winners, randomly selected from across the East Coast, trying desperately to blend in amongst this crowd of the flamboyantly wealthy. It wasn’t a party for a cause and paparazzi was not permitted anywhere on the hotel’s premises. This masquerade was entirely for fun. For everyone else.

Brinley tucked her clutch under her arm and surreptitiously fidgeted with the fringe of her hair, swiftly triggering the fancy little switch that activated the camera feature in her earrings. They were only connected to her phone, which would be loaded down with who-knew-how-many photos before she could slip back into her car and disconnect them. But this was the best way she could safely and subtly collect images and mingle at the same time.

“I want to know everything,” her boss had said, speaking with such intensity he was leaning into her space. “What’s the space like? The ambiance? Is it really as magnificent as rumors say? Who actually goes to that kind of thing? How seriously do they take it? What are they wearing? Don’t forget that. The people eat that shit up. Detail the masks or whatever, too. Get designers. And definitely ID any celebrities, politicians, or CEO bigwigs you can.” Her boss believed the people would be both enamored over the entire concept and enraged at yet another frivolous thing that important people with busy jobs were wasting time and money on. Neither reaction mattered to him. What mattered to him was that they read the article with his brand attached to it.

Brinley both understood and didn’t. But she knew what was expected of her, and it wasn’t to stand around like a statue and watch from a distance.

Exhaling carefully, she caught herself noting the blended scents of food and alcoholic beverages that had begun to fill the air. Never her favorite combination, but it wasn’t overwhelming. She pushed her feet forward, snagged a glass of what she presumed to be white wine off a passing tray, and adjusted to avoid cutting into the dance floor. No way would she be stepping foot onto that. Not in her heels, or the tighter than preferred dress hugging her hips, and certainly not with the camera snapping soundlessly every ten seconds.

It was time to pretend she was some random, nameless heiress and get her flirt on. Just a little, just enough to make conversation. She could totally do that.

****

Lennox hated the annual masquerade party. It was little more than a flexing opportunity. The anonymity was a joke for most of them, for a variety of reasons. Not the least being the fact that half the guests couldn’t stop themselves from grandiose, detailed boasting.

His parents had attended the original party, probably a decade earlier, however. They didn’t have much interest in it anymore, but for appearances’ sake, they insisted he attend. Every. Damn. Year.

The mask that rested on the bridge of his nose was already chafing. He could see well enough, at least, and the obnoxious thing didn’t extend so low as to affect his sense of smell. He never would have agreed to wear it if it did. But he couldn’t stand the way it sat over the top of his head and the feel of it hooked behind his ears. Most of all, though, he simply didn’t appreciate the wolfish features of the mask itself. The visual texture designed to resemble fur and the upward pointing canine-like ears protruding from the top. It was childish.

His mother had thought it was amusing. Ironic, perhaps.

It wasn’t ironic. No one knew for certain what type—or types—of shifter had once dominated their family tree. All they knew was that the shifting gene had been lost. Had their ancestors been wolves? Perhaps. Or perhaps they’d been one of any number of other beasts. Perhaps their family had mixed shifter genealogy. They didn’t know enough about their ancestry to truly ever get those answers.

Lennox exhaled roughly and moved away from the single long table of food options. The meats, cheeses, and little fried things were a great way to keep himself from ripping the mask off his head, but he didn’t need to be accused of snubbing the other party guests, either. Even if he actually wanted to.

The one thing he definitely planned on doing was ignoring the senator who had clearly come to shmooze. The smarmy man’s mask was about as much of a joke as Lennox had ever seen.

He veered the other direction instead, swept his gaze for someone or something of interest, and his gaze zeroed in on the figure of a woman he hadn’t noticed when he’d previously looked over the room.

She stood amidst a group of three others, holding an inconveniently strapless type of purse and a half-full glass of white wine. Her dark green dress clung to her curves, swooped low across her chest, and split from the knee-length hem to halfway up her thigh. She wore a decorated mask that appeared to bear feathers as well as rhinestones, and the harder he stared the more it looked like she might have painted her face, too. Which only made her more intriguing.

Lennox didn’t even realize he’d started moving until he was close enough to recognize the masks on two of the faces in front of her. The sound of her sweet, but subtly strained and short-lived laugh sharpened his focus. It only took another moment to ascertain that the male in the devil mask was leaning in at the perfect angle to give himself a view down the front of her dress.

That probably explained why her body language read tight and guarded.

Lennox practically choked on the low warning growl that built up in his throat as he approached, but any words he might have said were cut off when the vision in front of him spoke up.

With a subtle raise of her chin, the woman who’d drawn his attention said, “That is quite the story.” She slid a heeled foot backward as she spoke. “If you’ll excuse me, sir, I—”

Devil Mask took a whole step forward. His expression was largely obscured, but there was desperation in his over-excited eyes that said more than enough. “Won’t you—”

Lennox stepped between them and narrowed his eyes at the other man. “I think you’ve harassed her enough for one night. You should attend to your date.”

Devil Mask’s eyes widened and snapped up to him as he reared back.

The female on his other side tilted her head and raised her drink to her lips as if to hide a smirk.

The other male chuckled so quietly the sound barely carried over the music that filled the air.

Instead of waiting for any real response, Lennox pivoted in place and raised a hand to rest the tips of his fingers against the back of the captivating woman’s arm. Her skin was warm and soft and he immediately wanted to touch more of her. Instead, he gestured away from the group. “Shall we?”

She blinked up at him once from beneath her sparkling, feather-adorned mask. “Let’s,” she finally said as a smile teased her shimmering lips.

He offered her a smile that belied the heat burning through him. The woman was a fucking vision and it bothered him immensely that he couldn’t isolate her scent yet. She had been gorgeous from across the room, but up close she was goddamn mesmerizing. The glittery face paint did nothing to disguise that.

She quietly allowed him to walk her several paces away, took a small sip of her wine, and tipped her head to the side as if to scrutinize him better. “I can’t decide if that was very gallant of you or if you just don’t like competition.”

Lennox felt his carefully calm smile twitch into a grin and forced himself to drop his hand. “I don’t mind competition,” he said. He stopped as she did and adjusted to face her, keeping his back to the more bustling portion of the gathering. The staff was fairly agile, but the longer the night dragged on the more inebriated and less coordinated the partygoers would become. He couldn’t stand the thought of letting her get bruised over someone’s drunken clumsiness.

He thought he saw a twinkle of amusement in her brown eyes. “So it was a chivalry thing, then?”

Lennox tucked his hands into his pockets. He didn’t understand why the challenge in her eyes hit so differently. He normally got irritated, or outright pissed off, when some idiot challenged him. In this moment, however, and at least with her, it didn’t feel like any kind of threat. It felt more like a game. “I didn’t say that.”

She let out a soft hum, never looking away, and took another small sip of her wine. “Oh? Is this the part, then, where you try to blindside me with your charm until you can drag me into a broom closet and scratch that primal itch?”

He scoffed. “You are clearly not the kind of woman a man drags into some dusty old broom closet and fucks out of his system.”

His gruffly honest response seemed to catch her off-guard and she snorted. She quickly clamped a hand over her mouth and looked away, and he was absolutely positive her cheeks would be stained with pink under all her layers of obscurity. The thought made his cock stir and forced Lennox to shift his weight a bit. He disguised the movement by extracting a handkerchief from his inner coat pocket and offering it to her.

She flicked another glance at him, hesitated for a split-second, then tucked her clutch under her arm and accepted the offering. After a quick, careful dab at her face, she folded the fabric down and said, “I daresay you don’t really know what kind of woman I am, sir.” She smiled. “But I think I like your impression of me better than most of what I’ve heard tonight.”

Lennox pulled in a deeper breath, silently cursed the strategically placed odor diffusers hidden in the overhead air vents, and met her words with a question. “Have you had a hard time?”

The blonde beauty let out a telling sigh, her eyes sliding up and back in a half eye-roll before she seemed to catch herself and straighten her posture. “It’s my first time,” she said, almost sheepishly, “and apparently that makes me something between an interesting new plaything and a leper.”

Lennox made no effort to hide his eye-roll. “Most of these tools can’t loosen up without obscene amounts of alcohol and an hour with a masseuse.” He gestured to the awful mask on his face. “They don’t make us wear these every year because it’s fun .”

Her laughter was soft, sweet, and did nothing for the bulge in his pants. “You come here often, then.” She said the words as a statement, not a question to verify, and finally tipped back the rest of her wine.

For a singular moment, Lennox watched the way the glass rested on her lips and the way her throat constricted when she swallowed. All the wrong things flashed through his mind. Her on her knees, those darkly painted lips stretched around his shaft as he pushed as deep as she could take. How it might feel to fuck her face until her mask of paint and her tears were smeared across his pelvis, until his cum dribbled off her chin.

By the grace of whatever gods remained, he managed to keep those heated and highly indecent thoughts to himself. Instead, he spoke with scarcely measured honesty. “This is my fifth year, unfortunately.” Since his parents quit them, anyway. But that he would keep to himself for the time being.

Her gaze slid away from him, sweeping out to the room beyond. “Five years, huh?” She said it almost in disbelief. Then she straightened again, her smile back in place. “Well, I better go return this.” She lifted the emptied wine glass for emphasis. “Thank you very much for the rescue earlier. It was nice to meet you, such as it were.”

Before Lennox could do more than turn in place, the captivating vixen was sauntering away. He had neither her name nor her scent, and she seemed to think she was done with him.