Chapter 16 Iris
IRIS
Tonight bears no resemblance to the night I forced my way into that manor club. There are no scrambling thoughts and no frantic mental drafts of apologies to Reggie for raiding his inner sanctum. This time, I’m invited.
The midnight-blue halter dress leaves my back bare.
It comes with Reggie’s approval, as do the stilettos.
A new pair. Patent leather, the weight balanced on a heel that could kill.
They’re not an accessory. They’re a requirement.
And they don’t just change how I move. They decide how I’m approached, how I’m appraised, and how I’m wanted.
Reggie still doesn’t know about the game. He only knows that whatever happened that night at the Hudson Valley club left an impression. Enough of one that I was asked back.
“Think of it as a scandal being repurposed into an opportunity,” I had told him then.
I adjust the mask as the limo glides to a stop exactly where I was told to wait.
The piece arrived days ago with a note explaining that it represented my name.
Midnight. The mask covers my eyes but leaves my mouth free.
The blue is so deep that it almost reads as black until the light catches it.
Beaded filigree curves across its surface in intricate patterns, and jewels like sapphirine stones and iridescent crystals that glint, then vanish, as if they were never meant to stay visible for long, are set deep into the design.
Feathers rise from one side, nudged by the passing air.
The chauffeur steps out, his own mask plain and black. He offers his hand. I place mine in it, and he presses a kiss to my knuckles.
“You look absolutely beautiful,” he says.
He opens the limo door, and I step inside.
The interior is dark, sealed off from everything. When the door closes, I can’t see where we’re going.
But I don’t doubt the destination.
About an hour later, the limo slows and comes to a stop. I’m certain we’re nowhere near the Hudson Valley yet.
The door unlocks on its own. No farewell. No cue.
I step out.
“What the—”
It’s a park. Hedges close in around me, the path ahead reduced to a thin thread of light.
It’s nothing like the manor’s drive. The air carries sound from somewhere beyond—voices, laughter, the distant pulse of traffic—but it’s muffled, bent by elevation.
As if the noise belongs to another level entirely, separated by a rise of rock and earth just out of sight.
Close enough to hear, but far enough to feel cut off.
“Central Park?” I murmur.
It has to be. But it’s not the version I know. This stretch feels separate and unfinished, as though the city never knew it was here.
I turn back, reaching for the limo, half-expecting my chauffeur to tell me I belong here. But the tinted glass stays raised, and the car drives away.
I’m on my own.
I face the path as it narrows and darkens, curving away from the glow behind me.
The ground slopes unevenly beneath my feet, forcing me to adjust my stride.
The rock wall rises on my right, its shadows stretching longer with every step.
I pass one shallow hollow in the stone, then another. Both are empty.
Footsteps sound behind me.
It’s Snow Fox.
So I’m where I’m supposed to be, but hell if I’m going to make it easy for him.
I run.
The path bends, stealing my line of sight, and I take it at speed. The rock wall presses closer here, and the shadows are thicker. I risk a glance back.
He’s gone.
I carry on, ready for whatever comes next.
Something moves, and Snow Fox steps out from a deeper recess in the rock wall.
He’s already there, already waiting.
How the hell did he get there so quickly?
I skid to a halt.
“Welcome to the game,” he says as he begins to circle.
I move with him, testing the distance and letting my shoulder brush his chest before slipping past. It becomes a rhythm. Advance. Retreat. A quick feint. Neither of us holds ground for long.
“Nice try, Fox,” I say breathlessly, surprised to find myself smiling.
I don’t want him.
I want Wolf.
Still, Snow Fox doesn’t relent. His hand closes around my wrist, but I twist free, only to feel the rock wall at my back.
The recess yawns behind me now, deeper than the others and swallowing what little light reaches it.
He presses in again, firmer this time, closing the space inch by inch until stone meets my spine, and there’s nowhere left to go.
Heat coils low in my belly. This is the edge I signed up for. But the invitation was clear. I may get hurt.
And I may hurt someone.
That permission sparks.
I lift my knee and drive it up.
“Argh!” He wasn’t expecting it.
Snow Fox stumbles back, his grip breaking as air tears from him. I turn fast, already moving—
And stop short.
Another body fills the path.
Mongoose.
I picked him for his size, but I wasn’t prepared for this. He’s friggin’ huge!
He steps in close and shoves me backward, hard enough that I collide with Snow Fox again, the recess closing around us like a trap snapping shut.
“Don’t mistake my breathing for fear,” I snap. “Where the hell is Wolf?”
They close in, their strength hemming me in from both sides.
“You want Wolf?” Fox says. “We’re the threshold.” He braces his arms against the stone, close enough that I feel the press of him without being touched. “And we’re not asking you to hurry.”
He’s too close now, close enough that I don’t doubt the man behind the mask is handsome as fuck.
But I push back. Because I’m allowed to. Because I want my prize.
All of a sudden, light floods the mouth of the recess without warning, followed by the thud of boots on stone.
“Who’s there?” a woman’s voice interjects.
“Shit! Cops,” Mongoose mutters.
Snow Fox’s hands drop away from me as if I’ve gone cold, and he and Mongoose scatter in opposite directions, vanishing into the dark.
Cowards.
Two uniformed figures step into view, their caps pulled low. The woman moves first, followed by a man with a precisely trimmed moustache, both their guns already trained on me.
“Show me your hands,” the woman orders.
Fuck. My first game, and it’s already gone sideways?
I glance down the path where Fox disappeared, disbelief burning hot and fast. They left me. Just like that.
“What’s this?” I demand, even as my hands start to rise.
“Hands up,” the man repeats, his voice flat.
He catches my arms before I can step back, and the female officer pats me down. Her fingers are brisk and impersonal.
Her radio crackles to life, and a voice says, “Suspect last seen entering Central Park through Central Park North and Lenox Avenue.”
She presses the receiver at her shoulder. “We’ve got her.”
“Hey! I haven’t done anything wrong,” I protest, my pulse climbing fast now.
The man with the mustache watches me with weary interest. “Running from the law?” he states. “Having a good time at Shrine, hit that poor girl, then take off?”
“What girl?” I say defensively.
He lets out a short sound that might be a laugh. “New York’s wild, sure. But there aren’t that many masquerades happening uptown on the same night. We know where you were.”
“No—wait—”
The cuffs around my wrists bite, and my mouth goes dry as the woman begins reciting my rights, almost bored. Then I’m guided to a patrol car and folded into the back seat, the door shutting before I can think to resist.
What the hell am I supposed to say to make this stop?
That I’m part of a game?
That I was dropped off in that park to meet Snow Fox and Mongoose?
The words don’t make it past my teeth because saying them feels like trading one kind of trouble for another that I don’t understand yet.
The car slows in front of a building. A precinct, I assume. Another NYPD cruiser sits at the curb, but we don’t stop there. The car turns and slots straight into a garage before the door rolls shut behind us.
I’m pulled out and moved immediately, and I take careful steps on the concrete in heels that weren’t meant for it.
The corridor swallows sound, and the ceiling is lined with long fixtures that buzz faintly and cast a yellowed glare.
A room with bare walls, a table bolted down, and the air pressing thin waits at the end.
“You’re making a mistake,” I say as they sit me down.
My cuffs are transferred to a metal loop on the table.
“Seriously?” I say. “Do I look like a serial killer?”
“You look like someone who doesn’t follow orders,” the man says. He grits his teeth. “So it’s necessary!”
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” I insist.
The man leans back, studying me. “Then tell me why you were there.”
“I was lost.”
He leans forward, his elbows on the desk. “You know you’re in serious trouble, young lady. So I suggest you start telling the truth.”
Fear rises, but I push it back down. “I was lost,” I repeat.
His mouth twists. He shakes his head, stands up, and leaves the room.
The door closes behind him.
“Hey!” I call after him, pulling at the chains. “Let me out!”
Silence stretches. The light is too bright, the air tight in my lungs.
Before long, the door opens again. Gradually.
“Honest to God,” I start, “I was just—”
The door reaches its limit.
And he fills the frame.
Wolf.