Chapter 19 #2
“Find the dagger,” he continued. “Let nothing distract you. No temptations. No indulgences.” His nose traced the curve of my ear, and there was a whisper of heat before he pulled away.
The foyer unfurled into a vast, decadent space.
Crystal chandeliers dripped from the high ceiling, casting prisms of light onto the polished marble floors. The air was thick with the scent of spiced wine, burning wax, and something richer—something carnal.
Clusters of guests lounged in extravagant silks, furs, and leathers, their conversations laced with husky laughter and knowing glances.
Women flaunted their cleavages—bountiful, bare, unapologetic.
Men adorned themselves with codpieces that boasted rather than concealed. Some had already shed their shirts entirely, their bronzed chests exposed like offerings to the room.
And then some had abandoned modesty altogether.
Women moved through the crowd naked, their bodies adorned only with dripping jewels and the serpents coiled around their waists and shoulders.
Men, equally unclothed, cavorted through the gathering, their movements wild and unrestrained. Some bore torches, taking long swigs from silver flagons before tilting their heads back and breathing fire, the flames licking the air with an intoxicating glow.
The music wrapped around me like silk, the sultry hum of sitars, and the pulse of drums merging with the hypnotic flicker of torchlight. The scent of musk, amber, and sandalwood incense curled through the air, thick and intoxicating.
Malik guided me deeper into the throng, his grip possessive, his touch calculated.
Masked figures turned to watch me, their gazes dark with interest. Some merely observed, their lips curving behind their masks. Others were bolder—gloved fingers trailing along my arm, warm palms skimming my waist, the briefest touches making my skin prickle.
I swallowed hard, suppressing a shudder.
Then Malik’s arm slid around my shoulders, his fingers pressing beneath my bodice, dangerously close to my bare skin.
I stiffened, instinct screaming to push him away. But I couldn’t—not here. Not now.
I had to play my part.
I had to pretend to enjoy it.
Malik leaned in, his lips brushing my temple. “Tu sei bellissima, amore mio,” he murmured.
His voice slithered down my spine, warmth pooling in places I wished it wouldn’t. My breath caught as his fingers traced the line of my collarbones, his other hand ghosting along my waist.
I felt… different.
My steps slowed, and my hips began to sway in time with the music. The room pulsed with something primal, something ancient, and I found myself melting into the atmosphere.
It was a dream. A decadent, sinful dream.
A loud horn blared, shaking me from my trance.
Bare-breasted women drifted into the room, carrying trays laden with wine, fruit, and exotic delicacies. The partygoers helped themselves, feeding one another grapes, drizzling honey across exposed skin, and licking it off with lazy indulgence.
I shut my eyes briefly, fighting against the insidious pleasure curling in my belly.
Focus. Focus.
Malik’s hands lingered on me, his touch grounding. Then his lips brushed my ear, his voice a whisper of command.
“I’m going to find Raul, sweetness. I’ll distract him while you search for the blade.”
A jolt of awareness snapped through me, shattering the sensual haze.
The dagger. The real reason I was here.
Malik’s fingers traced up and down my neck, soothing and coaxing at once. “You can do this, amore.” His lips barely touched my earlobe. “Observe. Linger. Let them believe you are deciding what to indulge in.”
I turned my face toward him, my lips hovering near his ear, close enough to feel the heat of his skin.
“Where do you suggest I look?”
Malik pressed a trail of soft kisses along my jaw, his lips featherlight.
“Find an office. A study. Somewhere private.” His voice was a silken whisper against my skin. “Don’t be afraid. If anything happens—get out at once.”
A shiver coursed through me, whether from his kisses or the peril that awaited, I wasn’t sure.
Then, brushing his lips against mine—just a ghost of contact—he whispered, “You are strong, Olivia. You can do this. I trust you.”
I pulled away, locking eyes with him for one long, searing moment.
Then, without another word, I pivoted and sauntered away.
The grand staircase was draped in rich burgundy carpet, the plush fibers muffling my steps as I ascended. Ornate paintings adorned the walls—works of art that were far from subtle.
Women sprawled across velvet love seats, their naked bodies displayed with uninhibited pleasure. Some lay open, a man between their thighs, devouring them. Others straddled their lovers, their bodies arched in rapture.
One painting made my breath hitch.
A man—his cock enormous—was tied to a gilded pole, his muscled body glistening with oil as several women surrounded him. Some held delicate feather wands, others poured fragrant oil from a carafe, their eyes worshipful, hungry.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to keep moving.
The deeper I climbed, the more the air thickened with pleasure. Moans drifted down the halls, breathy and uninhibited, a symphony of ecstasy that curled around my spine and made my pulse stutter.
Couples in various states of undress passed me on the landings.
Some walked by with smoldering gazes, their eyes trailing my body in silent invitation.
Others weren’t walking at all.
A woman was pressed against the railing, her head thrown back as a man’s mouth traced a path down her stomach. Another couple stood locked in a passionate embrace, hands wandering, clothes slipping from heated skin.
I kept my steps steady, my breath even.
Then—
A woman stepped into my path, halting me with a sultry smile.
“Vorresti unirti a noi?” she asked, her voice like liquid honey.
Her hand lifted, fingers grazing my cheek before cupping my face, her touch light but insistent.
Heat rushed to my skin.
I met her gaze and answered, “No. I don’t want to join you. Someone is waiting for me.”
She glanced at her partner, lips curling in amusement.
“Can we watch?”
My mouth went dry.
I needed a convincing answer.
I was spared when another man appeared, seizing her arm. “Alexia! Allesandro! You must accompany Gianna and me.”
Alexia pouted, her nails trailing along my wrist as she cooed, “We’d love to, but we’re trying to woo this beauty.”
She gestured toward me, but I didn’t wait for the conversation to continue. Slipping between a throng of approaching partiers, I wove through the revelers, my heart hammering.
That was close.
As I pressed forward, the atmosphere thickened—more bodies, more heat, more danger lurking beneath the gilded facade of pleasure.
Then, something caught my attention.
Two men stood stationed at separate doors, their elaborate costumes blending seamlessly into the decadence of the masquerade. Unlike the other guests, their movements were precise, their posture too rigid to be mere partygoers.
Guards.
I needed to test them.
As I passed, I let my fingers trail delicately across their codpieces.
Their bodies stiffened, but neither reacted beyond a sharp intake of breath. No smirks, no playful advances.
They wouldn’t be allowed to indulge in the festivities while on duty if they were truly guards.
I filed the information away and kept moving.
But before I could slip further into the shadows, a young man staggered into my path, his breath thick with the scent of wine.
His gaze locked onto me, eyes glittering behind his dark mask.
“Amore, I’ve been looking for you,” he slurred.
I glanced over my shoulder, thinking he was speaking to someone else.
No such luck.
“I meant you, my beauty.”
His hand shot out, grasping my breast.
Revulsion surged through me. I slapped his hand away, my pulse spiking as I scanned the hall. Onlookers milled about, but no one paid us any attention.
It wasn’t considered good form to deny someone’s advances.
He chuckled, mistaking my silence for coyness. “Playing hard to get, eh?”
His fingers curled behind my neck, yanking me toward him, his breath thick with liquor as he aimed for my lips.
Wrong move.
On instinct, I drove my knee straight into his groin.
A strangled cry tore from his throat as he doubled over, clutching himself in agony.
“Puttana! Puttana!” he wheezed.
I crouched, gripping his jaw in an iron hold, forcing his gaze to meet mine.
“There’s this thing called consent, asshole.”
I shoved him away, letting him crumple to the floor, his pained curses fading behind me.
Without a backward glance, I slipped deeper into the hall.
Below me, the true horror of the masquerade unfolded.
Women writhed in gilded cages suspended from the ceiling, their bodies twisted in sensual torment. Men with greasy hair and leering eyes milled around them like carrion crows, drunkenly pawing at their breasts, slipping fingers between their legs, violating them with careless entitlement.
My stomach turned.
I forced myself to keep moving.
The hall stretched before me like a dark, endless vein. My heart pounded as I neared the end, scanning for an escape, for anything that could lead me to what I came here for.
Then—
A door.
I skittered inside, closing it swiftly behind me.
Silence.
I pressed my back to the cool wood, panting, trying to shake the filth of the outside world from my skin. This place… it was both beautiful and terrible.
I had never seen such excess—such complete abandonment of morality—the things I had witnessed… copulation, fellatio, threesomes, foursomes—every depravity imaginable. I wasn’t a prude, but this was beyond anything I could stomach.
I exhaled and let my eyes adjust to the dim light.
The room was… strange.
Vivid reds, oranges, and greens swirled across the walls in hypnotic patterns, like marbled paper come to life. The colors rippled, shifting as if they breathed. Thick curtains trimmed in black brocade cascaded from the ceiling, veiling whatever lay beyond.
A single mirror loomed above the mantel, framed in ornate black scrollwork. Its beveled surface gleamed, reflecting nothing but shadows.
I pressed my ear to the door.
Silence.
Good.
I tiptoed deeper into the room, my pulse hammering.
The air changed, thickening with something darker.
Stone bookcases lined the walls; their shelves were filled with books and bones. Skulls leered from the dark recesses between the tomes, hollow sockets gaping in silent testimony. The ceiling was painted a deep, hellish red, like an apocalyptic sky drenched in blood.
Carvings in the stone whispered of agony—depictions of torture and death, etched with reverence.
This was not just a library.
This was Raul Costa’s throne room.
His church.
A temple built upon suffering, where Raul Costa displayed his trophies.
And somewhere, hidden within this twisted sanctuary—
Was the dagger I had come to steal.
I picked up one of the skulls from the shelf, its hollow eye sockets leering at me.
A shudder racked through me.
Had this been a Timeborne? A Timebound?
The thought made my stomach churn. I set the skull back down with a quiet clink, forcing myself to move forward.
A long table sat pushed against the back wall, strewn with documents.
I stepped closer.
One of the pages held a finely detailed illustration of a plant—every delicate vein of its leaves, every hair on its buds captured with eerie precision. Beside the sketch, a single name was scrawled in flowing script.
Atropa belladonna.
Deadly nightshade.
I swallowed hard and set it down, my fingers trembling as I picked up another.
Poison Hemlock.
Tiny white flowers bloomed in umbrella-shaped clusters, their stems slender and deceptively delicate. The drawing was so lifelike, I almost expected the petals to flutter at my breath.
I exhaled. Costa’s fascination with poison ran deep.
But the stack of parchments beside the plant illustrations made my pulse stutter.
The top sheet held an intricate drawing of a dagger, its hilt engraved with symbols I didn’t recognize.
I shuffled through the pages, my heart pounding faster with every piece of parchment. More daggers. More weapons.
Then—
I stopped.
My breath hitched.
There, among the sketches—
A blade that looked exactly like mine.
A chill slithered down my spine.
I lifted my fingertips to my mouth, stifling the gasp clawing its way up my throat.
Then, I saw another stack of sketches.
Hand-drawn Timebound necklaces.
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
This wasn’t just an archive.
This was a detailed, hand-drawn database of Timebornes and Timebounds worldwide—a personal ledger of the damned.
My dagger. My exact dagger was etched onto parchment with eerie precision.
They’d cataloged everything.
Emily’s necklace.
A fresh wave of panic surged through me, pressing against my ribs and making me feel weak.
I had to find the Sun Dagger and get out of here.
Fast.
Where was it?
I hurried toward the massive desk, yanking open drawers and rifling through their contents.
Nothing.
Damn it!
Could it be hidden inside the books?
I pulled volume after volume from the shelves, flipping through their pages, searching for a concealed compartment.
Nothing.
The books themselves were disturbing—scientific tomes detailing poisonous plants, the extraction of lethal tinctures, and the most efficient ways to inflict suffering through toxins.
Everything a madman would need to wipe Timebornes and Timebounds from existence.
My stomach twisted.
I had to keep looking.
Where is it, where is it, where is it—
A sound made my blood freeze.
Footsteps.
Loud. Approaching the door.
Then—
The door swung open.
I went rigid, heart slamming against my ribs.
My fingers trembled as I carefully slid the book back into place.
Shit.
I didn’t dare turn around.
How the hell did I explain this?
My throat felt dry, my mind scrambling for an excuse for anything that could explain why I was standing in a room filled with evidence of Raul Costa’s obsession with hunting my kind.
I settled on the only words that left my lips.
“This isn’t what you think.”
Silence.
Then—
A deep, smooth voice laced with amusement.
“Isn’t it?”
I swallowed hard.
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken.” The man’s voice carried a lazy kind of menace. “It’s quite obvious that you’re somewhere you don’t belong.”
A pause.
Then, almost idly—
“And there’s a penalty for spying.”
My pulse roared.
“Is there?” I forced my voice to stay steady. “And what might that be?”
The answer came swiftly.
“Twenty lashes.”
I fought the instinct to step back.
There was no talking my way out of this.
There was only one thing left to do.
I had to fight.
Slowly—deliberately—
I turned around.