Chapter 21 Olivia #2
I glanced at his fine doublet, now darkened with stains. “If you remove the soiled clothes, you’ll expose your tattoo.”
“There’s nothing I can do unless I want to be branded as a Timeborne.” He ran a hand over his face, then grinned. “I’ll say it’s wine.”
Then his gaze flicked to me.
“Take off your bodice.”
I stiffened. “What? No!” My hands instinctively clutched the fabric at my chest.
“Olivia, you’re bloodier than I am. At least one of us has to look like we weren’t in a fight to the death with Raul’s henchmen. If you blend in, you can provide a distraction.” His smirk deepened.
“Damn it!” I muttered.
Gritting my teeth, I yanked off my bodice and shoved the blood-soaked garment into a drawer.
I only hoped we’d be long gone before Raul found it, along with the bodies below.
Roman cracked the door and peered into the hallway. “It’s time to go. This only works if we act completely inebriated—swaying, slurring, making a spectacle of ourselves. We need everyone to see us leaving. We have to sell it.”
“Wait! Our masks!” I snatched them from the floor, striding to Roman and securing his in place.
He tied mine on, then stole a quick kiss. “Ready?”
I nodded.
We stepped into the corridor where the revelers had been earlier—only now, it was eerily empty.
A black-clad guard emerged from one of the rooms, fastening his fly. He stilled when he saw us. “Why aren’t you downstairs with the others?”
Roman and I exchanged a glance.
Then, with infuriating ease, Roman reached out and fondled my breast. “I wasn’t finished with her.”
I played along, sliding my hand down to his groin. “Mmm… we haven’t had enough of each other.”
The guard’s lip curled in disgust. “You were supposed to go downstairs when the bell tolled. No one is allowed to miss the main event.”
“We were just leaving,” Roman said smoothly. “But thanks for the invitation.”
The guard stepped forward, blocking our path. “No one leaves before the show is over. No one.”
He unsheathed his sword, the blade catching the dim light, and leveled it at Roman’s chest.
Roman lifted his hands in surrender, his expression easy, unruffled. “Of course. We understand. We’ll head to the event immediately.”
The guard’s eyes narrowed behind his mask. “I’ll escort you. To make sure you find your place in the audience.”
A knot twisted in my stomach.
This was not part of the plan.
“As you wish,” Roman said, his expression unreadable.
The guard’s gaze flicked to Roman’s jacket, the bloodstains dark against the fine fabric.
Roman grinned. “It’s wine. I’m so drunk I missed my mouth.”
The guard scoffed, unimpressed. “Get moving.”
We had no choice but to comply.
As we descended the stairs, I exchanged a wary glance with Roman. His fingers brushed mine—just briefly—but it was enough.
“What is this show?” he whispered in English.
I swallowed hard. “I’m afraid I know. We’re about to witness a Timebound or a Timeborne being mercilessly tormented.”
Roman’s jaw tensed.
“Malik told me about this,” I continued. “He said it’s part of the annual event. The crowd thinks it’s just an act, but it’s real. The pain, the suffering—all of it.”
A low growl rumbled from Roman’s throat. “You do know I have questions about the nature of your relationship with Malik, don’t you?”
“With Malik? Why?”
His dark gaze cut to me, unreadable, but I felt the heat of his jealousy.
“Because you belong to me, not him,” he murmured, voice thick with quiet possession. “I hope I made that clear upstairs.”
A shiver skated down my spine. God help me; I loved the way he said that.
“You have nothing to worry about,” I said, breathless.
Before he could respond, a jab to his back made him flinch.
Roman hissed. “We’re doing as we’re told,” he snapped at the guard.
“Just making sure.” He waved his blade lazily. “Go to the right. Head toward the back of the crowd. The stage is in the largest ballroom.”
Roman sneered. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
As we moved, my gaze dropped to his back.
Blood seeped through his doublet, dark and spreading.
Roman caught my eye and gave me a knowing look. “Don’t worry about it, amore.”
We navigated through the remnants of debauchery—scattered clothes, overturned goblets, and discarded food. The air reeked of spilled wine and sweat. I felt painfully exposed, my torso bare beneath the dim glow of the chandeliers, as if I were part of the entertainment.
I snatched up a woman’s abandoned top, hurriedly fastening its tiny buttons, hoping it would be enough to mask both my vulnerability and our deception.
We slipped through a set of French doors.
I leaned toward Roman, my lips brushing his ear. “We have to find Malik and get out of here.”
“Keep an eye out,” he murmured. “I need to find Tristan.”
I froze mid-step. “Tristan? The Tristan? The guy I used to date?”
A sick feeling churned in my stomach.
Roman sighed. “It’s a long story. Let’s say… he’s Balthazar’s son.”
My breath hitched. “You mean I was dating a demon’s son?”
Before Roman could answer, someone shoved me from behind. I stumbled forward, catching myself.
Roman’s grip found mine. “Come, Olivia. There’s much to discuss, but not here. Right now, our only priority is escaping this hellhole.”
His hand remained clasped around mine as he maneuvered us through the throng.
The crowd thickened, their anticipation rippling in the air like static before a storm. The stage before us remained empty—a blank canvas waiting to be painted in horror.
Roman moved behind me, his arms wrapping around my shoulders, pulling me into him.
I let myself sink into his embrace, the warmth of his body against mine, as if we existed in our private world.
Despite the danger, the urgency, and the blood still staining his clothes, I craved him.
And I wished—more than anything—that we were somewhere far away, where nothing could stop us from devouring each other.
But my mind reeled with the revelation about Tristan.
Had Balthazar sent him after me? Had my every move been tracked, my life nothing more than a game played by that foul demon? A chill skated down my spine.
Roman gently rocked me from side to side, his breath warm against my ear. “Olivia, my love… ever since we were separated, I’ve had these recurring dreams.”
“Have you?” I pressed my cheek against his jaw, relishing the rough scrape of stubble. “Tell me about them.”
“They’re always about us—you, me… and Malik.”
That got my attention. I pulled back slightly, searching his eyes.
“When I saw you with him earlier,” he continued, his voice low, “I was insanely jealous. But at the same time… I was comforted.” His brow furrowed as if the contradiction disturbed him. “I didn’t know him, but I did. Does that make sense?”
“Yes. Like when you found me upstairs. My mind screamed that you were the enemy, but my heart kept saying—he’s here. Roman is back.”
“Exactly.” He kissed my cheek, lingering long enough to send shivers down my spine.
“In the dreams,” he continued, “I’m always on horseback, galloping through a field with Malik at my side.
We’re not enemies. We’re… brothers or close friends, hunting together, returning home.
And I can feel the excitement—the eagerness to return to my wife and children.
” His gaze bore into me. “And, of course, the person I’m desperate to see is you. ”
A strange sensation curled in my gut. “Then what happens?”
His expression darkened. “As we approach my home, I see flames. In some dreams, the entire village is burning. But in all of them, my house is always on fire. And you… and the children… have already burned to death.”
My hands instinctively clenched his doublet.
“It’s awful,” he murmured. “I always wake up either sobbing or drenched in sweat, my heart racing.”
I turned fully into his arms, staring up at him. “I’ve been having similar dreams. They’re horrific. They feel so real—like echoes of something already happening.”
Roman cupped my face, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones. “God help us, so do I.”
A beat of silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken fears.
“But the strangest part,” Roman admitted, his voice dropping lower, as if the words themselves were dangerous, “is Malik.” His grip on me tightened. “He’s always there. And somehow, these dreams—they don’t just feel like nightmares. They feel like a memory.”
A shiver ran through me, but it had nothing to do with the cold.
I shifted in his arms, my thoughts tangled. Malik had tried to seduce me, and I had almost let him.
How could I tell Roman?
“What do they mean?” I whispered. “Why are we both having the same nightmare?”
“I don’t know.” His fingers flexed against my waist. “But look.”
Roman gestured past me.
I turned, leaning into him again, letting his warmth envelop me like a shield.
A man strutted onto the stage, his arms lifted high, a broad, self-assured grin on his lips. He was striking, dressed in black and blood-red, a crimson mask obscuring his eyes.
The crowd erupted into cheers and applause.
The man lifted his hands, shushing them with an indulgent smirk. “Welcome, welcome, everyone! Most of you know me, but for those first-timers at my grand event, allow me to introduce myself.” He spread his arms wide. “I am Count Raul Costa.”
The crowd roared louder, many of them chanting, “Raul! Raul!”
He soaked in the adoration, bowing several times before lifting a hand to silence them again. “As you know, only the best of the best are invited to this masquerade. I trust it has met your expectations… and satisfied your hunger.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Laughter rippled through the room.
“I’m still hungry!” a man called out.
More laughter.
Raul’s grin widened. “And you shall have time to slake your hunger, my friend. But first…” He spread his arms theatrically, pacing the stage like a master of ceremonies. “I have a show for you all. One that will stir your deepest desires.”
A woman let out a long, indulgent moan from somewhere in the crowd.
Raul chuckled. “Exactly.”