11. Sebastian
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SEBASTIAN
Stevie’s large dark eyes pin me with annoyance from the suggestion of hitting the dance floor together, and I revel in her annoyance.
Since she asked me to zip up her dress earlier this evening, my fingers have been craving the touch of her heated skin.
Not to mention how utterly breathtaking she looks tonight in her skintight, lacy black dress and the sexy as hell mask I ordered for her.
And when I saw that dress on the racks of gowns the personal shopper sent for me to choose from, I knew it would look good on her.
I shake myself out of it and quickly filter the inappropriate thoughts about a woman who—more or less—doesn’t like me much.
“You don’t want to dance with me?” I tease.
Stevie’s tongue darts out, licking her bottom lip as she shoots me a side-eye. “If you insist.”
I smile, take her hand in mine, and lead her to the wooden dance floor.
Couples dressed in Victorian costumes, all with their faces covered, move to the music.
Women wear elaborate masks with feathers or lace, and seductive dresses made from various fabrics which hug every curve.
But none of them compare to the woman standing in front of me.
As Stevie and I approach the middle of the dance floor, people part slightly, making room for us under the low lighting. My eyes capture hers and a smile breaks.
I slide my hand onto the small of her lower back and clasp the other in her opposite one. Her delicate fingers, with nails painted black, intertwined through mine.
“Don’t get too excited, Sebastian,” she warns with a smirk, resting her hand on my shoulder. “This is all for show.”
I pull her into me, bringing her body flush against mine. A tight gasp escapes her lips.
“Then let’s give these sick bastards a show, shall we?” I say.
“Never took you for a showman, Dark Prince.”
I glance around the room, keeping one eye on Stevie and the other alert to our surroundings, always aware. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“Seems like it,” she answers.
Her body moves slowly back and forth with mine to the band playing their own moody rendition of Florence + the Machine’s “Seven Devils.”
A few minutes pass before Stevie rests her head on my shoulder. “I do like this song.”
It’s nice. The sweet scent of her shampoo makes me lean into her.
“How long should we dance for?”
A man dressed in a black tuxedo slightly shorter than me briskly shoves through the crowd from my peripheral. But despite my instincts for danger kicking up, I need to remain controlled for her. “Let’s give it a little while longer—”
But before I can finish my sentence, I turn Stevie to the side in a twirl, blocking her from the unknown figure. Then, as quickly as he approaches, he walks right past us, but not before there’s a slight tug on the outside pocket of my jacket.
This is it.
They’ve made contact.
Squaring my shoulders, I take one more quick glance around the ballroom to find all the couples still dancing, then lower my head, bringing my lips to her ear.
“Someone slipped something in my pocket,” I whisper.
Her chest grows up a sharp rise. “Oh god.”
“Let’s go stand by the bar. There’s a lot more people over there. We’ll be able to read it without drawing any attention to ourselves.”
She nods, but her body is stiff.
Hand in hand, I guide Stevie off the dance floor and make my way through the crowds of people until we get to a spot to the side of the bar, close to the wall.
I pat her back, calming her, then with the other hand, I remove the folded paper from my pocket. With one more look around, I open it to read it.
Written in fine-tipped black ink is a single word: Library.
“What does that mean?” she asks.
“I think they want us to meet them in the library.”
“When? Now?”
“There’s no time stated, so I assume so.”
Stevie adjusts her mask in place, her hands slightly shaky. “Okay. But where is the library?”
Sensing her nervous energy increasing, I place two fingers under her chin, lifting it to meet her brown eyes. I need her to keep it together, and I know she can—maybe she needs a little encouragement first. “It’s going to be fine. You can do this.”
She tries to laugh it off. “Thanks.”
“Now, let’s locate the library.” If my cousin were here, he would have had this place mapped already. I did check out a quick map of the place on their website, so at least I have somewhat of an idea.
Making a quick sweep of the ballroom, I find what appears to be the entrance to a long hallway on the far side of the room.
As her heels click on the hardwood floors, we walk past waiters carrying more champagne, at which I gently give Stevie a disapproving eye when I see her glance at it.
She obliges me this time. When we approach the entryway, there’s a red velvet rope closing it off.
A place they don’t want regular guests to visit.
“This way,” I tell her, slipping between the wall and the golden pole holding up one end of the rope. They wouldn’t have any security guards, since this is a charity event open to the public.
We arrive at a long hallway where amber-colored sconces and massive paintings of random people and gothic graveyards decorate the maroon walls.
“I like the décor,” Stevie says nervously, maybe keeping her mind occupied on something else.
“Why am I not surprised?” I quip, poking at her for liking the outdated décor.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Before I can answer, I see a black figure dressed in a cloak with a hood pulled up to cover the top half of their face. The figure gives us a subtle wave, indicating for us to follow him before disappearing behind a door.
“Here we go.” I blow out a breath.
As we approach the end of the hallway, I can hear the way her breath quickens. Two tall double doors stand in front of us, one propped slightly open. Before I palm the stained wood, I look back at Stevie, who is on my heels.
“It’s not too late to change your mind.”
“I gave you my word I’d do it.” Naturally, she’s apprehensive, but there is confidence in her voice. “Besides, I have my own desire to do this, remember?”
“Fair enough,” I say. And with one swift shove, the door creaks open.
A dusty, earthy scent drags under my nostrils, the similar smell to the library we have back at Thompson Manor, but from my quick look around the dimly lit space, it’s much larger in scale. I step in first, gripping Stevie’s hand tightly to keep her behind me.
My back flexes at the other people in the room. My free hand slowly swings around my back to rest on the handgun safely tucked into my waistband. My eyes dart between seven people standing before us, dressed in black cloaks concealing their entire bodies.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a stern voice booms from the one to the far left.
“Who are you?” I ask.
My eyes continue to sweep the room, checking for any hidden threats, but all I see are tall shelves filled with old books and small sitting areas lit by vintage lanterns positioned on opposite corners of the room.
The figure who spoke steps forward. Possibly the leader. “You must be the Dark Prince, I presume?”
“That’s correct.” My hand hovers over the gun even though they told me not to bring one. Like I ever listen to what other people say anyway.
“And the beautiful lady with you?” He gestures toward Stevie.
“Yes, I’m his girlfriend,” she answers before I can.
“She speaks,” he taunts, bringing his hands into a praying position in front of his chest. “And your name?”
“Annabel Lee.” Stevie’s words come out without hesitation, but I pause, instantly recognizing the name. I never had a favorite poem, but now I do.
The cloaked man nods his head. “We have a poet among us?”
“No. I’m simply a muse for the dead.” Her eyes capture mine.
“We respect that around here, as each one of us has a…unique relationship with the living and the dead.”
A low and eerie chuckle rumbles between the cloaked members, and I can’t explain why the sound irritates me that they have something up on us. I’m usually not in the position of being at the mercy of others.
“Enough with the small talk,” I command. “Let’s get down to business.”
“A little controlling, are we?” he comments.
“Yes, my girlfriend and I would like to make sure we are around people with similar interests as us. The man I spoke with on the—”
“That was me,” he interrupts.
“Great. And since you know our names…we’re going to need to know yours, too.”
“Of course.” He turns to the dark figures standing less than ten feet away, and with a slight nod of his head, the first one speaks.
“Larry.” A figure steps forward.
“And I’m Silas,” the leader says. “That’s all you get for now.”
I hide my frustration with the secrecy, but I understand it. They have to learn to trust us first, because to them, they have more to lose. The Society doesn’t know if we are people trying to expose them or kill them—which we are.
“Fine,” I bite back. “So when will we get more information?”
“Eager to join, aren’t you, Dark Prince?”
“We’re called here, and now you’re telling us to wait?”
His cloak dusts the floor as he takes a few steps backward.
“Larry, hand them their phone,” he instructs, and the man standing to his right walks forward, but stops about a foot away from Stevie and me.
He extends his arm, and inside his palm is a small rectangular burner phone.
I recognized the model immediately. River and I have been using them for years.
I reach for it, but don’t let go of Stevie’s hand, so I take her with me.
“We will contact you both on this device going forward.”
After slipping it into my pants pocket, I step back. “Thanks.”
“Good to meet you both, and we look forward to getting to know you better shortly,” Silas says, as the door to the library opens from behind me, giving us the silent sign it’s time to go.
“Looking forward to it,” Stevie says. “Goodbye.” Her feminine voice is sweet, but level, like she won’t let them intimidate her.
We walk back into the lighted glow of the hallway. Once we’re halfway back to the ballroom and safe from earshot of the library, I turn to her and whisper, “How are you doing?”
She blows out a heavy breath. “Well, I can finally breathe now, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“You did really well,” I tell her as we make it into the ballroom.
“Thanks.”
“Oh, and the name…Annabel Lee?”
“What about it?”
“Poe?”
Her lashes lower and her lids narrow. “You’re familiar with the great EAP?”
“Obviously.”
“Do you like it?”
“I do.” I smile. “You did a good job tonight.” I grab a champagne flute from a silver tray as one of the waiters walks by and hand it to her.
She grins and takes the glass. “Thank you.”
I glance around the room one more time. “This is the last one, and then we need to head back to the manor.”
With a playful smirk, she downs the drink again. “Let’s go.”
And as I lead Stevie out of the mansion and into the cool night air, I replay the events that just transpired. Stevie handled herself well, but I struggled with being at the mercy of a group of serial killers.
So, I guess, now we wait once again for them to reach out to us. Something I’m not looking forward to.