Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
“Why?” Disbelief crosses his face, visible even through the muted contortions of the mask.
“Because you’re sly and stunning, and I can’t stomach the thought of you getting snuffed out.
And, yes, maybe you use humor to cope a little too often, but that’s only because you are so strong you refuse to break.
You’re fierce and fearless to a fault, and I want to explore every inch of you, inside and out.
So don’t insult me and ask why I’m so intent on making sure you make it out alive. Not when you make me feel—”
He breaks off, gazing at me with an intensity so electric it feels like I stuck my finger into a 170-volt socket. The current between us is inescapable, a lightning bolt destined to strike.
“I make you feel what?” The question escapes me, desperate and daring.
Awe shines on his face as he tucks a curl behind my ear that escaped my half updo. “That’s it. You make me feel.”
His eyes flutter shut and he swallows, like he’s steeling himself. Between our proximity and the music and his confession, I can’t think straight enough to decipher why.
“I haven’t felt like this since—since before, or maybe ever.” He reopens his eyes and they’re pleading, like he needs me to understand something. “There’s a reason for that. I know I should have told you sooner, but—”
He’s cut off by the music crashing to an end and the lights going out.
He presses me to his chest protectively as squeals and screams fill the air, though it’s impossible to tell if they’re born of mirth or murder.
It only lasts a handful of moments before a single spotlight shoots through the lobby like a laser, illuminating an individual descending from the ceiling in a hoop.
More spotlights click on as a slower, sensual musical number starts.
Each highlights a woman dangling in the air using black aerial silks.
They wear scarlet skintight outfits and move in perfect synchronicity.
Oohs and aahs rise around us, everyone watching the aerial artists swing languidly overhead.
I want to grab every single silk and yank them all down; to tell the musicians to shut it so I can make Luke finish what he was about to tell me.
But like everyone else, his attention is captured by the aerial artists as they spin and flip and tumble through the air.
They move as a perfect unit, their hair gliding with them.
“It’s harder than it looks,” I tell Luke, to get his attention off them and back on me.
I did exactly three aerial-arts workout classes with a friend while in college, and all three times I barely made it more than a handful of feet off the ground.
Those silks hurt more than their flowy fabric suggests.
“I think it looks very hard,” he says. Some of the raw emotion that was etched in his eyes moments ago has fled. But his heart is a traitor to the rest of him, racing against mine. We’re eye to eye, mouth to mouth.
The languid music and his startling confession makes a carnal need to kiss him shoot through my body. As if he can tell, his hands tighten around my waist, face dipping toward mine. His breathing is unsteady, his lips brushing my own with each shaky exhale. It’s not enough. I need more.
The gnawing inside me is a sensation I’ve struggled to muster since entering the underworld. Hunger. But now I know what I’m really hungry for.
The next time his lips brush mine, I don’t let them leave. I pull him impossibly closer, pressing myself against him as his fingers dig into my sides. He takes advantage of my gasp and deepens the kiss.
It’s as if the masks aren’t between us, like the dancers aren’t above and the monsters aren’t around.
He moves us backward without breaking the seal of our mouths, pushing through the wall of people ogling up at the performers.
If they mind, I can’t bring myself to care.
My head feels fuzzy, like it’s full of cotton.
Nothing matters except the man in front of me and getting closer, closer, closer.
Another gasp escapes when my back bumps up against one of the columns.
Luke has pushed us to the outskirts of the crowd.
He finds the slit of my dress and grabs my thigh, his fingers trailing over my sheathed dagger and inching higher, hiking my dress up.
I arch against him, a pleading whine escaping me when his hand dodges where I was hoping he was heading to cup my ass.
Despite me being nearly the same height, thanks to my platforms, apparently it’s not enough for him.
He lifts me so I’m supported by him and the column, a shift that puts us even closer so I can wrap my legs around his waist.
I should be worried about his shoulder, or if we’re making a spectacle—or, or, or. But I don’t care about any of it. I don’t even remember why we’re here. We should have never left the house, never left the bathroom. We could have been doing this for hours. We should have been—
My thoughts short circuit as his lips break away from mine to kiss my neck.
“What do you want?” he groans into my skin, voice ragged. It’s a question I’ve never been able to answer because no one’s ever truly asked me before.
“I want to— Fuck!”
“Where?” His gaze is desperate and dark with desire.
It’s like I got dunked in a cold plunge. Past him, the big hand on the clock is nearly aligned with the little hand inching toward twelve. I gasp, my dress cutting into me with the movement. “What? No, not that. I mean, yes, but— Look!”
I turn Luke toward the big omniscient moon looming over us, minutes away from midnight.
“We have to remove the masks,” I remind him, reaching for his first. But he evades my touch.
Whatever spell was over us shatters as he drops me to my feet and rapidly blinks awareness back into his gaze.
He’s looking around, confused, until his eyes latch onto something on the far wall behind me.
Then they go nearly as wide as the clock moon.
I turn to see whatever has him so shaken. “What—”
“No!” His voice is sharp as his hands push me against the column so my back is pressed to it again. “We can’t remove the masks—not yet. It will reveal our identities to the hounds. We can’t leave this room until he comes. This is all leading up to the devil’s entrance.”
Of course it is. I should have known that except…except I’m so disoriented I temporarily forgot what we were here for. I lean against the column, clarity rushing back. The veil. We’re here for the veil. How could I forget that? How long were we making out? What the hell just happened?
“The eclipse,” Luke says, as if he can see the questions ricocheting through my mind.
His own mind seems frantic, spinning like a hamster wheel.
“Emotions are peaking the closer we get to the super blue-blood moon. Paired with the music, it’s easy for everything but our deepest desires to slide away.
I thought I’d be immune to it to keep us on track, but”—he blows out an aggravated breath—“obviously not. I’m sorry. ”
I don’t know what he’s apologizing for until I realize how red his mouth is. Blood red. I lick my lips and taste the metallic, salty tang. My chewed-up bottom lip didn’t stand a chance.
“What do we do?” I ask, still woozy. “The masks—”
“We need to split up.”
He did not just say that right now. “Don’t even.”
He shakes his head. “It’ll dilute our scent and give us the best chance at losing the hounds.”
I push off the column and jab a finger into his chest. “I’m not—”
I’m interrupted by his lips crashing into mine. All thoughts slip away, like a scoop of ice cream melting off the cone to meet its fate on the hot asphalt. It’s just us again, our mouths moving hungrily and his fingers gripping my jaw, making want erupt inside of me.
It’s a goodbye kiss and I hate him for it.
Well too fucking bad—I wasn’t ready to say goodbye at Beliar’s and I’m not ready to say goodbye now. I rip away first, ducking under the cage of his arm so I end up behind him on the edge of the dance floor. He spins to face me, reaching out to tug me back to him, but I evade his grasp.
“I’m not leaving you,” I tell him, lacing my words with heat. “We’re in this to—”
Together is lost to the feral symphony as my eyes hook on a portrait hanging on the wall behind him.
It’s last in a line of many massive oil paintings.
Gilded frames outline cutting images of men dressed in all-black corporate attire.
Their dark gazes are fathomless and frigid, an air of power exuding from them.
The black jagged glass crowns they wear make their identities inescapable.
Devils. All of them.
“Brie, it’s almost midnight. The mask—”
“I thought you said your brother was fraternal?” I ask, sidestepping Luke to approach the portrait. I stop before it, gazing up at the familiar face.
“He is.”
Luke’s voice sounds dejected. I turn to face him and immediately, I wish I hadn’t. His mask might as well be gone. His expression betrays every ounce of guilt as he swallows, searching for words—lies—that aren’t there. I guess the well has run dry.
“I’ll tell you everything, just not here,” he finally promises.
“That’s funny.” I don’t laugh as the final piece of the puzzle snaps into place. “I thought we already told each other everything. You show me yours, I’ll show you mine, right? That’s what we promised yesterday.”
I know it must be nearly midnight, that the devil will enter at any moment, creating our perfect opportunity to slip away. But suddenly, I’m not sure which devil I should be running from—the one that’s coming or the one standing right in front of me.