Chapter 5 #2
A single glance sufficed for me to know this was Angelique.
The long silver white hair alone gave it away.
Her ankle-length, second skin of a black dress left little to the imagination.
The plunging neckline was deep enough to give vertigo to the most resilient person.
And yet, she managed to make it look elegant instead of vulgar.
How she managed to walk on those sky-high stilettos defied gravity.
The blood red lipstick on her generous lips certainly served its purpose in drawing attention to her face.
Every man in attendance couldn’t help but steal covetous glances her way, even those whose emotions claimed they resented and even hated her.
“And what a mighty fine specimen of manhood you have brought us tonight, Angie continued, pressing her hand to her chest.
The same blood-red color on her manicured nails acted in a similar fashion as they did on her lips, but this time by drawing wandering eyes to her perky breasts.
“No wonder you kept him hidden from us. In your shoes, I’d definitely do the same.”
She added that last sentence while giving me a less-than-subtle once over.
“Hello, Angelique,” Coral replied with the appropriate level of friendliness, even though every emotion radiating from her expressed that she wanted to cuss her out instead. “Thank you for the invitation. This is my boyfriend, Vazul Droog. Vazul, please meet our host, Angelique Delaney.”
Droog wasn’t my last name. Lidercs—and most underworld beings for that matter—didn’t have surnames.
But in the Mortal Realm, we often took a last name that represented the circle we came from, our breed, or classification.
In my case, it was an anagram of the Hungarian word ?rdog, which meant demon.
Although I knew she intended to introduce me that way, Coral claiming me as her boyfriend instead of her servant did the craziest thing to me.
The not-so-subtle way in which she emphasized the nature of our relationship almost made me hard.
I loved being publicly claimed by her. I wanted to thump my chest and shout from the rooftops.
Instead, I slipped a possessive arm around my woman, drew her tightly against me, and settled my palm just on the side of that scrumptious behind of hers.
Fuck, now I want to give it a good nip again!
“Hello, Ms. Delaney,” I said in my most courteous voice.
Although we had never met, I recognized the unpleasant taste of her emotions.
I remembered all too well the time she devoted trying to get me to hatch.
The greed, the impatience, the anger, and the malice had been overwhelming.
She’d acquired my egg with very specific goals in mind.
My failure to hatch on her timeline infuriated her as it derailed the lucrative plans she had been setting in motion.
Once she realized who I was, she would lose her shit.
And I was here for it.
“Oh please, call me Angelique, or better yet, just Angie!” she exclaimed with an almost offended expression.
“Ms. Delaney is my mother. I’m much too young and single to be called this way in an intimate setting, and especially among friends.
So I hope you’ll allow me to call you Vazul. Such a lovely and unusual name.”
I responded with a stiff smile and bowed my head in concession. Although she couldn’t find fault with my response, the perceptive female immediately caught that her charms weren’t working on me. The instant anger that stirred within her pleased me to no end.
And we’re only getting started.
“But do come in,” she continued, gesturing at the interior of the impressively large penthouse.
To my utter annoyance, she seized the opportunity to touch my bare upper arm, giving it a shameless caress while pretending to be nudging me forward. I pulled away from her touch in a way that wasn’t flat out rude but also left little doubt that I did not appreciate the contact.
She licked her lips, her wheels spinning as to how she was going to get me to give in to her.
Far from offending her, my reaction only made her even more determined to have her way.
To Angelique, my resistance wasn’t sincere.
The wretched female believed I was merely playing hard to get and issuing a direct challenge to what she deemed herself entitled to.
I couldn’t wait to crush her spirit a bit more with each of her disrespectful attempts.
“Everyone, this is the very handsome Vazul, gracing us with his presence. Please see to it that you make him feel very welcome,” Angelique shouted to all the attendees.
Like properly trained pets, most of them approached us, giving a polite greeting to Coral before excessively fussing over me. Saying I wanted to crack each and every one of their skulls would be quite the understatement.
The only thing that made it bearable was how relieved my Mistress felt about having less focus on her.
The guilt she felt about me sustaining the brunt of all that unrequited attention might have been problematic.
But it soon gave way to almost malicious enjoyment as she watched me squash every overly flirtatious overture the other guests made me.
It was obvious enough to recognize it for what it was, but also not so blatant that you could openly call them out for it.
Merely moments after I finally finished being introduced to all the attendees, Angie invited everyone to follow her to her workshop for an exclusive preview of her collection.
I frowned when Coral instantly tensed. Why would she be so worried?
I didn’t know what Angie might have concocted, but my Mistress’ collection was absolutely stellar.
By the time I finished polishing what she had already put together, it would be very hard to rival.
With a theatrical gesture, our hostess opened wide the double doors located at the other end of the penthouse. As one, the crowd started moving forward. We followed, lagging a bit behind as I took in our surroundings.
The place was flawless in a very clinical and calculated way.
Everything was in shades of dark blues, black, deep burgundy, and little hints of silver.
That latter color surprised me. I would have expected gold instead.
The clever balancing of so many dark colors with white ceilings and much lighter furniture kept the place from being gloomy.
The countless immense windows also made the place more luminous.
During the daytime, it had to be wonderful.
And the evening was nothing to sneeze at either, as it offered a breathtaking view of the illuminated city at night.
However, this entire place had no soul. The modern furniture with sharp edges and polished surfaces didn’t beckon you to just sit down and relax.
You constantly felt like you had to check yourself not to break anything like in a showroom.
We might as well have been transported into one of those interior decoration magazines.
Chances were that was exactly where this entire design came from.
In sharp contrast, my Coral’s house boasted warm earthy tones, with lots of beige, cream, and little blasts of color that made it inviting.
But above all, her decor had personality to it and said something about her.
Whether some quirky mask on the wall, exotic sculpture on her shelf, or various literature from over-the-top comedy to very serious encyclopedias, with the occasional murder mystery and even comic book, everything revealed one of the many mesmerizing facets of who she was.
As soon as we entered the workshop, the stench of imp magic slapped my nose.
I couldn’t repress a snort as I approached the rather impressive collection.
Coral peered up at me with curiosity and more of that nonsensical insecurity.
The silly female thought that my reaction might have been prompted by the fact that I was blown away by her rival’s collection—although Angelique clearly was no competition.
I gave her a reassuring smile laced with smugness that had her eyes widen in surprise.
She didn’t know what thoughts were coursing through my mind, but the way her shoulders relaxed indicated she at least understood that my thoughts were positive on her behalf.
I couldn’t wait to get back in the car and tell her why she should pat herself on the back.
The collection was as well executed as it was unimaginative.
Where my Coral had created her own story of a haunting wreaking havoc on the Victorian city, Angie had fallen back on a safe classic.
Her collection revolved around the story of Dracula.
Every building and outdoors scene featured key moments of the tale.
Although she also had a variety of miniature items as standalones, she didn’t have the furniture with embedded miniature inserts.
I highly doubted anyone else would, aside from maybe some book nooks.
While I couldn’t fault Angie for not necessarily possessing the storytelling talent that my woman did, it was the fact that she hadn’t performed the work herself that irked me.
Did she even possess any crafting abilities?
Because she clearly had not done any of this work.
I could almost see the residual magic that had woven these objects into existence.
My Coral had done all the work herself, and I had just stepped in to polish it.
Granted, there were no rules requiring that the exhibitors do all the manual labor themselves, but it underlined how my female was the superior miniaturist.
I struggled not to roll my eyes as Angelique strutted her stuff and preened under the praises people were showering her with.
We also politely complimented her on her collection.
It wasn’t even a lie to the extent that it was indeed decent.
It just didn’t live up to my woman’s work—not that I was biased in any way.