Page 6 of Run Little Fawn

Damien glances back at us, a bemused smile on his lips, and I feel a flutter in my chest. God, he's just unfairly attractive. Maybe Natalie was right. Maybe I do need this, a night of reckless abandon and terrible decisions.

The Gilded Lady looms ahead, its art deco facade illuminated against the inky sky. Damien guides us through the lobby, past the raised eyebrows of the concierge, and into a waiting elevator. We pile in, the mirrored walls reflecting our flushed, grinning faces back at us.

This morning's Aria would be so embarrassed.

"Damn, Aria, you didn't mention he was loaded," Natalie whispers, eyeing the ornate elevator interior. "You hit the jackpot."

I elbow her in the ribs, heat crawling up my neck.

The elevator dings, the doors sliding open to reveal a dimly lit hallway. Music pulses from behind a set of double doors at the end, the bass a tangible thing, vibrating in my bones. Damien leads us forward, his hand at the small of my back again, making me shiver again.

Two huge men in suits guard the doors, their faces hidden behind sleek. impassive black masks. Damien murmurs something to them, too low for me to catch, and they nod, stepping aside in unison to let us through.

The ballroom is like something out of a fever dream, all swirling colors and writhing bodies. Elaborate chandeliers drip from the ceiling, casting everything in a soft, otherworldly glow. Waiters weave through the crowd, carrying tinkling trays of champagne flutes and cocktails in every color imaginable.

And the masks. Dear god, the masks.

They're everywhere, a dizzying array of feathers and jewels and glittering embellishments. Animal faces mingle with more abstract designs, the wearers' eyes glinting behind the disguises. It's surreal, like stepping into some strange, decadent wonderland where the normal rules don't apply.

"This is insane," Natalie breathes, her eyes wide as she takes it all in.

A laugh bubbles out of one of the bride's friends whose name I've forgotten by now. "Holy shit. Jules, your bachelorette party officially wins."

Jules grins, already plucking a peacock-feathered mask from a table near the door. "Damn straight it does. Now, let's get our masquerade on, bitches."

We each select a mask, the transformation immediate and thrilling enough that half the girls are already squealing. Natalie dons a glittering butterfly, the wings iridescent beneath the lights. The other girls choose an assortment of cats, rabbits, and birds until we're a veritable menagerie.

I hesitate, my fingers hovering over the options. A flash of reddish-orange catches my eye, and I pick up a fox mask, the pointed ears and sleek lines calling to me. I've always liked foxes, their cunning and adaptability, the way they seem to dance on the knife's edge between worlds as both predator and prey.

I slip the mask on, the cool material settling against my cheeks and forehead like a second skin. Damien watches me, having already donned a black crow mask, his gaze appraising.

"Looks like I found myself a vixen tonight," he purrs.

I grin, emboldened not only by the alcohol, but by the newfound sense of anonymity. "Better watch out, or this vixen might just eat you alive."

Wow, that was campy.

But he seems to love it. He laughs, low and dark, and pulls me into the throng of dancers as Natalie, Jules, and the others are surrounded by men of their own. Seems there's one for each of us. Anywhere else, that would be kind of freaky, but thanks to liquid courage and the elegant decor of the ballroom, I'm able to shove down the red-flag-waving angel on my shoulder.

As for the devil on my other shoulder, she's all for this.

"Promises, promises," he remarks.

It's electric, the way we move together, like we're the only two people in the room. The rest of the world falls away, until there's nothing but the pounding beat and the fire in my veins and the press of his body against mine.

And then, as quickly as it began, the spell is broken. Damien pulls away, his attention caught by a leggy blonde in a glittering cat mask. She crooks a finger at him in coy invitation and he goes immediately, leaving me flushed and breathless in the middle of the dance floor.

"Typical," I mutter, trying to ignore the sting of rejection.

I'm nothing special. He just wants to get lucky tonight. I should've known better than to get caught up in the moment.

I find Natalie again and the two of us fall back into our easy rhythm. She gives me a sympathetic look, her hand drunkenly fumbling out to squeeze mine.

"His loss, babe. You're a goddamn catch," she says, her painted lips over-emphasizing the last word. She sticks her tongue through her teeth and wrinkles her nose for good measure.

And then, out of nowhere, he appears.

A man in a wolf mask, the dark silver standing out starkly against the sleek strands of his platinum hair. He's tall, easily six-five, with broad shoulders that strain against the fabric of his impeccably tailored suit. There's something magnetic about him, a pull I can feel even from across the room.

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