Page 13 of A Dance Macabre

Although Aleksandr shares a similar disdain for Mercy and hasn’t been in the same room as Belladonna since his mother killed her father nineteen years ago, he seems rather unaffected by the situation. As for me, I’m stewing with irritation, chewing on my inner-lip and considering if I could just leave now before anyone notices.

Instead, I stay rooted in place, fists tight as I watch Aleksandr stroll further into the room. He plops himself beside Gemini, who takes his face in his ring-clad hands and kisses him loudly on the cheek.

Jaw clenched, my attention returns to Constantine. She stands unperturbed in the middle of the room, weapons of all shapes and sizes surrounding her, hands daintily clasped together near her waist as if performing in a pageant.

“What is the meaning of this little caucus?” I ask with a bite.

“Well,” Constantine starts, turning to Gemini for what seems to be moral support. But he’s too busy running his hand up one of the servants’ thighs while they hand him a drink to be of any help. “We thought — with the Conclave tomorrow, and with allour parents there — or what’s left of them,” she says to herself, “Maybe we could present a united front for once.”

“For what purpose?” Mercy asks, her tone ripe with aggravation, her clenched fingers curling into the cushion of her chair.

“Because feuds are boring,” Gemini responds to Mercy with a despondent sigh. His foolish gaze then finds mine. “Besides, you’re anything but boring, aren’t you Wolfie?”

“Don’t call me that, you pest,” I growl.

Gemini holds up his hands in surrender but continues to smirk, never the one to take anything seriously.

Slowly, I turn my gaze to Mercy, who is busy ignoring me, her arms now crossed tightly over her silk blouse, her black hair pulled back into a high ponytail, leaving her neck and shoulders uncovered aside from a pearl choker. Despite the hostile body language, she seems to have accepted our current fate, given that she hasn’t stormed out of the room as of yet.

I suck at my teeth while I bring my attention back to Constantine. Dragging my hand over my trimmed beard, I relent, after a long defeated sigh. “Fine. If we must.”

Constantine claps with glee. “We’re having croquembouche for dessert!” she says while falling into Aleksandr’s lap. I find a settee as far from Mercy as possible, mentally preparing to spend an entire soiree in her dreadful presence.

After a few rounds of drinks,we migrate to the dining room. It's a drafty and gaudy place—including the chandelier hanging above us. Constantine spent an excruciating amount of time showcasing the hanging pink bedazzled ornaments, made fromher favorite human bones specially collected for this accent piece.

I’m on my third bourbon, the servants busy clearing the plates of our last course when I feel a tingling warmth begin to bloom in my chest, the sensation slowly crawls down my spine and limbs.

I assume it’s just the alcohol, finally numbing the particularchillI’ve been feeling all evening until I glance around the table and realize suddenly that something is glaringly off.

Glassy eyes. Dreamy grins. Especially when my gaze falls on Mercy, who’s talking to Belladonna in hushed tones, cheeks flushed, eyes glimmering—and smiling?

“Why do I feel …” I say to no one in particular. My words trail off, my thoughts turning ephemeral.

“Horny?” Gemini offers, his gaze reflecting a similar daze as Mercy’s as he intercepts a passing servant. He drags them onto his lap, his hand up their skirt as he kisses them passionately.

“That’s not what I—” I stop abruptly, letting his statement sink in, suddenly realizing that there’s truth to Gemini’s glibness.

Constantine laughs, taking a sip of her Mojito as she trains her blue puppy eyes my way, her tone infuriatingly innocent when she finally says, “Oh that’s because I spiked our drinks.”

9

WOLFGANG

“You didwhat?!”

Mercy’s scathing question hangs in the air while the table falls silent, all eyes now on Constantine, except for Gemini who is still devouring that poor servant’s face. He either knew about this already or never cared if his drink was spiked in the first place.

“What?” Constantine asks, seeming to be genuinely taken aback by Mercy’s reaction. “It’s just some light social lubrication.”

“Lubrication forwhatexactly?” I ask through clenched teeth, trying to fight through the euphoric feeling suddenly muddling my head.

“For a fun night,” Aleksandr responds with a smirk. To no surprise, his gaze seems a lot clearer than the rest of us.

“You knew about this?” I hiss, sending him a cutting glare.

He shrugs, his gaze lingering on Constantine, while he circles his glass with a lazy finger.

Of course, he wouldn’t care if the drinks were spiked.

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