Page 15 of A Dance Macabre

Pleasure tickles my skin, my spine tingling when I notch my cock against her entrance. I can hear her soft, impatient breaths and I wish I could see her face, wish I could properly hear her moans dance across my neck.

But before I can sink to the hilt, something catches my attention. The heels on her feet, a row of pearls adorning her ankles.

No.

I rip myself away from the wall, almost falling backward with the speed of my action.

It can’t be.

I feel sick, realizing how close I came to breaking one of our divine laws. I curse the gods under my breath while I pull up my trousers, my heart slamming against my chest, and then curse Constantine for having drugged us in the first place.

I leave seconds later, practically running out of Manor, needing as much distance from the woman behind the curtain—Mercy Crèvecoeur.

10

MERCY

My heels echo through the long empty halls of Mount Pravitia, the high arches and stained glass windows filtering the sun’s rays in hues of blue, yellow, and red. The building sits at the very center of the city, a colossal gothic feat with twin spires piercing the sky as if yearning to be anywhere but here.

I know the feeling intimately.

Especially after last night and Constantine’switlessdinner party.

I’m itching to drive my dagger deep into Constantine’s gut for spiking the drinks. Acting like we were still a gaggle of unruly teenagers, instead of us being in our late twenties and thirties.

Not like that psychopathic doll would be bothered by the pain anyway.

Then came the bizarre ending to my night—or lack thereof.

Frustration prickles under my skin recalling how I was left on the cusp of an orgasm. I haven’t used Manor’slesser-knownservices in over a year, but I never did think I’d experience someone leaving mid-way through.

I believe it was a man by the feel of his rough touch and thick fingers.

A man who, before leaving me high and dry made me feel …

I can’t say that sex has ever felt that exceptional before.

His tongue on my clit. His groans against my thighs. Fingers digging into my skin.

I was insatiable. Spellbound.

My stomach heats with the memories, and I quickly give my head a quick shake to snap myself out of it. Ridiculous. The drugs were certainly the cause for the heightened emotions.

When I enter the boardroom where the Conclave is taking place, I glance around the room and realize that I’m early.

Aleksandr’s mother, Alina Vorovsky—the current ruler of Pravitia—stands at the head of the long quartz table, her son and husband sitting on either side of her.

Her severe expression does nothing to dull her beauty, with her piercing emerald eyes and pin-straight hair the color of sand. She stands stoic in her wine-red dress lined with fur, shoulders straight and rigid while wearing priceless heirlooms around her neck as everyday accessories.

Belladonna is already seated at the opposite end of the table, copper hair pulled up in a high ponytail, the dark circles she tried and failed to hide with makeup prove that I’m not the only one feeling ghastly this morning.

The silence in the room is as heavy as the upcoming parley.

My friend’s glare and icy body language explain the pointed silence. She blames the death of both of her parents on the Vorovsky family, particularly the death of her father when she was ten years old.

Being the only other orphan amongst the six heirs, I silently take a seat beside Belladonna and wait for the others to arrive with their respective parents.

Gemini appears shortly after, accompanied by his mother. By the looks of him, I’d guess he hasn’t slept a wink but still acts aggravatingly chipper, blowing me a kiss before sitting closest to Aleksandr.

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