Page 8 of A Dance Macabre

It’s just after midnight and the place is packed as always. Vore is one of many exclusive supper clubs and restaurants owned by the Vorovsky family around the city.

The lights are dim, candlelight dancing against countless faces while inebriated laughter and the clink of glasses rise up from busy tables. The crowd seems to pay no mind to the half-dressed burlesque acrobats perched on large swings hanging from the ceiling, lazily swaying this way and that, diamonds dripping from their necks and wrists.

I scan the dark green booths in the far corner of the room until my gaze falls on Aleksandr. He proves to be an easy mark to find tonight, his open Hawaiian shirt garish and loud compared to the stylish crowd surrounding him. I roll my eyes at the offense. The dress code never seems to apply to him—not when his last name is Vorovsky.

Turning to Dizzy still standing next to me, I hand her my credit card between two fingers.

“Indulge yourself. You deserve it after today.”

I’m sure Marcus’ blood wasn’t easy to wash out of my suit. Nor the disposal of his body for that matter. She quirks half a smile but keeps her expression flat before taking the card out of my hand and walking away.

Ignoring the maître d’, I stroll across the room, the crowd effortlessly parting to make way for me. Aleksandr spots me as I approach the table, his half-lidded gaze dancing over me. His mustache quirks up as a slow smirk appears on his face.

“The prodigal son,” he drawls when I finally reach the booth. His gaze snaps to the small group sitting around the table. “Out.”

They scamper like mice, emptying the booth in seconds. Sliding in, I accept the vodka on ice that Aleksandr hands me and take a slow sip. Not my usual drink of choice, but it’ll do.

My gaze lingers on my childhood friend, studying him. He tilts his head, hazel eyes sparkling mischievously, waiting for meto say something, the ring on his thumb rapping on the table as he idly drums his fingers.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” I finally say, with a raised eyebrow.

His head falls back against the booth, slowly chuckling. “Trust me, they know who you are.” His snicker turns into a pleased groan, his hand disappearing under the table. “I can feel the tremble in their lips around my cock.” His eyes fall back on me. “Turns me on.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t need a play-by-play, Sasha,” I say, using the nickname I’ve had for him since childhood while I take another sip of vodka.

Aleksandr’s mouth curls, eyelids fluttering shut for half a second and I let him enjoy himself before speaking again.

“Have you begun the preparations?”

He keeps his head resting behind him as his relaxed gaze finds mine. “For the Feast of Fools or the Lottery?”

My eyes skate over the crowd, before answering. “Both.”

His tattooed throat works around a swallow, and he slowly licks his lips as if thinking. “Preparations for the Feast of Fools are underway, nothing I can’t handle,” he says with a bored wave of his hand. “As for the Lottery, I’m sure my mother will inform us at the Conclave next week. Besides,” His grin turns dark, “None of us are truly in charge of that, are we?”

“Indeed.” My laugh is dry. “But your family has been in power for more than half of your life. You must have some apprehensions about the whole—” I pause as if searching for the next words. “Exchangeof power.”

Aleksandr smooths his tongue over his teeth. He’s about to respond when he jolts slightly forward, closing his eyes and letting out a satisfied guttural hum. He falls back into the booth, his heavy gaze dreamy and slightly unfocused.

I give him a deadpan stare, waiting.

“Did you want to partake?” he asks instead of answering my question.

I stare at him some more, trying to wordlessly relay how annoying I think he’s being.

Finally, I sigh. “Who is it?” Breaking eye contact, I take a peek under the table to satiate my curiosity.

I wouldn’t agree to justanyone.

Satisfied with who’s under the table, I give Aleksandr a quick nod. “They will do.”

He settles into the booth looking cheerful as if excited to be sharing one of his favorite toys.

While deft hands open my trousers and pull out my cock, Aleksandr finally returns to the subject at hand. “I’m not nervous about the Lottery per se … more morbidly curious to see which family will feud next,” he says with a mocking laugh. “What if it’s us?”

I flash him an agreeing look but ignore his question. “I’m sure everyone will be on edge until then.” My grip tightens around the sweating tumbler, arousal shooting up my spine as a wet mouth swallows deeply around my hard shaft.

“Not to mention that the Carnalis haven’t been in the same room with my family in a little under nineteen years,” he adds.

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