Page 33 of My Big Fat Fake Alien

My scales itch beneath the image inducer. Something feels off about this personal greeting.

"Giscard. I didn't expect you to meet us personally."

"Nonsense! Your first night at the Hellfire Club deserves special attention." He extends his hand to Raven, helping her from the car. "My dear, you look absolutely stunning. That dress is exquisite."

Raven's fingers tighten on his offered hand. "Thank you, Mr. Lalonde."

"Please, call me Giscard." He guides us through the main floor toward a private elevator tucked behind an ornate panel. "Isimply cannot wait to show you both everything the club has to offer. The amenities are... extraordinary."

The elevator ascends smoothly. At the sixth floor, the doors part with a soft chime. Giscard reaches into his jacket pocket and produces two domino masks - one black, one gold. He holds them out to us.

"What are the masks for?" I ask, studying the intricate designs.

Giscard's smile widens as he dons his own silver mask. "Oh, my dear Mr. Stevens, we all wear masks here." He turns, gesturing us to follow him down a hallway lined with Roman columns and red velvet drapery.

"We all wear masks?" Raven whispers beside me, her voice tight with concern. "Is he messing with us?"

"Perhaps," I murmur back, my warrior's instincts screaming warnings. "Be on your guard."

The doors to the Hellfire Club swing open, and the scene that unfolds hits me like a plasma blast to the chest. The room is a cacophony of sound, color, and movement, a symphony of decadence that makes my scales itch beneath my human disguise. Giscard steps aside with a flourish, gesturing us forward like a ringmaster introducing the main act.

Raven’s hand tightens around mine as we step inside, her grip betraying the tension she’s trying to mask. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfume, sweat, and something metallic—like the faint tang of blood. My instincts sharpen, my senses on high alert. This place is a hunting ground, and we’ve just walked into the lion’s den.

The main lounge is a sprawling expanse of marble floors and velvet drapery, dotted with clusters of masked guests sipping champagne and engaging in hushed conversations. But it’s the other guests that catch my attention—the ones who aren’t content to simply talk. Scattered across the room, couples arelocked in various states of intimacy, their masks doing little to conceal the raw hunger in their eyes. A woman in a feathered mask straddles her partner on a leather chaise, her moans mingling with the soft strains of a string quartet. Nearby, a man in a silver mask kneels before his lover, his hands bound with a silk scarf as she strokes his hair.

Raven’s fingers dig into my arm, pulling my attention back to her. Her dark eyes are wide, her lips parted in a mixture of shock and fascination. I lean down, my lips brushing her ear.

"We can leave if this upsets you," I murmur, my voice low enough that only she can hear.

Her response is a breathy whisper.. "Trust me, Karc. Feeling upset is not the problem I’m having right now."

I pull back to look at her, and the heat in her gaze is enough to make my own mask feel suffocating. Her cheeks are flushed, her chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. For a moment, the room fades away, the noise and spectacle replaced by the sound of her heartbeat and the faint tremor in her voice. I can’t help myself—I close the distance between us, my lips crashing into hers with a hunger that surprises even me.

Raven melts into the kiss, her hands sliding up to grip the lapels of my jacket as if she’s afraid I’ll pull away. The taste of her is intoxicating, a mix of champagne and something uniquely her that sets my blood on fire. Our masks press together, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat building between us.

A low chuckle breaks the spell, and we pull apart to find Giscard watching us with an approving smile. "Oh, you’re going to fit right in here," he says, his tone dripping with amusement.

Raven’s cheeks flush a deeper shade of red, but she doesn’t drop her gaze. Instead, she squares her shoulders and gives Giscard a look that could melt steel. "Glad to hear it," she says, her voice steady despite the storm I can see raging behind her eyes.

Giscard gestures for us to follow him toward the buffet table, and I keep Raven’s hand firmly in mine as we weave through the crowd. Her fingers are warm, her grip a silent promise that she’s not going anywhere. And neither am I.

Giscard leads us through the club like a proud homeowner showing off his estate. The swimming pool area hits us first - a symphony of splashing water and passionate moans. Bodies writhe in and around the pool, their masks glinting in the low light.

Raven's breath catches beside me. Her fingers tighten on mine, but she doesn't look away.

The dungeon is mercifully empty when we reach it. Chrome and leather gleam under spotlights - whips, crops, and more exotic implements I recognize from my centuries of experience. Raven's eyes linger on a Saint Andrew's cross, her pupils dilating behind her mask. I file that reaction away for later.

A plain door in the corner catches my attention. It's out of place among the carefully curated decadence.

"What's through there?"

"Just maintenance." Giscard's smile doesn't waver, but his eyes narrow fractionally. "Nothing interesting, I assure you."

My warrior's instincts surge. That micro-expression tells me everything I need to know. Whatever lies behind that door, it's far from mundane.

But Giscard's already steering us back toward the main room, his hand hovering possessively at Raven's elbow. The crowd has gathered in a circle, their attention focused inward on something we can't yet see.

"Ah, we're just in time." Giscard's smile widens. "I've prepared a special entertainment just for our two newest members."

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