Page 200 of Flirting with Darkness

Because much as I’d cursed spending thirty nights here, as the days ticked by, I found myself less relieved at my impending escape from this house and more heavy at the thought of losinghim.

Because being without him in my life would be worse than waking without him in my bed.

I didn’t dare ask what he dreamed of outside of House’s memories.

Instead, I ran him sweet smelling baths and massaged his temples and scalp. I made him calming chamomile tea and made him lie on the settee while I read from storybooks I found in the library. Anything I could think of to ease his exhaustion and stress, I tried. But he still looked so tired.

By the time I’d marked twenty-eight days in the old almanack—two days before freedom—the slices on my arm had closed into red scars, and he declared I could start some gentle training.

I threw myself into it, grateful for the distraction and at the same time grateful for the excuse to spend every moment I could with him.

31

A DIFFERENT KIND OF PARTY

That night, House didn’t spare us from its memories. But perhaps it had picked up on my wants, longings, fears, because when we woke in the dream, we were naked in bed, with two outfits laid out on top of the sheets. A loose sleeveless gown for me, the pale green fabric a whisper away from being see-through, and for Faolán just a pair of trousers, which it quickly became clear were very,verytight.

I tried to bite back laughter as he glared in the mirror at the trousers clinging to his legs. Still glowering, he hunted through all the drawers and wardrobe.

They were empty, and I failed, my laugh coming out in a strangled guffaw. “I think House just really wants you to wear those.” I raised my hands, helpless. “Unless you want this?” I gestured at my gown, which it turned out dipped so low at the back, it almost exposed my backside.

The flicker of a smile edged his mouth as he surveyed me, the brown and gold flecks of his eyes catching light. “I much prefer that onyou.”

That fire in his eyes spread to me, making my skin too hot, despite the lightness of my outfit, and I bit my lip. “You do?” I gave him a playful grin and turned to give him a full view, brushing my hands over the loose mass of fabric, holding it taut over my body. “What bit do you like?”

When I returned to facing him, he was suddenly very close, having moved across the floor on those silent feet of his. His eyes were molten now, gaze sliding across my shoulders that were bare save for the thin straps. It wasn’t a touch, but it jolted through me all the same, making my tongue forget the other teasing comments I’d planned.

His hands flexed at his side as he took a long breath. “I like all the places it isn’t.”

I hadn’t even worked out a reply to that when a gong sounded in the distance and the door to our room swung open. Sharing a look of concern, we tried not to go, but our feet were treacherous, carrying us to the door the moment we were distracted, then down the hall, until eventually we sighed and obeyed the gong’s summons.

Faolán took my hand, threading his fingers between mine, and squeezed. It made my back straighten.

Whatever House decided to throw at us tonight, we would face it together.

* * *

Again, House took us to the great white doors that led to the ballroom. Music whispered through the door, mingling with laughter and another sound… A moan? I shrank away, stomach knotting at the prospect of more sacrifice, more torture, more and more of the sapphire-eyed woman’s cruelty.

I went to exchange a look with Faolán, but he stood stock-still, eyes fixed on the doors, nostrils flaring. His grip on my hand grew hard, as did the naked expanse of his chest, making the wolves tattooed there flex and writhe.

My throat clenched at what might have such an effect on him. “What’s—?”

The doors swung open.

Rather than a mirrored room with the vine-tiled floor, the ballroom was a heaving expanse of flesh.

I had to blink a few times to truly understand what I was seeing.

Naked bodies, dozens—maybe a hundred of them, maybe even more, upon each other, under each other, tangled together. Their groans and gasps rose and fell, interspersed with cries and laughter, murmured conversation and bellowed commands. They were fucking. All of them. And in so many different ways.

The only people who weren’t were the dozen musicians on a low stage at the far end of the room, though they wore no clothes, just masks.

I hadn’t even realised we’d moved, but Faolán raised my hand to help me step over a fae’s legs, and the ballroom doors closed behind us.

We picked our way across the room, between the couples and groups, and even some who took their enjoyment solo, our bare feet padding in a silence that didn’t disturb the music’s low thrum or the people fucking.

The rhythm trembled in the air, vibrating into my body, tugging low in my belly likeIwas one of their instruments.

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