Page 7 of Prince of Ruin
“Hang on,” Tay muttered. “Rodrigo is saying something. Apparently…. Rodrigo would like you to know that if he has to listen to another word about wet panties, he’s going to jump off a bridge.”
Sera spared a thought for the poor bastard who’d been assigned to Tay as her security for this mission. He’d hear everything.
“Apparently, he did not sign up for wet panties. I’m trying to work out what’s the male equivalent for wet panties. Rodrigo? Do you know?”
“How much sugar and caffeine have you had today?” Sera murmured.
“Hey! Rodrigo asked me the same question. And the answer is lots,” the little technowitch breathed. “Get me an IV stat.”
“Then focus. Where’s… Azazel?”
“Lookup.”
Sera’s gaze lifted. An enormous gallery hugged the walls upstairs, and opposite it was a wall of glass. Private quarters where you could watch the dancefloor beneath you without being seen.
She sipped on her drink and tried not to choke on her heartbeat.
A shadow appeared behind the glass.
Tall. Broad shouldered. Hands clasped in pockets.
She couldn’t make out the demon’s features, but her eyesight was good enough to pick out the cut of his suit. He stood there like a promise of sin. She could feel his eyes pick her out in the crowd and it was almost as if the smoked glass between them evaporated. The world faded away from her in that moment. The two of them were the only things that existed.
The impact hit her like a kick to the chest. There was that whirlpool again, sucking at her stomach, trying to drag her into his orbit.
Breathe, Sera. Just breathe.
“God, you’re so pretty.” The words were like the jarring screech of a record player. They drew her back into the room. “Wanna go somewhere and fuck?”
Sera blinked and found a new guy staring at her, his arms around her waist.
“That’s anofrom me.” She pushed away from him, slurping at her drink.
When she looked up, Azazel was gone.
Time for the reaping.
He’d have noticed her.
He had to have noticed her.
The spotlight lit up the white sequins on her dress like Christmas in Times Square.
And there’d been that look, right on the verge of a soul-gaze.
She couldn’t have been the only one who felt it.
She just hoped he didn’t know why a quiver had run through him when their gazes clashed.
Azazel madeher wait and when his evil henchmen—as Tay called them—put in an appearance, she couldn’t see him anywhere. Maybe he was too good for this. Maybe after all these years it bored him.
Maybe he hadn’t seen her, after all.
Five names were called. Five screams of joy cut through the sudden low groan of desperation.
She wasn’t chosen. But neither was ninety-eight percent of the crowd.
Damn it.
