Page 40 of Firethorne
I applied my make-up, giving myself smoky eyes to complement the outfit, and then I shimmied into the dress, surprised that it fitted me so well. Okay, it was a little short, shorter than I’d have liked, but as I stood in front of the mirror, I had to admit that I looked good. Damn good.
I sat on the bed and pulled each of the thigh-high boots on, zipping them up, then standing again. I admired how much taller and leaner they made my legs look. Last, it was the horns. I brushed my long black hair and then slid the hairband on, the horns sitting perfectly on the top of my head. I hadn’t been tomany parties. I hadn’t been to any costume parties. But I knew, as outfits went, this one was kick-ass.
“Not bad at all, Cole,” I whispered to myself, picking up the pitchfork and giving a wicked chuckle. “Who wants to be an angel, anyway?”
Walking up the front steps of Firethorne Manor, I could hear the music thumping from inside, the bass pounding in beat with my heart. I felt so nervous, but I didn’t want to show it.
Heading to the open door, I could see a crowd of people already gathered in the reception area; red devils, horned demons, and angels all mingling, holding glasses of champagne as they chatted easily with one another. I took a moment to stand in the doorway and take it all in.
I didn’t know anyone here, and scanning the room, I couldn’t see Lysander or Miriam anywhere. It was blatantly clear I was an outsider, and suddenly, I had an attack of nerves and had to fight the urge to turn around and walk away. But then, I heard a familiar voice call to me from across the crowd.
“Maya! Oh my God, Maya. You look amazing.”
Lysander pushed his way through the crowd, and I caught my breath as I stared at him, looking absolutely breathtaking. His chest was bare and covered with shimmering golden paint. Every perfect pec and ab, every muscle shining as he flexed while walking over to me. He wore a gold loin cloth, had huge golden wings on his back, and above his head sat a golden halo. Lysander, the God of angels, looked stunning. I was speechless.
“Wow,” I managed to say as he came to stand in front of me and leant down to place a tender kiss on my cheek.
“Maya the devil. Who knew?” He winked, and I blushed. I know I blushed because I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, and I dipped my head, but he put his finger under my chin, and I lifted my eyes to look at him. “You look gorgeous,” he said quietly in my ear. “I think being a devil suits you.”
“I think being an angel suits you,” I said, feeling clumsy with my words and then stupid that I’d mirrored his words back to him. “I love the wings.”
Oh jeez, I really was losing it.
I love the wings?
I needed to get a grip.
But being around Lysander, when he looked the way he did tonight, turned me into a tongue-tied fool.
And with perfect timing, as if to bear witness to my inability to successfully communicate like a sane adult, Miriam sauntered through the crowd. Her outfit was an exact replica of Lysander’s, only she wore a gold bodysuit with crystals that sparkled as they caught the light. Her long blonde hair shone perfectly, and her halo was exactly the same as his. She kept her smile fixed firmly on her face as she came to stand next to us, and then she looked me up and down as she said, “You changed your mind then?”
I frowned back at her. “What do you mean?”
She gestured to my outfit with her hand, sweeping it up and down as she said, “I thought you were coming as an angel. I thought we agreed. I even picked out my favourite full-length white silk dress for you to wear and a halo just like mine. But I guess Givenchy is too good for you tonight. Why wear designer when you can wear...this.” She turned her nose up at the last part, but I was still stuck on, ‘I picked out my favourite dress’.
“You sent me a dress?” I asked, and she recoiled.
“Yes, I sent you a dress, but I guess you didn’t like it, so?—”
“I didn’t get a dress delivered. Not a white one. All that came was this.” I was so confused, my brow furrowing as I tried to work out what was going on.
Had there been another box delivered that I hadn’t noticed?
Did I do something wrong here?
Was I going mad?
And then, as the murmur from the crowd turned to gasps and ripples of excitement, and people turned to look towards the staircase, I wasn’t confused anymore.
Walking slowly down the stairs, taking each step with precision, like he was walking a runway, was Damien.
The devil, Damien.
He was dressed in a crisp black suit, with the same black horns as mine sprouting from his black hair, and an eerie skull painted on his face to add to his menacing look. He held the same pitchfork that I was carrying, and on the pocket of his jacket were the numbers six, six, six, embroidered in red, exactly the same as my dress.
Miriam hadn’t done this.
He had.
