Page 112 of Samhain Savior
Reaching once again for the first piece of the Fallen Key where it hung between my squished breasts, I gripped it tightly in my fist, ignoring the heat it was putting off as my eyes scanned the room, looking for the source of the strange sensations that were suddenly rippling through me.
That was when I saw her.
Descending the stairs from the balcony was a woman so beautiful, she hardly looked real. She had pale skin, crystal blue eyes, and lips as red as roses. Her hair was so pale it was nearly white, and it was twisted up into a complex,towering design that resembled styles I’d only seen in history books.
She looked to be about my age, but she carried herself with a confidence that I knew I would never achieve, her whole being projecting power and control and I found myself unable to look away. Draped in a stunning gown of crimson velvet and lace, the woman entered the room and everyone stopped, turning to face her and bowing their heads in deference. The women even offered deep curtsies, spreading their already wide skirts even wider, but the stunning beauty barely paid them any attention, her haunting blue gaze flirting from one face to the next with not a single flicker care or preference for any of them as she idly toyed with delicate lace fan she held, flicking it lazily before her face as though out of habit. Gliding through the party, she moved like fog, drifting lightly through the room, looking almost bored as she headed toward the far side of the ballroom.
Right where we were standing.
I could tell the moment she noticed us, her lips pursing as she gave a quick assessment, deciding if we were a threat to her or not.
She must have decided not, because after only a brief pause, she continued walking, stopping only a few steps from us and offering a haughty smile.
“Duchess. I see you brought guests into my home. Won’t you introduce us?”
Her voice was clear, the words slightly raspy and her English beautifully accented.
“Genevieve Dubois,” Mex began, and I internally marveled at the difference between their speech. Where Mex’s Louisiana French was rough and rugged, Genevieve’s French, straight from the royal court of Marie Antoinette, was regal and aristocratic. The same language, but worlds apart. “Allow me to introduce the North East contingent of theUmbra Fratrum, led by The Great Marquis Leraje, known as The Archer, and his mate, the witch Delilah.”
She ran her gaze over us, stopping on Archer for a beat longer than the others, likely sensing his own power, then she moved on to me. I grit my teeth, not wanting to wilt under her heavy regard, but feeling like nothing more than a bug before this ethereal creature. She was absolute perfection, and I was a child playing dress-up in someone else’s clothes.
Suddenly uncomfortable, I dropped my gaze, mimicking the others who had not wanted to look at her, and I felt Archer stiffen beside me, but I couldn’t help it.
Her presence was overwhelming, sending shivers through my body, for a second I thought I might…come?
“Now, now,ma fille,” she cooed, her fan coming out and touching under my chin, lifting my gaze back to hers, and I set aside my confusion reaction as her icy blue eyes raked over me. “Let me look at you,oui? Mated to the demon, you said?” she asked Mex, not taking her eyes off of me, and I did my best not to squirm. Taking a small step forward, Genevieve leaned toward me, closing her eyes and inhaling deep. “Oh!” she exclaimed, straightening. “You already smell like him.Tresintéressant! I believe the story of how such a pairing came to be would be quite fascinating,n'est-ce pas?”
It was then that I saw it. Threaded onto a string of stunning pearls and nestled between her most impressive breasts, it hung there like a poison apple, ripe for the picking, and I knew that was what I had felt a moment ago, its power calling to me like a siren.
The black diamond.
The second piece of the Fallen Key.
Chapter fifty-two
Delilah
“Archer,” I breathed, reaching for his hand as Genevieve spun away from us. “Did you see it?”
“I saw it, witch,” he murmured, pulling me close, my skin lighting up where his fingers brushed mine. “And we’ll get it. I fucking swear we will.”
“Yes,” I moaned, pressing against him. “Please. I need it.”
“Delilah?” he paused, staring down at me with a frown. “Are you alright?”
“Fine,” I insisted, but I didn’t stop, needing to feel as much of him against me as possible. Sliding one hand up his chest, I slipped my fingers under the fabric of his waistcoat, relishing the heat of him against my palm. “I’m totally fine.”
“Hmm.” Archer didn’t look convinced. Gently grasping my hand, he untangled my fingers from his shirt, lifting my arm until my wrist was pressed against his lips. I stared, entranced, as he took a deep inhale, breathing me in, his eyes never leaving mine. Finally, he clasped my hand in his again, offering me a heated look. “Let’s just get what we came for and get the Hell out of here. I need to be alone with you as soon as fucking possible.”
“You two are ridiculous, you know that?” Mex huffed, shouldering past us. “All giddy and swoony like a couple on prom night. If that’s what finding a mate looks like, count me out.” Following Genevieve, Mex turned to me with a playful wink. “If you two need some alone time,” she said suggestively. “Let me know and I’ll cover for you while you try out one of the alcoves.”
“We’re quite alright, thank you, Mex,” Archer drawled, but he didn’t release my hand.
I liked that very much.
Striding across the ballroom, Archer pulled me along, my heart racing for a reason I couldn’t quite understand. As we moved through the room I noticed several of the darkened alcoves Mex had mentioned, the movement in the shadows indicating that they contained two—or more—people, writhing in ecstasy. Clutching Archer’sfingers tighter, I tried to swallow against the lump that was suddenly clogging my throat.
Why was it suddenly so hot in here?
