Page 113 of Samhain Savior
“Come,mes amis,” Genevieve called over the music, her laughter tinkling lightly as she gestured us toward a raised dais at the far side of the ballroom. “Join me.” Settling herself on a wide, intricately carved sofa that looked like it had come straight from Versailles. The cushions were tufted velvet in a deep blush pink, and the legs and edges were gilded in gold. As she approached, another of the uniformed footmen arrived on the dais, holding what appeared to be a golden leash. “Oh,Bijou!Monpetitchou!Come to me,mon bébé!”Genvieve cooed at the…alligator?
Gasping in shock, I froze, clinging to Archer’s hand as Genevieve crouched down and scooped the long, albino animal off the floor, its golden leash dangling from its scaly neck as she cuddled it close. It was small, about the size of a large cat, and as she tickled it under its leathery chin, its mouth opened in what appeared to be a vicious grin of pure satisfaction.
“Sit,” she urged, as though a pygmy alligator was a completely normal pet to be snuggling on an antique couch in the middle of a costume ball that was quickly descending into an orgy. “Tell me your story.”
Moving slowly, I perched on a second sofa across from Mex, this one smaller and less flashy—clearly meant for guests, not the queen—and crossed and uncrossed my legs, attempting to find a comfortable position that wouldn’t expose me to the roomorput too much stimulation on my suddenly sensitive clit.
Both of which sounded highly appealing for some strange reason.
Gritting my teeth, I pasted on a smile and made room for Archer on the sofa beside me, where he not-so-subtly positioned himself between me and Genevieve.
“Come, come,” she called again, clapping her hands. Immediately, three footmen appeared, wearing the same uniform as Arnaud, including the pristine white gloves. “Some refreshments for our guests,s'il vous plaît!” The men immediately scampered off, each returning with a different tray of beverages, fruits, and tiny cakes.
Selecting a champagne flute from the first tray, Genvieve gestured our way, and I carefully pulled one of the glasses from the proffered tray myself.
Archer took nothing.
Not wanting to actually drink anything, I pressed the glass to my cheek, the cool condensation feeling incredible against my heated skin.
“I am most intrigued to learn how the two of you found your way to each other,” Genevieve said, holding her glass out for the servant standing behind her. Without her having to ask, he opened a vial and poured several generous drops of what was clearly blood into the champagne, turning it from a bright golden color to a cloudy pink. As I watched, Genevieve downed her glass and quickly reached for a second. “After all, was it not your people who swore to never have dealings with demon kind again?” she asked, her inquisitive gaze on me.
“Uh—well, I—”
“I can see why they would have felt that way,” she went on as though she hadn’t really expected my answer to begin with. “If demons had promised to protect my coven and then failed to do so when it mattered most, I might swear an oath to never trust them again, too.”
Her words were light, but her eyes sharp, and I knew she was looking for a crack, some weakness between Archer and I that she could exploit, but at the moment, all I could think about was how much I missed his hands on my skin, how desperate I was for his kiss, for the taste of him on my lips.
Once again, I shifted in my seat, desperate to create some sort of friction where I needed it most. Without warning, Archer moved, his hands easily scooping me up of the sofaand depositing me and my over-sized dress onto his lap. Before I could protest, Archer placed one hand on my exposed thigh, his warm, calloused fingers trailing lightly over the sensitive skin he found there. With his other hand he gently collared my throat, his palm resting lightly against my pulse point, creating an immediate calming sensation.
“Settle, witch,” he growled, his lips pressed to my ear. “I’ll fix it soon.”
The relief I felt at his words was immeasurable. Just knowing he was going tohandlethings for me went a long way to quell the bubbling desire that had flooded my system.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, dropping my head back against his chest and closing my eyes, just enjoying the sensation of his hands on me again.
I never wanted it to end.
“Nothing to be sorry about. It’s not you; it’s the relic.”
Realistically, I knew it was the Fallen Key. The last time we’d encountered one, I had reacted poorly, too, my mind over taken with a desperate need to claim it as my own. To possess the piece before someone could take it from me. Ready to fight any one who would try. I should have realized then what had happened.
Greed. Envy. Wrath.
It made sense that a relic of Hell would be infused with those qualities. The worst aspects of my personality had been highlighted by exposure to the piece. Once I’d touched it—once I had achieved the goal that I had in mind—the impulses had stopped.
It was as though the Key had been testing me, looking for those sins within me.
I just wish I knew whether I had passed or failed.
But sitting here now, my eyes practically rolling back in my head at a simple touch from Archer, it was fairly clear what sins this piece embodied.
Gluttony. Pride.
Lust.
All sins that a rich, self-important landowner would have possessed. Traits he would have seen in his lover, the Vampire Queen.
If the pattern held—as I was certain it would—I would be a wet, horny mess until I laid hands on the black diamond that currently hung around Genevieve’s neck.
