“Wyatt will regret this,” Viktor grumbled. “I warned him not to wear that absurd costume.” Viktor finished his complaint in Russian with what sounded like a string of profanities.
I chuckled at Wyatt’s striped stockings and green suit. “Sorry, I can’t help it.”
“Must he always embarrass me?” Viktor unlatched his seat belt.
Blue replied, “In his defense, the invitation said a winter ball. It didn’t specify the dress code. The younger immortals associate winter with Christmas.”
“He looks like an imbecile. And he is over two hundred. Old enough to know better.”
Wyatt’s curled elf shoes fell out of view as our Jeep rolled up to the curb.
“I’ll be a few minutes,” Shepherd informed us. “I don’t want any of these knuckleheads parking the Jeep. My name’s all over the paperwork.”
Viktor shifted in his seat. “Please do your best not to cause a scene.”
A man opened Gem’s door and another opened mine. After they helped us out of the vehicle, we assembled on the walkway.
I took a minute to admire Blue’s ensemble. She had stopped hiding her scars around us in recent months. On jobs, she covered them to blend in with the crowd. At home, she returned to her usual attire—tank tops and cargo pants. But for tonight, she had purchased a conservative sapphire-blue dress that covered every inch of her body. The material had delicate silver snowflake accents stitched around the torso, arms, and bottom hem, though her blue cloak covered most of it. Claude had sprayed glitter in her French braid until it sparkled.
Gem simpered when a passerby did a full turn to look at her dress.
I tucked my hands in my red leather jacket and strutted to the front of the vehicle.
“Let’s get this party started,” Wyatt said, adjusting his elf hat.
I gestured to his red-and-white stockings. “You’re not the least bit embarrassed?”
He patted his pockets. “These broads are looking for a little hanky-panky. Do you think they care what I have on?”
“You touch my steering wheel one more time, and I’m gonna chop off your fucking hand,” Shepherd growled at the valet.
I took Christian’s arm. “Let’s find the booze.”
“I wish Niko were here.” Gem pouted as we stepped onto the sidewalk.
Wyatt skipped ahead of us. “Niko always hides in corners and separates himself from the action. Trust me, hewantedto babysit Hunter.”
I admired Christian’s silver tuxedo and black lapels. It had a noticeable sheen, and while he could have easily wound up looking like a lounge singer or groom, Christian Poe owned every inch of that suit and stole my heart with his charismatic swagger.
“I’m decapitating that swan before the night’s over,” he remarked, gesturing to the ice sculpture.
“I bet you won’t. Viktor would murder you.”
“And what’ll you give me if I do?”
I snorted. “A pillow for your coffin.”
Lenore greeted a couple who approached the door. After exchanging a few words and kissing cheeks, she let her servants collect their coats and escort them inside.
We walked up the wide steps toward the entrance. Lenore had spared no expense decorating her historical mansion like a fairy-tale winter wonderland. The windows and posts were wrapped in tiny white lights, every strand spaced evenly and perfectly straight. Icicle lights hung overhead, and the scent of cinnamon wafted from the open doorway.
“Viktor,” she cooed.
When he bowed to kiss her hand, I noticed they had coordinated their outfits. Despite the frigid December air, Lenore’s bare arms had nary a goose bump. Her sleeveless aquamarine dress spilled down her body like ocean water, silver designs sewn in that matched the patterns on Viktor’s vest. Vampires were impervious to extreme temperatures, yet there she was, tucking her hand back in her white hand muff, which happened to match Viktor’s hat.
“Krasivaya,” he said softly, his enamored gaze soaking in her radiant beauty.
Gem bounced forward. “That means—”
