“He’s right, you know,” Malik murmured against my ear. “You are breathtaking. But you are not his, nor any other man’s beauty.”
His breath was warm against my skin, his lips dangerously close. “Tonight, we pretend to be lovers. I’ll be watching for Costa. Remember—you won’t make it out alive if he discovers you’re a Timeborne.”
Before I could respond, he nibbled my earlobe, sending a sharp thrill spiraling through my abdomen.
“Find the dagger,” he continued. “Let nothing distract you. No temptations. No indulgences.” His nose traced the curve of my ear, and there was a whisper of heat before he pulled away.
The foyer unfurled into a vast, decadent space.
Crystal chandeliers dripped from the high ceiling, casting prisms of light onto the polished marble floors. The air was thick with the scent of spiced wine, burning wax, and something richer—something carnal.
Clusters of guests lounged in extravagant silks, furs, and leathers, their conversations laced with husky laughter and knowing glances.
Women flaunted their cleavages—bountiful, bare, unapologetic.
Men adorned themselves with codpieces that boasted rather thanconcealed. Some had already shed their shirts entirely, their bronzed chests exposed like offerings to the room.
And then some had abandoned modesty altogether.
Women moved through the crowd naked, their bodies adorned only with dripping jewels and the serpents coiled around their waists and shoulders.
Men, equally unclothed, cavorted through the gathering, their movements wild and unrestrained. Some bore torches, taking long swigs from silver flagons before tilting their heads back and breathing fire, the flames licking the air with an intoxicating glow.
The music wrapped around me like silk, the sultry hum of sitars, and the pulse of drums merging with the hypnotic flicker of torchlight. The scent of musk, amber, and sandalwood incense curled through the air, thick and intoxicating.
Malik guided me deeper into the throng, his grip possessive, his touch calculated.
Masked figures turned to watch me, their gazes dark with interest. Some merely observed, their lips curving behind their masks. Others were bolder—gloved fingers trailing along my arm, warm palms skimming my waist, the briefest touches making my skin prickle.
I swallowed hard, suppressing a shudder.
Then Malik’s arm slid around my shoulders, his fingers pressing beneath my bodice, dangerously close to my bare skin.
I stiffened, instinct screaming to push him away. But I couldn’t—not here. Not now.
I had to play my part.
I had to pretend to enjoy it.
Malik leaned in, his lips brushing my temple. “Tu sei bellissima, amore mio,” he murmured.
His voice slithered down my spine, warmth pooling in places I wished it wouldn’t. My breath caught as his fingers traced the line of my collarbones, his other hand ghosting along my waist.
I felt… different.
My steps slowed, and my hips began to sway in time with the music. The room pulsed with something primal, something ancient, and I found myself melting into the atmosphere.
It was a dream. A decadent, sinful dream.
A loud horn blared, shaking me from my trance.
Bare-breasted women drifted into the room, carrying trays laden with wine, fruit, and exotic delicacies. The partygoers helped themselves, feeding one another grapes, drizzling honey across exposed skin, and licking it off with lazy indulgence.
I shut my eyes briefly, fighting against the insidious pleasure curling in my belly.
Focus. Focus.
Malik’s hands lingered on me, his touch grounding. Then his lips brushed my ear, his voice a whisper of command.
