Your Soulmate,
Skylenna
5. “You’ll Get Yours.”
“Why are you avoiding eyecontact? Are you having a seizure? What’s happening?” I ask Krimson.
He keeps his strained stare on the glittering night sky. Chin raised. Lips pursed.
“I’m not going to look at you when you have everything out on display like that,” he grumbles, clenching his jaw.
I look down at my plunging square neckline. My dress is made of onyx silk, short and flowy around my mid-thigh, tight and tied off around my waist. My candy apple red winter cloak takes the bite out of the frost in the air, but yes, I’m freezing my ass off.
Do I look like an evil seductress coming to take a nice, juicy bite out of a boy’s heart? Also, yes. Worth the discomfort.
“I look like old money and expensive sex. It’s all a part of the plan.”
Krimson huffs. “Never say that again.”
We’re walking along Main Street to the Chandelier Tavern. It was built seven years ago, encouraging women to dress less proper and express themselves and their sexuality. Apparently, dresses this short and lowcut weren’t allowed in my mother’s time.
Boring.
“I’m going to make him bleed.”Did I say that out loud?
“You may be giving him the wrong idea with how you look.”
My copper-blonde hair hangs in long spirals down my back, decorated with small rubies gifted to my mom by Aunt Ruth. (She doesn’t know I took them,whoops.) My makeup was done with a precise hand, gold glitter on the inner corners of my eyes, black ink pointed like small knives on the outer corners. Long, wispy lashes, and blood red lips.
“Don’t ruin my high,” I tell him as he opens the tavern door for me.
The tavern is dim with candle-lit chandeliers, black marble surfaces, glossy espresso floors, and the strong scent of cigars and horny men.
Krimson laughs, signaling to the bar. “What’ll it be?”
“Two shots of cognac.” In the corner of my eye, I see Niklaus sitting with his inner circle. The traitor planted on his lap like a ridiculous decoration. “Make that three.”
“Dear God,” Krimson groans.
I hang my red cloak on the rack by the front door. And I’d be lying if I said I don’t immediately notice the heads turn in the glowing, crystal tavern. My legs are shiny with gold shimmery body cream, breasts are two heavy swells above my low neckline, and this dress is stunning. It’s a show or armor.
I can feel his eyes on me.
Let the games begin.
“Sapphire, you’re a vision.” Trexon Parlomon. The son of the late Suseas Parlomon. Former head conformist of the Emerald Lake Asylum. You’d think he’d hate me for what my mother did to his.
But of course, he’s a man. And he’s always made it clear he wants to buy me flowers, kiss my hand, and take me on lavish dates.
“Well, aren’t you sweet?” I gaze up at him from under my lashes. I’m laying it on thick.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asks with a little too much excitement in his eyes. Trexon isn’t very tall. About my height with skinny arms, chapped lips, and curly yellow hair. He has no idea that he’s currently a pawn.
“She has one.” My brother hands me my three shots, glaring down at Trexon with those eyes. The ones that big brothers and fathers have when they’re hit with that horrid territorial urge to protect.
With one hand on my back, Krimson guides me deeper into the tavern.
One down.
