This bitch was shattering my husband's dream.
“I'm happily married,” Cyprian said as if he were repeating himself.
“I won't tell anyone,” the blonde purred.
“I'm happily married and utterly uninterested in anyone but my wife,” Cyprian's voice went cold. “Amaranthine is beyond compare. You certainly couldn't tempt me away from her.”
The woman blinked and straightened in affront. “Men never change—once a slut, always a slut. I give you a year before you're panting after other women.”
She turned to stride away, and I saw red. Literally. Her aura was smeared with crimson attraction and cinnabar fury. I shouldn't have done what I did next, it was petty and cruel. But when I saw Cyprian's eyes twitch, I knew her barb had hit home. And no one gets to simply walk away after hurting someone I love. Especially not with malicious intent in their aura.
I shifted the red in her aura sharply to yellow—specifically, lemon yellow which targets the stomach, liver, and intestines. I speared that color into her like a syringe and injected so much of it that it exploded like a bomb. The blonde exploded too—from her mouth and her ass.
People gasped and flinched away from the woman as she vomited all over her shiny dress and soiled her fancy underpants. The stench of bile and excrement wafted out from her as a brown stain appeared on the back of her dress. She fell to her knees, continuing to retch and crap herself, her eyes wide and horrified. Someone shouted for an ambulance but no one approached the woman. No one wanted to risk getting sprayed.
Cyprian turned unerringly toward me as I stepped up beside him, my eyes wide as if I were shocked and merely drawing closer to the train wreck.
“That was a bit extreme, Se Esaria,” he said under his breath.
I held my hand to my mouth as if in horror and whispered, “I heard her in the bathroom talking about you. Believe me when I say that she got exactly what she deserves.”
“You realize she will be a laughingstock? A pariah.”
“That was doubtless what she intended for you, darling. She was going to circle this room and spread nasty rumors about you. And no one messes with my man.”
Cyprian chuckled. “My vicious, beautiful wife. I love you so damn much.”
“I love you too, but perhaps we should exchange endearments at a more appropriate time.”
“You mean, when there isn't a woman shitting herself in front of us?” he asked smugly.
“Exactly.” I lifted my glass, pausing to subtly salute him before taking a sip.
The sound of an ambulance came from a distance as the woman collapsed into a puddle of her own filth. As I said, it was petty and cruel, but I thought it fitting that someone who was about to launch a smear campaign against Cyprian was now smeared herself.
Chapter Fourteen
The blonde was wheeled away on a gurney while the remaining guests were herded into the lobby where cocktails and appetizers were distributed while we waited for another ballroom to be prepared. I don't think a quick cleaning would have removed the stench from the original ballroom, and there was no way that the elite of D.C. was going to dine with Eau deToiletin the air. So, they had to start fresh, as it were.
The rest of the evening was uneventful—a bland dinner was served, a charity auction held, and then some very poor dancing—which I suppose is ironic at a ballet gala. Leshing wasn't bad though. He whisked me across the small dance floor while Braxis glowered at him. The other men were fine with it, but Braxis's murderous looks were enough to make Edward give up and escort me back to our seats.
At the end of the evening, Leshing drove me back to his mansion—just fifteen minutes away from mine—and I cast another illusion over my car and myself before I drove home. We didn't want to risk anyone following Amanda Redding back to Cyprian Alexander's house. I drove back into the city just in case I had a tail and parked in a garage for a few minutes before dropping all of my illusions and heading home.
The men got home before me, of course, and were waiting up for me, but it was Cyprian who met me at the door. He pulled me into an embrace and kissed me thoroughly, leaving me breathless and a little unsteady on my feet.
“What was that for?” I whispered.
“For being my hero.” He grinned and it took his handsome face—a face capable of making humans weep in longing—into astronomically gorgeous territory.
My breath caught, and it took me a few seconds to respond. “Thank you for being a man I can defend without fear of making you angry,” I whispered as I pulled him close again.
“I have no illusions about who I married. But I expect the same courtesy.” He stroked my hair gently. “We'll just have to take turns playing the hero.”
“Take turns?” I leaned back again. “Why can't we both be heroic?”
“At the same time?” He lifted a brow into an even sharper arch. “How modern of you, Se Esaria.”
“I'm not the ancient one,” I teased.
