I no longer feel the fear from earlier, stuck in a daze from the man before me. How he can make me feel so much, in such little time and effort.
If only I had him in all my weakest moments.
I don’t know how long I sit in a trance after witnessing his wicked ways—long enough for me to come crashing back down to earth after visiting his stars—but this time I land firmly on my feet, Saint waiting there to catch me.
A devilish and smug look etches his features. “Feeling better?” he asks.
I try to paw at his chest, but he captures my wrist, pressing a chaste kiss against my palm.
“Thank you,” I whisper, and it earns me another.
That gratitude is plural.
For saving me that night.
For loving me this entire time.
For grounding me in a way that only feels safe with you.
He helps me to my feet. “We need to go, darling. The event’s about to begin.”
Saint waits until I freshen up, and I’m thankful for whatever Shona placed on my eyes, no black ropes inking down my cheeks from my blip earlier.
When I turn to face him, he’s got his pin back on and puts our earpieces back in place. His hand reaches out for me, like an offering, providing me with his unwavering safety the moment our fingers interlink, lurking back within a sea of serpents.
We slip back into the crowd unnoticed, rows of people flowing upwards towards the grand staircase.
Following the crowd, we’re led into the west wing, which seems to be reserved for the main event. Security lines the doorsof the dimmed corridor, and we head over to Ross as they assign people booths upon reaching the threshold.
The space opens up to what could only be described as a massive theatre, the entire room dipped in darkness as a stairway cuts right down the centre, small golden spotlights illuminating the floor, leading to a stage that dominates the back wall.
Bile rises in my throat, like the place has been kitted purely for the entertainment of sick-minded individuals.
A light pressure pulses on my hand, and I glance up to see Saint’s shadowed face looking at me. His aviators are back on, much like many of the men in this manor.
I’m beginning to think it’s a mask for them. You can’t see their eyes?
You don’t know the darkness that hunts beneath the depths of their souls.
At least with Saint’s, I know it wouldn’t cause me harm.
It glooms to protect me.
He leads us to a booth near the far end, a convenient space close enough to the exit should we need to make an escape, and I notice the bodies of servants at the wall nearest to ours are Ultio.
Saint pulls back the curtain, checking inside subtly before giving me the nod to go in. The booth is small, an armchair on either side with a small drinks table in the centre.
Darkened glass rests against the front, giving a view across the downward sea of booths, a perfect and unobstructed view of the stage.
I’m in my seat for all of two seconds before Saint reaches over the table, cupping his hand against my ear. “Every cubicle is rigged for sound once the lights go out. When the stage lights up, do not ask any questions. Stay silent. Do not react to anything you see.”
He pulls back, and even though the dark lurks within every corner, I can see the desperation through his eyes.
A small part of me wants to kick his ass for the snappy demands, but instead I nod, deciding to practice my silent oath early.
The stakes are high, and sassy behaviour wouldn’t serve anyone any favours.
One misstep could mean life or death, and whilst he has people on the inside, and an entire fleet on the outside, I’m not sure if it would be a match for Omnia.
