Now there’s an image I wish I could send straight to my sister so we could giggle over it.
“Alright, let’s get this shit over with,” I sigh. The Fae candidate for aPretty Womantakedown leads me to the fancy changing area, and I kick off my combat boots with a grumble. She comes back quickly with the rack of the gown first, earning her a spot on my ‘To Be Hexed’ list forever.
Within minutes, I’m drowning in a sea of taffeta and lace, each gown more suffocating than the last. The heavy fabric of the latest contender—a monstrous confection of frills and bows—weighs down my limbs as I stare at my reflection with disdain. “I don’t need this shit,” I grumble, plucking at the skirt. “These dresses are ridiculous.”
“Let me see,” Khol murmurs, his sudden presence behind me both unnerving and comforting in the cramped dressing room. His hands ghost over mine, feigning assistance with the gown’s intricate closures. I catch his eye in the mirror, his smirk telling me he’s not here for the zippers.
“Spin for me?” he suggests, coaxing me into a reluctant twirl.
The dress fans out, but the disapproval is clear on his face when I come to a stop. “Not you,” he declares, echoing my thoughts. “Hey, Tier,” he calls, his voice carrying over the racks of unwanted elegance. “Find something... dangerous. Something that screams our Sassypants.”
A muffled agreement filters in from the boutique floor, followed by the sound of hangers clinking in Tiernan’s search.
Alone now, Khol’s playfulness shifts into something more primal. His fingers trail along the exposed skin at my back, igniting a trail of heat. His lips find the sensitive marks they’ve made there, teasing them with bites and nips until my knees weaken. Every touch, every whispered word melts my resistance, drawing a soft gasp from my lips.
“Khol...” I warn, but it’s feeble, lost in the haze of desire he conjures with alarming ease.
Hiis teeth graze my neck, sending shivers down my spine. “Shhh. Don’t want the nosy bitch to hear, Sassy.”
Fuck, no, I don’t.
Time blurs. Our connection is a tangible thing, distracting me until the door swings open abruptly. Tiernan’s silhouette fills the frame, his eyes gleaming predatorily blue. He thrusts a garment at me—a slinky black number that promises trouble—and yanks Khol out by the collar, growling low in his throat. “Try this. Now,” he commands, all business despite the tension coiling between us.
As the door snaps shut, I draw a shaky breath, my body still humming with unsatisfied desire. I peel off the ruffles and lace with trembling fingers, letting the dress pool forgotten at my feet. I snatch Tiernan’s selection from the hanger, the sleek fabric whispering promises against my skin.
“Control yourself,” I mutter to my reflection, half-irritated, half-amused, as I look at the basilisk as well. “That goes double for you, buster.”
With a last glance at the discarded gown, I slide into the black dress, ready to face whatever comes next—even if it’s just another damn fitting.
Islip away from the group, a silent shadow detaching from the huddle of formidable allies. The cool evening air rushes past me as I activate my vampiric speed, the world blurring into streaks of color and light. I am a whisper in the wind, a specter haunting the edges of perception.
That’s a little dramatic even for me. Faerie must be affecting me more than I thought.
The town unfolds like an intricate tapestry as I navigate its streets with supernatural swiftness. Tiernan may have scouted ahead, but I seek what lies beyond sight and sound of a mere shifter—the invisible threads that could unravel us all. My new coven, these fierce alphas and supes, rely on me to fortify our defenses, to ensure not a single crack exists for enemies to exploit.
A shiver of awareness tickles my senses as I pass a dimly lit alleyway—the sensation of being watched. I file it away, mentally marking the spot. Later, I will return to confront whatever curiosity or threat found interest in my passage.
For now, I focus on the task at hand. Fiadh’s safety is paramount, as her well-being has quickly become the axis upon which my world turns. To protect her, I must shield the coven now that I have bound them to me through the ancient magic of ‘feeder’ lineage. My thoughts drift to a jeweler, one whose craft transcends mere ornamentation, capable of weaving my bloodinto protective wards.
That’s what I need since I do not have access to my usual sources on the side of the Veil.
My pace never falters as I scout each potential danger zone: hidden alcoves, rooftops with clear lines of sight, escape routes obscured by the thrumming life of the town. Knowledge is my weapon, and the map etched into my mind is my shield. Yet, even as I dart unseen, I can’t shake the nagging intuition that something lurks just out of view, observing, calculating. I note the time, the place, the angle of the gaze I can almost feel against my skin.
The feeling is a discussion for later, indeed—after protecting my coven is secured, after the jeweler’s craft binds us all in blood and magic. Only then will I turn hunter, and whatever watches will find itself the prey.
I slideinto the shadows of the shop, the faint sound of the bell above the door masked by my silent movements. It’s a cozy space filled with the scent of old parchment and herbs, shelves lined with artifacts that pulse with latent energy. I scan the room, noting the intricate charms and amulets before my gaze lands on the owner.
Definitely Fae, though possibly mixed blood. I can scent it from here.
“Welcome,” he greets, his voice as rich and smooth as aged whiskey. His eyes gleam with a dark inner light, betraying his Midnight Court heritage even before the scent reaches me. There is power here, the kind that can’t be faked or bought, and it resonates with my own. This Fae is much older than our Prince and possibly older than the rulers of his own kingdom. His experience will prove invaluable for this task and I’m satisfied that choosing a back alley shop rather than flashy main street ones was a wise decision.
“Your expertise is needed,” I start, watching his face for any sign of deceit. The Fae cannot lie, but theycantrick you if they are craftyenough. “I require three commissions with very specific details and in short order.”
He raises an eyebrow, a challenge or perhaps an invitation, then gestures to the more private confines of his work area. The air is thick with magic, and I feel it brush against my skin like a physical touch. His magic is powerful, and the precision he wields it with is obvious. Likely others who enter this place do not sense it, but I am ancient. My friend Diaval could feel this as well, but the rest of our motley crews would not.
“Exiled,” he reveals without prompting, his tone laced with bitterness and pride. “For refusing to bedazzle the conscienceless whims of a queen.” I nod, understanding the weight of such integrity. There’s no room for ethical compromise in my vampire court, either.
I’ve killed or exiled members in the past for violating my ethos regarding compulsion and consent.
