She didn’t rest.
Instead, she showered in a bathroom bigger than her bedroom at home. Marble everything, a rainfall showerhead, products that smelled like jasmine and money. The hot water helped unknot her shoulders but did nothing for the anxiety coiled in her chest.
Getting dressed felt like preparing for battle.
She laid out the burgundy dress on the rose-petal bed, studied it like enemy territory. The fabric was beautiful: rich and deep, the color of wine or blood depending on the light. It would show every curve, hide nothing.
That was the point, wasn’t it? Armor and weapon in one.
Her hands shook as she applied makeup. Steadier as she lined her eyes, painted her lips a shade that matched the dress. She twisted her hair up, let a few strands fall artfully around her face.
The woman in the mirror looked like someone who belonged in this world. Someone who dated ancient demons and attended supernatural cocktail parties and didn’t flinch when senior partners evaluated her relationship for authenticity.
The pendant sat snug against her collarbone, the metal of the chain almost vibrating. She touched it once for luck.
A knock at the bathroom door. “It’s time.”
She emerged to find Victor in a black tuxedo that fit like sin. The cut emphasized his shoulders, his narrow waist, the predatory grace he usually kept leashed. His bow tie was perfectly straight. His hair slicked back to reveal the sharp angles of his face.
He looked like what he was: dangerous and beautiful and entirely out of her league.
His eyes traveled over her slowly. Taking in the dress, the heels, the careful armor she’d constructed. His jaw tightened, and he forgot to set down his champagne glass.
“You look stunning,” he said.
“You clean up pretty well yourself.”
He offered his arm. She took it as they descended to face whatever disaster Lilith had planned.
The ballroom glittered with crystal and candlelight and barely concealed menace.
Something was off about the string quartet. The cellist’s fingers moved too fast for the tempo, and the viola player hadn’t blinked since they’d entered. Ava counted at least a hundred guests, most of them convincingly human. Most.
“Showtime.” Victor’s breath was warm against her ear.
They moved through the crowd together, and Ava was startled to find it felt natural. Victor’s hand never left her: back, arm, waist, rotating contact like a slow dance they’d been practicing for years instead of days. She leaned into him when someone told a joke. He bent to whisper in her ear when they needed to coordinate. Small intimacies that looked effortless because, somewhere along the way, they’d become effortless.
“Ah, Victor!” Grimm materialized from the crowd, Germanic features carved from granite. “And Ms. Feng. How are you finding the accommodations?”
“Excellent,” Victor said smoothly. “Thank you for arranging the penthouse.”
“Lilith insisted you have the best.” Grimm’s winter-gray eyes glinted. “She’s very concerned about your comfort.”
“How thoughtful of her,” Ava said.
Malphas joined them, too-long fingers wrapped around a martini glass. Up close, Ava could see his joints bending wrong; subtle enough to miss if you weren’t looking, obvious enough to unsettle if you were.
“Young love is so refreshing,” he said. “Though I must say, Victor, this is rather sudden. You haven’t taken a claimed partner in what, a century?”
“Longer.”
“And yet here you are. Claimed and cohabitating after less than three weeks.” Beleth appeared, swaying to music no one else could hear, his pupils slightly too large. “Almost like something out of a trashy romance novel. You know the sort: odd couple pretends to date, accidentally falls in love.”
The pendant gave a sharp sting against her throat.
Victor’s arm tightened around her waist. “Reality is often stranger than fiction.”
“Indeed.” Azrael materialized last, green eyes reflecting the candlelight like a cat’s. “We look forward to observing your connection this weekend. For liability purposes, of course.”
