“Tennis?”
“And volleyball. And something called an ‘elimination challenge’ this afternoon.” He moved closer, fingers brushing her bare thigh where the shirt ended. “How are you feeling?”
The question held layers. How was she feeling about the sex, about the marks, about whatever strange new connection had sparked between them last night.
“Good.” She set down her coffee. “Surprisingly good. Though I’m having this weird thing where I keep sensing…” She paused, trying to articulate it. “Echoes. Emotions that aren’t quite mine.”
Victor’s hand stilled on her skin. “Explain.”
“When you hung up on Derek just now, I felt… satisfaction? But it wasn’t my satisfaction. And when you turned and saw me, there was this warmth that bloomed right here.” She pressed her palm to her sternum. “But it felt like it was coming from outside me.”
He paused. “Interesting.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No. It’s not.” His thumb resumed tracing circles on her thigh. “We should talk about it. But perhaps after the athletic humiliation.”
“Victor…”
“Lilith saw me in the lobby this morning. She knows we’re participating.” His jaw tightened. “And she brought someone. Marketing consultant from the city.”
Ava frowned. “She brought a date?”
“More like a victim, according to Derek. Something about the way he follows her: blank eyes, eager compliance.” Victor’s voice darkened. “She’s testing something. I don’t know what yet.”
“That’s comforting.”
“We should get ready.”
“We should,” she agreed.
Neither of them moved.
He leaned down and kissed her slowly. She felt an answering heat from him, not physical exactly, but emotional. Raw.
“That’s interesting,” she murmured against his mouth.
“Yeah.” He pulled back, uncertainty flickering in his gold-flecked eyes. “We should probably talk about…”
“After we humiliate ourselves at tennis?”
“After.”
The tennis courtsbehind the resort were pristine. White lines sharp against green, not a single leaf on the immaculate surface. The founding partners sat in shaded bleachers like judges at a tribunal, Azrael taking notes on a tablet while Beleth swayed to music only he could hear.
Other couples were already warming up, movements too fluid, too perfect to be entirely human. A woman from contracts served to her partner with such force the ball left scorch marks on the court.
Lilith arrived in white. The outfit screamed designer in a language Ava was only beginning to understand: tennis dress that somehow looked like couture, pristine sneakers that had probably never touched a court before today. Her companion trailed three steps behind: tall, fit, generic Manhattan handsome.
“Bradley,” Lilith introduced, loud enough for everyone to hear. “He played varsity at Princeton.”
Bradley smiled. Perfect teeth. Vacant eyes. Wrong about his expression, too eager, too adoring, like a dog that had been bred for obedience until nothing else remained.
“First match,” Grimm announced. “Morningstar and Feng versus Ashwood and Bradley.”
Of course.
Lilith served first. The ball cut through the air faster than should be possible, leaving a faint trail of smoke. Bradley just stood there, racket loose in his hand, watching Lilith with that vacant adoration.
