Music thrummed, low and breezy, from the band near the front of the room. Standing before them, a fae in a brilliant red sari crooned over the music.
“This is the cocktail hour,” Finn said, his lips near her ear as he snagged two champagne flutes off a passing tray. He passed one glass to her. “We will walk around, look at the displays, speak to others, possibly bid on items at the silent auction.” He waved over toward a long row of tables draped in champagne-colored tablecloths with various items or signs and notepads set in front of them.
“And after that?”
“Everyone will move into the dining hall. We will find our table, eat, and talk with our tablemates. There will be an emcee, guest speakers. And—”
“Mr. Westrock,” a voice called.
“Here we go,” Finn said. He sipped his champagne, then switched on his PR smile before turning to greet the tall man with ghost-pale skin.
Iris felt a familiar little shiver, could sense the lethal kind of charm leaching from the man.
A vampire.
She was sure of it.
Any hope that the conversation might be interesting or engaging, though, quickly fell away as the men started to talk about policy.
She tried to keep track, really, she did. But it wasn’t long before her mind was wandering and her gaze was sweeping the room, taking in the atmosphere and the various humans and paranormals gathered.
Sensing her slipping away, Finn’s arm slid around her lower back, curling her closer, anchoring her, silently reminding her that she had to play her part.
One interaction turned to five, then fifteen.
Her champagne flute was empty, and she felt a pleasant thrumming inside her, a lightness she knew came from the alcohol, since she was still having trouble staying present and engaging with the strangers whom Finn seemed to know personally.
“Can we look at the auction items?” Iris asked when a group of humans moved away.
“Sure, we—”
“Finn!” a booming voice called.
Turning, Iris saw nothing but torso until she angled her head all the way up to catch sight of a man with huge, angled horns and a thick gold bull ring in his nose.
He had to be a minotaur.
“Patton,” Finn said with a smile, offering his hand.
“Iris,” Patton greeted her, ducking his head. “Do you mind if I steal your fiancé for a moment?”
“Of course,” she said with her fake smile. Unease atwalking around without an escort spread through her, but she tried to tamp it down.
“I’ll meet you over by the tables in a minute,” Finn said, pressing a quick kiss to her temple before moving away.
The little belly flip-flop seemed to chase away her discomfort as she dropped her empty glass on a tray, then wandered over toward the auction, being careful to mind her steps without Finn there to balance her if she tripped in her heels.
She moved down the line, looking at offerings of private celebrity chefs, luxury cruises, vacations at the beach, and tickets to sold-out concerts and shows.
Mixed in with those average listings, though, were other—more exciting—ones: a future reading from a high priestess, a ‘getting in touch with your inner beast’ getaway with a wolf alpha, an aging cask of fae wine, artisanal chocolate infused with true lust magic, and even a haunted mirror (guaranteed friendly).
Caught up in the excitement of it all, Iris leaned down to sign her name for the mirror, loving the idea of a device that might whisper advice and compliments—and, occasionally, cryptic warnings.
And just for fun, she quickly bid on the lusty chocolates.
When she’d checked over all the offerings twice and Finn still hadn’t joined her, she’d decided to go and find him. But when she’d scanned the crowd, he was nowhere to be seen.
She spotted Patton and his minotaur friends, but Finn was no longer with them.
