“What do you think this soiree is going to entail?”
Quentin frowned. “I’m not sure. Especially since it looks as if there isn’t a party happening at all.” He glanced back down the path. The manor sat alone at the end of a road lined with palm trees, the cobbled streets making for a bumpy carriage ride here. “I just don’t think it could be anywhere else.”
Delaynie pushed back her shoulders. “I guess there’s only one way to find out.”
Quentin nodded. “Into the lion’s den.”
They walked side by side up the rest of the path. The manor was obnoxiously large—three-stories tall, with pillars carved in the shape of sea serpents guarding an ornate door inlaid with bronze and mother-of-pearl, and tropical flowers draped over the path, blossoms heavy and slightly dewy in the humid night.
They halted before the door. Nervous excitement buzzed through Quentin as he lifted his fist. He paused just before he could rap on the bronze.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Quentin said, swallowing. “Are you okay doing whatever it takes in there to prove ourselves to this deranged fucker of a pirate lord?”
“Oh.” Delaynie was quiet for a beat. Longer than Quentin liked. He lowered his fist, turning to her, about to tell her that they didn’t have to do this and that they would find another way?—
She knocked firmly on the door herself, the sound echoing through the tarnished metal and into the manor. She met his stare with a resolved smirk, with that cool fire she donned when dealing with the most frustrating of Onitan merchants and politicians.
“I may not have seen much of the world,” she said, “but I was raised to play my part. No matter the game, I always win.”
Quentin simply stared at her, slack-jawed and stunned into silence.
So much so that he didn’t notice the manor door had swung open. Not until a low, familiar chuckle snapped him back to the present.
“I will admit”—Darius propped himself against the door frame— “I half expected the two of you not to come.”
“A pleasure seeing you again, Darius.” Delaynie’s greeting was cool, like a bead of water rolling down a glass.
The pirate prince turned his hungry grin on her. Quentin swallowed his growl. “My,” Darius mused. “And you even dressed up as one of us. Can’t believe you’re willing to tarnish yourself like that, little lady.”
“Fortunately,” Delaynie quipped, “diamonds don’t tarnish.”
Pride—and more than a little arousal—swelled in Quentin’s chest, burning through his veins. Little wolf, indeed.
Darius’s smile tugged wider. He nodded, stepping back from the entry and gesturing them inside.
The foyer was magnificent, if dimly lit. Dripping candles were set in sconces on the wall, their flickering light casting a moody, disconcerting glow over the gold-plated walls. The air was heady and thick, though there was no sign of anyone else.
“Are we early?” Delaynie asked.
Darius smirked. “Far from it. You’re both late. The party has already begun.” He stalked past, leading them deeper into the foyer. He turned right at the end of the hall, pushing open a heavy velvet curtain.
Instinct spurred Quentin to grab Delaynie’s hand as they followed Darius into the next room.
And gods, was he fucking glad he did.
The smell hit him first. Sweet and tinged with an acidity that spoke of some foreign substance being smoked. It masked a more distinctive scent, one that was musky and blended with sweat.
The voices in the room were a cacophony, but they weren’t speaking. Low, breathless moans and grunted pants, giggles and growls and the smack of skin against skin.
He blinked in the low, red light. Delaynie drew in a sharp inhale of breath.
Quentin again thought about how much he hated these pirates.
This wasn’t a party. It wasn’t even a casual gathering for the island’s wealthiest citizens.
