A Chill in the Flame (Villains #1)

Four

Four

Raucous music cannibalized all other senses. Caris made another attempt to bolt before they crossed the threshold, but temptation overpowered Ophir’s caution as she dragged her sister into Lord Berinth’s estate. Ophir had never met a party she didn’t like, but if his reputation was to be believed, Lord Berinth might put other wild nights to shame. She’d heard whispers of the hedonistic Lord of Indecency for nearly a decade, but the stars had never aligned for her to attend. According to the sort of gossip and rumors that snaked through the city, there was a reason he required the concealment of one’s identities. Even the madams at brothels would clutch their pearls if they heard what went on behind his walls. Ophir felt quite certain that she’d die of curiosity if she didn’t find out what went on in his estate.

“Oh no. Absolutely not. No, no, no.” Caris tried again to turn on her feet.

Excitement crackled through Ophir’s body. “Oh hell yes. ”

This party was the single most shocking, bawdy, scandalous if not outright blasphemous thing she’d ever seen. She couldn’t decide if she hated it or loved it.

The high-vaulted rooms were packed from wall to wall with food, wine, music, glittering jewels, tawdry laughter, and, above all, the melding bodies of men and women performing the most carnal acts on one another on three stages. One man laced his fingers through the hair of a male submissive on his knees as the man bobbed up and down on the swollen cock. Across the room, two women writhed against one another with their legs interlocked. A human woman—one of only a few mortals in attendance—stood atop the center stage while three fae men serviced her.

Caris’s voice trembled as she said, “This is insanity.”

“This is glorious,” Ophir countered. “They’re putting on a show, Caris. If you want to go, you can. But I’m staying.”

Dark music joined the laughter and devilry to drown out Caris’s remaining protests. The air was thick with roses and sex. Ruby velvets, opulent paintings, and obsidian leathers decorated the estate from wall to wall. Ophir’s gaze followed a stately black pillar from its anchor in the marble floor to where it disappeared against the black, palatial ceilings.

A woman jostled them as she forced her way past the princesses toward a group of waiting friends. The moment she arrived, a companion handed her a drink and began undoing her corset.

“She’s not going to—” Caris wasn’t able to finish her sentence before the woman dropped her corset to her feet. The companion pulled on a silken belt before her dress fell open like a robe, baring her before the world.

Ophir was too enraptured to worry about her sister’s modesty.

This was the reason Berinth had earned such a reputation: half of the partygoers in attendance were in various states of undress. Lovely women serving drinks wore only their masks and elaborate shoes, completely naked to the elements for all the world to see, the pinks, purples, and browns of their painted lips carefully matched to the shades of the most sensitive parts of their peaked breasts. A well-muscled man walked by with a tray of drinks, wearing nothing but his mask.

“Firi, let’s go .” It was clear from Caris’s tone that she would never, ever forgive her younger sister for involving her in anything so scandalizing. It was improper. It was absurd. It was a new level of abhorrence. From her voice alone, Caris sounded like she might molt her precious, gentle wrappings to whip the younger princess out of sheer horror and disgust.

Caris’s unwillingness to let go and have fun only made the challenge more exciting.

Ophir’s blood sparkled with a cocktail of nerves and wickedness as she eyed the spectacle, afraid and excited in equal portion. Perhaps this would be something she hated. If so, she’d apologize profusely to her sister and spend all of the necessary weeks in restitution begging for forgiveness. On the other hand, they might have the time of their lives and unlock new levels of pleasure and desire if they allowed themselves to be open.

“Wait.” Ophir’s eyes widened. “Is this your first time seeing a naked man? You are such a virgin.”

Guilt pecked at her as the words left her mouth. As shocking and fun as it was to witness events meant to jolt and incite, it was admittedly more than what Caris had consented to seeing.

She frowned at the pieces of Caris she could see from behind her sister’s opalescent mask. From the fresh, round pink of her cheeks, the crystalline blue of her eyes, and the golden curl of her hair, she’d always managed to glide through life as the honorable, innocent virgin. The duty-bound firstborn had been promised to King Ceneth of Raascot—a man she was supposed to have met only once prior to the wedding but who had captured her heart so completely upon their first introduction that the pair concocted a bottomless array of excuses to see each other as often as they could—and had every intention of saving her maidenhood for their union. Much to Ophir’s dismay, this promise wasn’t just one of law that she could circumvent or pressure her sister into forgoing but one of love and hope. The firstborn princess glowed every time she spoke of Ceneth and her marriage.

Though she empathized with Caris’s position and understood why her sister was acting so miserable, she hoped Caris would be selfless enough to let her have a memorable experience.

“I’ve seen a naked male body,” Caris mumbled.

“I don’t believe you,” Ophir replied definitively. “You would have told me. Unless…you aren’t counting when we were children playing in the fountain with the heirs of the Duke and Duchess of Yelagin? We were toddlers!”

Caris folded her arms over her chest defensively.

“Fine, I’m sorry,” Ophir admitted, and she was. At least, a little. “Maybe this isn’t the best exposure to sexuality outside the marital bed. I didn’t mean to traumatize you. But it’s a little late, right? The trauma has come and gone. You can’t unsee the beautiful people fucking. We might as well make the most of it.”

“There have been so many signs to leave, Firi. This place is practically covered in omens telling us not to be here.” She might have gone on speaking had the couple in front of them not stopped just shy of the dance floor. The masked woman hiked up her skirt and bent at the waist to reveal that she was wearing nothing beneath. The woman’s hair was an unnatural shade of red, with lips to match. Her silver mask covered a bit more of her face than several of the other partygoers, perhaps to protect the anonymity of someone who liked a particular brand of wanton exhibitionism in her sex life. The man untied his britches and spit into his palm before lubricating his exposed manhood and sliding into her. The woman’s groan of shock and pleasure joined the chorus of moans, of the wet suctions and dribbles of intercourse, of the thrusts and slaps of flesh.

“I’ll grant you that this is not meant to be a party attended by family members.” Ophir grimaced.

“Because this would be a romantic date night for a couple?” Caris’s question was rife with incredulity.

Ophir lifted one shoulder. “If the couple was interesting…”

“It’s hard to believe we were raised by the same parents,” Caris said as she lifted a hand to shield her eyes. “Hurry up and find me a drink so I can meet your stupid quota and leave.”

“That’s the spirit.” Ophir grinned. “Forbidden things always taste better with alcohol.”

“Wait! Are you going to leave me?” Caris demanded.

“Just to get drinks. Plus, I won’t leave you alone. Someone wants to talk to you! Be friendly.” She gestured to a tall, fae gentleman in a reflective black mask of polished metal that obscured the top half of his face as well as his hair, ending in the pointed ears of an onyx wolf. He brushed past the attendants and the sweaty bodies of partygoers as his sights remained fixed on the sisters.

“Firi!” Caris said her sister’s name with the angry squeak of a frightened mouse. “You are not going to leave me alone with a stranger. I don’t want a drink anymore. Stay here.”

“Play it cool. He doesn’t know who we are,” she assured her sister. “We’re just two pretty girls at a party. Ask him to fetch us a few flutes of sparkling white wine.”

The man crossed the remaining space between them. His teeth glinted in the light with a sinful delight as he reached for Caris. He swept up her hand and planted a kiss on her fingers. Even through his mask, it was clear he was fae. His large irises glistened in shades of a brown so rich it was nearly crimson. “My, what a lovely flower you are. It’s rare I see such innocence in a home like this.” Rather than dropping her hand entirely, he replaced the space of his palm with a glass of champagne. “Come, won’t you have a drink with me?”

Caris took an uncomfortable step backward before bumping into the bare chest of a bystander. She gestured her apology, and Ophir could practically see the years of conditioned politeness not to scream and run churning through her sister. The bodies of masked guests pushed into her, preventing any clean escape as they shuffled in the space beyond.

“I’m afraid we must be going,” Caris said.

The man tsked and used a swooping gesture to plant his hand on her lower back, guiding Caris deeper into the party, leaving Ophir to stand on the edge of the dance floor alone. Something changed in her the moment she saw the strange man touching her sister. She’d wanted him to fetch them drinks, no more. She moved to follow them, but the spaces between bodies closed, creating a wall between Ophir and the disappearing shape of her sister’s pink dress.

She struggled to find a gap between partygoers to lock eyes with her sister. Though obscured through the pearly veil, Caris’s energy reverberated one word: no.

Ophir fought to keep up with them, but the strange man only had eyes for Caris. With a hop and a light shove, she wound between partygoers and wrapped her fingers around the man’s forearm. Ophir cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, but she isn’t interested—”

He cut her off with curt, firm authority. “It’s rude to refuse a drink with the host, my lady. Has no one told you that?”

This was his party.

“You’re Lord Berinth,” Ophir said through the lump in her throat.

“Guilty as charged, my lady, though I do suggest you keep that gem to yourself.” He tapped his mask. “The point of a masquerade is for us to enjoy life’s pleasures without the consequences of identity.” He lifted his champagne glass to his lips in a toast, and Caris politely sipped at the flute he had pressed into her hand, making a bitter face as she drank the liquid. Perhaps this wasn’t a high-quality champagne. Bernith motioned to a lithe man in a black jaguar mask as he approached. “Aemon, there you are. Please meet the two most beautiful guests of the evening. Get this charming young lady a drink while I chat with the lovely damsel, would you?”

Aemon took Ophir by the arm before she could protest. He guided her between the bodies of the partygoers, weaving through the crowd toward the polished bar where the drinks were being served. She attempted to shoot an apologetic look Caris’s way but couldn’t see her sister amidst the throng.

“Excuse me,” Ophir said to the man, “but I really don’t want to be apart from my sister.”

“Have a drink,” he replied dismissively.

The stranger called Aemon quickly snatched a flute from a tray and pressed it into her hand with spectacular grace. Between his posture and his thin, hard muscles, the point of his canines and feline ears of his mask, she couldn’t help but feel as though the man might shape-shift into a predatory jungle cat at any moment. Ophir accepted a glass of the bubbly champagne and began sipping at it just to give herself something to do with her hands as she scanned the packed room for signs of pink. Unfortunately, the nervous energy meant she was consuming the liquor rather quickly. He was telling her all about his hunting hounds and the exciting blood sport of foxing when she realized she could no longer see Caris.

“Thanks for the drink, but—”

“Sisters, you say?” He flashed a too-white smile. “How daring your proclivities must be to attend this soirée with a sibling.”

She nearly gagged. “That’s a horrifying thing to say. She’s family. We had no idea what we were getting ourselves into.”

“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug. Aemon snatched another flute from atop a tray as a servant passed by and switched it out for the empty one in her hands. “Beautiful people shouldn’t be restrained by such conventions.”

Ophir drank from the flute before replying, “Beauty has no correlation to morality.”

The host gestured as if to indicate that he didn’t believe her, but that, as he seemed to count himself among the beautiful, he would not be taking her input to heart.

Aemon was pretty. He was not handsome, but he had a loveliness often worn by someone who intended themselves to look innocent. Yes, pretty was the correct word. She was sure it was an effective trap for many women, but she didn’t find herself particularly invested in anything this fae had to say. Any hope of a fun night soured. The smell of roses was too strong. The music was too loud. Anxiety intermingled with a sense of responsibility at having abandoned Caris, a woman who’d been radiating the terrified energy of a startled deer from the moment she’d entered.

Ophir would need to cut this man off if she had any hope of reuniting with her sister.

She made a gesture to excuse herself from the conversation, stopping him in the middle of his sentence. “I’m sorry—I’ve lost my sister. I need to go find her.” She moved to push past the bodies, both clothed and unclothed, when he grabbed her elbow with more force than seemed necessary.

“I’m quite certain she’s fine,” he purred. “Why don’t you relax and let her enjoy the party? Here, have another drink.”

She hadn’t remembered finishing the second glass. Wasn’t it full just a moment ago? Ophir shook her head in an attempt to argue. He procured a brand-new glass of champagne seemingly from thin air, snatching the empty one from her hand. Her head swam with the pulsing song as it overtook her. Was the music louder? Why was the smell of roses so strong? She needed fresh air. She needed a window. She needed to sit down. The dull throb of a migraine began to bloom behind her eyes.

“No, I’m sorry. Thank you for your company, but I need to find her.” She’d intended for the words to come out with firm assuredness, but they slurred as if she spoke with a mouth full of molasses. She stumbled toward the nearest table and reached out a hand to steady herself.

He tightened the grip on her elbow before she could reach the ledge. His words came out as anything but friendly. “I said she’s fine. Leave her be.”

In a moment of lucidity, she snapped into her sense of authority.

Ophir clamped down on his hand and summoned fire through her palm, singing a hole cleanly through the lace of her glove.

He screeched as he winced away in a whimper but then returned with an icy fist of his own. Icy powers battled against her flame in a war so quiet, so covert, that no one around them seemed to have noticed.

Aemon’s ice bore into her hand, quelching her fire as their powers remained trapped by the press of their flesh. He attempted to maintain his smile as he snarled, “How dare you use magic on me, witch. This is a party. No need to get violent.”

Her vision swam. Sweat spiked across her forehead as she struggled to keep her eyes open. His cold was winning. Ophir released the champagne flute and heard the high-pitched sound of glass and bells as it shattered to the marble floor.

She knew in that moment she had been drugged.

A male arm slung itself around Aemon’s shoulders, smiling broadly as he clapped the pretty, icy man on the arm. She recognized the handsome newcomer from when she’d first entered the party, identifying the simple black, silk band around his eyes with holes cut for his vision. A muscle in his jaw flexed with an unreadable emotion. She blinked through an ever-growing blur as she traced the line from his chin, down a tendon in his neck, and landed where the dark corners of a tattoo seemed to be peeking up from his shoulder on one side, stopping as if they were vines prepared to reach up his throat. She’d never seen a courtier or nobleman with a tattoo, but then again, there was plenty at this party she’d never seen before.

He said, “Thank you for finding my lady. She’s always wandering off. Are you okay, love? You’re looking a little pale. Let’s get some fresh air.”

Ophir’s knees buckled as the stranger braced her for her fall. “My sister—”

He had his arm around her in a second, pushing past the people who’d pressed in on them as he guided her away from Aemon. He dropped his voice so no one around them would hear.

“You have to get out of here.”

The world rippled like the surface of a pond. “I don’t feel well.”

A wave of nausea overtook her the moment she spit out the words. She threw out a hand to stop them from walking, holding her hair while she emptied the contents of her stomach onto the floor. The partygoers shrieked in both amusement and disgust.

“Sorry, but we don’t have time for this,” the man said. She’d barely finished throwing up before the stranger scooped her from the floor and began to shove people to the side in his haste for the door.

“Stop,” she protested weakly as another wave of nausea rolled through her.

No. She would not be taken again. She would not be taken anywhere.

A resurgence of fight and fear pulsed through her. She didn’t know this man. She didn’t know where he was taking her. The small relief that had come from the vomit dispelling some of the drug from her system rushed her wits back into her as she threw a handful of flame onto the stranger who gripped her. He cried out in surprise and loosened his grip, but the small distraction was all she needed in order to push away. She began running the moment her feet hit the floor, stumbling through the crowd as up and down tipped and tilted. She pushed her way through finery and naked bodies, shoving off the hardened abs of a male attendant as she fled. Ophir turned just long enough to see the stranger pursuing her.

She burst from the enormous hall and rounded the corner into the corridor. She grabbed the first handle she saw and yanked it open, then another, then another. Each had some manner of sex, lust, drugs, or violence contained within its walls. Screams, whips, blood, and blades joined the slamming of flesh, the sounds of sucking and fucking, the moans of climax.

“Caris?” she shouted into one room after another. She didn’t care if she was giving away their names; she needed to find her sister. The wooziness of the drug in her body tripped her against the smooth floor. Her ankle twisted as she slipped and bruised her knees on the marble. With a slap, stumble, and crawl, she was on her feet again, throwing open another door. Her voice escalated in pitch and terror with each new unsuccessful thrust of a handle.

“Caris? Caris!” She struggled to say her sister’s name through the dizzying lure of unconsciousness.

The stranger caught up with her as she stumbled through the opulent hall, still attempting to pull her from the manor. “Get outside,” he urged. “I can find your friend. You need to get out of here.”

Hysterics won. She choked on her panic as she screamed, “I’m not leaving without her. She needs help! I know she’s in trouble.”

She reached the final room at the end of the corridor. Either she’d suddenly lost her strength or something was blocking her efforts. She grunted as she threw her body into the door and forced it open. It cracked open just enough for her to see a large, dimly lit bedroom. The black rectangle of the bed was nearly concealed by the terrible crowd of men.

At its center, she found her sister.