“Solomon, bring four gags,” Dominic called to the cypher fae he’d brought along. Solomon would get them through achtice’s warded gates, but then he’d return to the protection of the hangar. Cyphers were extraordinarily useful except when it came to fighting. Then they were pretty much helpless.
Dominic’s pilot, a fringe vamp, would drive them to the estate; then he’d stay outside with the other drivers, keeping to himself and sticking to his story of being a new hire. Once inside the ball, they couldn’t afford a single loose piece in the very complex puzzle they were creating.
Mortalis would wait in the second car at the end of the tunnels, where hopefully she, Mal, and the vampire baby would end up.
Chrysabelle retrieved her garment bag from the plane’s storage closet and carried it to the bedroom. There, she stripped down to her underwear, taking off the sheaths that held her wrist daggers and laying them on the bed. Her sacres were currently stored in the front closet where her dress had been. The small Golgotha blade normally tucked in the back of her waistband had stayed home. Going into this ball with only a pair of daggers strapped to her thighs was almost the equivalent of going in unarmed. Two short blades against Tatiana, who could transform her metal hand into any weapon of her choosing, was ludicrous. It meant the only effective fighting Chrysabelle could do was up close. Not really where she wanted to be when dealing with an aged, noble vampire.
With a resigned sigh, she clipped on the garter belt Nyssa had altered to serve as the sheath for the daggers and aligned it, then attached the stays around her lower thighs and inserted her wrist daggers into place.
The dress went on next, carefully so as not to damage the delicate lace. For a moment, Chrysabelle wished Velimai and Nyssa were with her, but it passed quickly. She wouldn’t want them in harm’s way. Not that Velimai’s vocals wouldn’t come in handy against Tatiana. Chrysabelle zipped the dress as best she could. Someone would have to finish the job for her.
She slipped her hands through the slits designed to look like pockets. Her hands connected immediately with the hilts of her daggers, their smooth surface offering some comfort to the anxious prickling running the length of her spine.
At last, she pulled the sides of her hair back with diamond combs and let the rest of it fall loose. She did a quick turn in the full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door to make sure everything was okay. Except for not being completely zipped up, she was ready to go. She opened the door and found Mal waiting.
Her heart caught in her chest at the sight of him wearing the outfit Dominic’s tailor had prepared. From the snowy cravat to the velvet frock coat and soft wool trousers, it was like getting a glimpse of him as he might have been so many centuries ago. Just seeing him dressed as befit his true noble status washed a curious sense of weakness through her. As if he were suddenly some distant, untouchable patron and she, his submissive comarré, awaiting his command. She glanced away and gathered her composure around her like a screen, but he’d already have heard the uptick in her pulse.
He shook his head, his gaze running the length of her. “Bloody hell.”
Her spirits sank and she glanced at him. “You don’t like it?”
“I like it. I don’t like the thought of other men looking at you in it.” His eyes silvered. “Come here.”
She did as he asked, the feeling of being possessed by this wicked creature coiling through her in a way that tripped the darkest pleasure centers of her brain. When she stopped before him, she lifted her chin. “You don’t own me, you know.”
He slipped his hand around her waist and drew her in until the space between them disappeared; then his lids dropped a little lower and he smiled, his mouth closed and assessing. “I’m well aware of who owns who in this relationship.”
“Then tell me why you’ve been avoiding me since you fed.”
His smile disappeared. He released her and stepped away, turning so that he no longer faced her. “The voices, the beast… they’re pushing me to kill. To make up for not killing you. It’s like they know I’ve gained the ability to protect you and they want to punish me for that.” He rolled his head to one side, closed his eyes, and sighed. “My head aches with their efforts.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, wanting to go to him, but not sure if he would welcome the touch since he’d moved away from her.
He tilted his head to look at her. “I’ll be okay.”
“You look very handsome, by the way.”
His smile deepened and he laughed softly. “I don’t think anyone will be looking at me this evening, but thank you. That dress is really something.”
She smoothed the skirt. “It was supposed to be my mother’s wedding dress.”
His brows rose. “Has Dominic seen it yet?”
“No, but I don’t think he knows that’s what it is.” She held out her hand. “Shall we go?”
“Wait. I have something for you.” He went to the closet her dress had been in, took his bag off the top shelf, and rummaged through it, finally pulling out a long, cloth-wrapped parcel. He handed it to her. “I want you to have these.”
She untied the leather cord securing the cloth and unfurled it into her hand, already recognizing the shapes within. When the matched set of daggers fell into her palm, she let out a soft, “Oh.” She set the cloth aside and inspected the weapons. Tiny rose-covered vines curled down the slim blades. Just before the blades met the rosewood hilts, their edge gave away to about an inch of serration, making them deadlier than the daggers she’d planned to use. “They’re beautiful.”