Page 8 of Amour Fou (Deepest Desires #2)

I t’s finally here.

Amour Fou, the manor filled with people.

The theme for tonight is a gothic masked ball. Everyone wears dark clothing and filigree masks to cover their faces, giving the illusion of shadows roaming the rooms. Blood-red lights covet the ceiling, blanketing the manor with a dark, eerie feeling.

Heavy R&B music playing from the sound system has a sexualised tone to it, while the Caretakers walk around wearing plague doctor costumes and masks.

The manor has taken on a sultry yet dark image, playing on the fact that there isn’t much lighting so that the guests can enjoy their time here in privacy –guests drinking from goblets instead of glasses, all the windows draped in thick blackout curtains to keep the sanctity of what’s inside hidden.

Each room has been filled with different themes catering to specific desires of the users.

The West Wing has been set aside for anyone who chooses to divulge in sexual activity without a Caretaker—privately…

or openly with others. Men are dressed in all black suits, women in gothic style dresses of their choosing.

Tonight, I chose a black dress, with a corset boning around the bust. Thigh-high leather boots and black mask similar to The Phantom of the Opera. My hair flows down my back in loose waves with the front pinned back from my face.

I take the steps down the winding staircase on the right-hand side of the main hall, my hand gliding over the top of the smooth banister for balance. Tonight, the manor is filled with guests from around the world, rich men and women engaging in depraved acts.

Stilt walkers roam the room dressed in black and white suits with devil masks covering their faces, magicians entertaining small crowds into laughter and excitement, and aerialists wrapped in red and black silk hanging from the ceiling. Now that everything has finally come together, it’s perfect.

I haven’t spoken to, or had any close contact with Xaden since the pool house, and Zeke since the incident within the kitchen, but I’ve caught them staring while setting up the final few things for tonight.

“Looking good.” Zeke’s raspy voice sounds beside me, and I quiver.

I turn to face him then, but it’s not his handsome features I’m used to, but the faceless black mask that covers it, gold paint scattered over the forehead to give the illusion of it dripping. His broad, muscular frame fills the black suit he’s wearing, and he smells fucking incredible too.

“I know.” I shrug.

Raising a gloved hand to my chin, he pinches it, the cold leather pressed against my warm skin brings a hitch in my breathe.

“I looked you up, Alyssa. You applied to attend here two years ago.” Bending at the waist, the smooth fabric of the mask runs along my cheek, my core throbbing instantly with his close proximity. “I know all your dirty little secrets now. Let’s just hope you remember your safe word.”

Without giving me a chance to respond, he brushes past me and makes his way down the stairs, blending in perfectly with the rest of the workers. It’s only when he disappears entirely… that my safe word floods into my mind…

Vanilla.

T he first few cords of Motley Crew by Post Malone bounce from the speaker.

The main stage is free, and I’ve taken all the precautions to make sure that I’m kept safe.

Two workers light the cast iron fire torches I hold in either hand, filling my mouth with the correct amount of paraffin to breathe fire, or… blow it into the atmosphere.

Taking the steps up to the main stage, with a plague doctor on either side, I begin my routine.

Twirling the iron torches within my hands, I move my wrists to create an intricate flame pattern in the darkness of the room.

The light bouncing off the surface of my body, creating an orange hue within the negative space around me.

The people surrounding the stage make sounds of approval, clapping their hands as I create intricate moves while rolling and gliding my body from left to right.

The paraffin within my mouth waiting for the first round of fire breathing.

Lifting a torch a few inches from my mouth, I suck the air in through my nose, then spit the fluid through a very small gap in my mouth.

Flames billow at a diagonal angle above the heads of the people, cheering and clapping spurring me on –pushing me to continue playing with the bright orange and yellow flames.

The heavy guitar riff is vibrating from the floor, rising over my body and leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Crossing the torches together in front of me, I blow for a second time, the explosion of heat bigger than the last, and a few people step back.

Bringing the rods to either side of me, I twist and turn them, crossing them left and right, up and down, using my entire range of motion to take up as much of the stage as possible.

As the song begins to come to an end, I raise one torch to my open mouth, gathering as much saliva on my tongue as possible before I close my mouth around it, extinguishing the flames one by one.

Everyone in the grand hall explodes with cheers and more clapping.

Crossing one leg behind the other, I take a bow before my eyes land on them.

Both their faces covered with similar masks, but I know who they are, the men that have taken my thoughts over everything else.

Excitement swirls within my stomach as I turn around, making my way off the stage and into the crowd of waiting praise.