Page 17 of Enchantra (Wicked Games #2)

16

MASQUERADE

Enchantra was glittering.

When the bells tolled six, Genevieve stepped into the ballroom, her mouth open in wonder. The air all around her was filled with floating orbs of light that looked like twinkling fireflies, emphasized by the fact that in every corner of the room were enormous, gilded mirrors that made the lights seem endless. High above her head, sashes of silk stretched from the perimeter of the room’s ceiling and gathered to a single point in the center, where a sphere of the glowing orbs slowly rotated.

Masked guests were draped over the balcony, watching those already dancing below them and howling with inebriated laughter. The dance floor was crowded with lively beings, all of whom paused their gossip and drinking to stare as she passed. An orchestra was playing a twinkling waltz, the melodies floating through the air like bubbles of champagne—which Genevieve now spotted flowing from a fountain across the room. She made a beeline for the display of refreshments, craving the ecstasy she knew was at the bottom of a few glasses of the golden, effervescent wine. Usually, she’d stop herself after a drink or two, but she knew she should take Ellin’s advice to have fun tonight.

Besides, there were few things she was better at than enjoying a good party.

“Fuck you, Sevington Silver, it does not ,” Ellin growled just as Genevieve downed her first glass and stuffed a ripe strawberry into her mouth.

Genevieve’s gaze snapped to where Ellin, Sevin, and Covin were huddled together a few feet away. Their ensembles were, unsurprisingly, just as intricate as hers—if not more so. Sevin’s mask was of a silver wolf. Covin’s was a striking serpent, its crimson scales the same shade of crimson as his and Sevin’s eyes. And Ellin’s mask was…

“Look, just in time—a nonpartial third-party opinion,” Sevin pointed out when he spotted Genevieve, the sucker that usually hung from his lips noticeably absent.

Sevin curled two fingers in Genevieve’s direction, beckoning her over.

Genevieve swiped another two glasses of champagne before approaching with a curious, “Yes?”

Covin let out a low whistle as he looked her up and down. “You look positively exquisite , bunny rabbit.”

“Careful, Covin. Despite the adorable disguise, I’ve heard rumors that our new sister bites,” Sevin drawled.

“The rumors, as usual, are true,” Genevieve confirmed before taking another sip from her glass.

“Lucky Rowin,” Covin murmured with a smirk, and a sudden buzz of whispering sounded at Genevieve’s back.

Her gaze snapped to the three onlookers behind her, all of them dressed like swans, all holding the same looking glasses as the crowd outside of Rowin’s room earlier. The words Rowin , bride , and bites stood out from their conversation as they looked between her and the mirrors in their hands.

“Always watching,” Ellin reminded under her breath.

Genevieve took a longer sip this time.

“We need you to settle something,” Covin told Genevieve. “Can you tell us what you think Ellin’s mask might be depicting?”

Genevieve couldn’t, actually. The craftsmanship of the mask was a stark contrast to that of the marvelous silver gown Ellin was wearing. It was some sort of animal—that much was clear. A creature that could only be described as something between a deranged bear and a house cat.

“She made it herself, if you couldn’t tell,” Sevin said after a beat of Genevieve’s silence, trying to hide a smirk behind his fist as he pretended to cough.

“It’s supposed to be Sapphire, and you both know it,” Ellin hissed. “Hell forbid I have hobbies other than fucking, fighting, or partying like the rest of you!”

“You might want to reconsider making arts and crafts one of them,” Sevin drawled.

“Where the Hell is Wells?” Ellin growled.

“Uh-uh, you know the rules—twins don’t get a deciding vote,” Covin told her.

Ellin stomped off anyway.

Genevieve raised her brows. “Wait, Ellin and Wells are?—”

“Yes,” Sevin interjected before she could say the word twins . It took her a moment to realize he had interrupted because the question would have seemed suspicious to any partygoers eavesdropping on their conversation. “Alright, I’m going to find some vamps. I’m out of suckers.”

As he strutted off, Genevieve shifted uneasily on her feet at being left alone with Covin.

“So”—Covin flicked his crimson gaze over her—“do you have a favorite amongst my siblings yet?”

“Whichever one of you I’m not currently talking to,” she told him.

Covin smirked. “At least you’ve got a sense of humor.”

Before Genevieve could say anything else, someone called Covin’s name, and he strutted off without so much as a goodbye.

Manners must be a lost art in Hell , she thought as she quickly polished off both her glasses and discarded them on a passing waiter’s tray. She made her way over to the streaming tower of champagne, filling up another glass before spinning back toward the room to search through the crowd.

Where is he?

“Looking for someone?”

Genevieve turned to find the face she’d been searching for, but not the man.

Remi was dressed in a golden suit, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Despite the fox mask he wore, she knew it was Remi and not Rowin from both the lack of any piercings and the fact that Remi seemed much less intentional with his appearance to her than his twin. Rowin’s hair was always carefully disheveled, every detail of his outfits considered and refined—much like her own style. Meanwhile, Remi’s hair had clearly been combed with his fingers, and his shirt was half-unbuttoned, with no cuff links or necktie.

“Would you like to dance?” Remi offered, lifting a hand in invitation.

Genevieve hesitated, the nightmare from the night before flashing in her mind. She absentmindedly reached over to play with the ring on her left hand, and when her fingertips brushed against cold, textured metal, she looked down in surprise to find Rowin’s signet.

She’d gotten used to having a ring there, and now she’d apparently gotten used to missing it. But at least she had something to fidget with again. As well as something to tell her that Remi’s intentions must be innocent enough, considering the band remained cold.

“Something wrong?” Remi prompted.

Genevieve shook her head and finally placed her hand in his, letting him lead her toward the dance floor as she shoved the images of the horrible dream to the back of her mind. Remi guided her in a simple, swirling waltz around the other couples, and she thought it ironic that she had arrived in this country hoping for a moment exactly like this. A handsome suitor who would dance her into a stupor before leading her away for a tryst in a hidden corner of a gilded room.

But Enchantra was not made of gold. Just ruthless Silvers.

“I’m sorry about this,” he told her. “All of it.”

She looked around at the crowds of onlookers, at the magic mirrors in their hands. “I can’t think what you mean, Remi. I’m Rowin’s wife. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“Really?”

Genevieve glanced up at him. “Why are you speaking to me, Remi?”

“Am I not supposed to?” he wondered as he expertly spun her out by one hand.

“Do as you please. But after our first encounter, I didn’t think you’d want to,” she pointed out as he began to reel her back in.

And then, over his shoulder, she spotted the man she had been looking for.

Rowin was like a blade of darkness cutting through the glowing ballroom as he scanned the crowd. She noticed that his suit had a gilded heart beaded over the left breast of his jacket in a similar vein to the details of her own gown, and she snorted at the connotation.

A heart of gold? Please.

Even beneath the onyx fox mask, she knew the moment Rowin’s gaze found her and Remi. He didn’t come over as she thought he might, however. He only crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against one of the pillars that held up the balcony at the back of the room, watching intently as she and his twin continued to dance.

“Would you have been happy to meet someone you’d soon have to see killed?” Remi murmured, bringing her focus back to their conversation.

“You can always try not to kill me,” she said sweetly.

“There is no mercy in the Hunt,” he told her. “But that doesn’t mean that I don’t feel rather sad for you.”

Genevieve halted their steps and yanked her hand out of his grip. “If you’re saying you pity me?—”

“Would you not pity a mouse stuck in a trap?” he said, but his expression still seemed as apathetic as ever.

“You can keep your pity to yourself,” she spat.

Remi had opened his mouth to say something else when a deep voice cut in.

“I believe it’s my turn to dance with my wife.”

She and Remi turned their heads toward Rowin in tandem, and Genevieve was shocked to find how much relief flooded through her at his sudden presence.

Remi waved a hand toward Genevieve. “She’s all yours.”

Rowin exchanged an inscrutable look with his brother as he pulled Genevieve into his own arms and whisked her away. Rowin pressed her into his body and the music morphed into something quite enchanting, its tempo slowly building as they traveled across the ballroom.

The world around them slowly became a blur of color while Genevieve followed his steps instinctually, her mind somewhere very far away.

“What did he say to you?” Rowin asked, his clipped tone slicing through her thoughts.

Genevieve blinked up at him before flicking her eyes over the dance floor around them. All the other couples had stopped to watch them.

“It was nothing,” she finally told him.

He gave her a hard look. “If he upset you, I think it’s important for you to remember that, as your husband, it’s my job to defend your honor.”

In other words, the optics of him sticking up for her were very important for their audience. Except Genevieve wasn’t currently interested in crafting more of their false narrative off the very real feelings she was having. Not with the weight of so many eyes on her.

She stepped away from him as the song they were dancing to finally came to an end. “I need another drink.”

Rowin sighed as he grasped onto her hand and pulled her off the dance floor, the crowd parting without hesitation as he led her back to where the refreshments were. When he stepped away to swipe another glass of champagne for her from the table, a group of masked spectators greeted him enthusiastically, and Genevieve watched while one of them boldly winked at him as he extracted himself from their conversation to return to her.

“I think you have an admirer,” Genevieve whispered, ignoring the itchy feeling she suddenly felt crawling across her skin.

“One of many,” he told her without so much as a glance back.

Genevieve clucked her tongue. “They must all be so disappointed with our recent nuptials.”

He smirked. “Because beings of Hell hold the sanctity of marriage vows with the highest respect?”

Point taken. Which reminded her…

“For a ball being thrown by a Devil, I certainly expected more debauchery.” As soon as she said the words, she tipped her glass all the way back to her lips, leading by example.

“Careful what you wish for,” Rowin cautioned as he watched her polish off the drink. “Our bastard of a host hasn’t arrived yet?—”

On cue, all the lights in the room were extinguished at once. The music in the background began to simmer to something more sinister than before, and Genevieve braced herself for the Devil’s appearance.

In Phantasma she’d had her fair share of dealing with Devils, but being in the same room as one was something you never really became used to. They seemed to take up so much space in any room they occupied, like their power sucked the air out of it. A warning that no matter how benevolent they appeared, they could still destroy you with barely a thought.

“Welcome, esteemed guests.” Knox’s crackling voice echoed through the hushed ballroom from somewhere she couldn’t see. “As always, to those of you who make my masquerade your single annual excursion to this linear plane from the Other Side—I thank you greatly.”

There was a brief flash of light; then the orbs slowly reignited around them, except this time their glow was carmine. Genevieve watched with thrilled fascination as the room transformed. Beds with mirrored headboards surrounded by sheer curtains to—poorly—give the illusion of privacy replaced the tables around the dance floor. Mirror balls made of thousands of tiny vermilion pieces began to spin from the ceiling above amongst the scarlet orbs, scattering winking dots of light in every direction. The tied-back curtains fell over the windows with a heavy swish to block the moon’s luminescence and plunge everything into seedy darkness, while the orchestra’s violins shifted to a sensual crescendo.

Things appearing out of thin air was nothing new to Genevieve, especially after spending time with Salem, but the way Enchantra had gone from a shimmering celebration to a writhing affair right before her eyes was thrilling . Most likely because of all the champagne that was now hitting her system, filling her veins with pure ecstasy, but she’d prefer not to worry too much about that.

She watched as pairs, trios, quartets , headed toward the beds—some not even making it that far as they sank to the floor—and her skin prickled at the sound of their moans joining the orchestra. No one had ever touched her in such an uninhibited way, but now she found that she was craving it. Compliments of the bubbly in her system, she was sure.

Just then, a waiter balancing a tray of glowing, pink cocktails passed by, and an instant need for whatever was in those glasses came over her.

“ Genevieve, wait ,” Rowin ordered.

But she did no such thing, weaving through the throngs of masked patrons after the waiter like a moth chasing after a flame.

Knox’s voice began to boom across the room again. “Usually, we start our evening in Enchantra with a toast—to the whole Silver family for another entertaining year of the Hunt. Tonight, however, I am delighted to finally introduce a very special addition to this year’s game.”

Genevieve was barely paying attention to the Devil’s words as she flagged down the waiter, greedily pilfering one of the neon-pink cocktails off their tray.

“For the first time, the Hunt has a team of two. Our reigning champion has unexpectedly wed a lovely little mortal . And I know you’ve all been dying to meet her.”

The room began to buzz with whispers, and Genevieve giggled as she pressed the cool rim of her new glass to her lips. The tart liquor tasted like citrus and berries.

Yum.

“And now,” the Devil declared, his voice still floating ambiguously from somewhere in the far distance, “Mrs. Rowington Silver herself…”

A tall figure suddenly blinked into view right in front of Genevieve, a large spotlight erupting overhead and making her startle and slosh pink liquid onto her skirts and across the marble tiles beneath her feet. Rowin’s ring felt like molten lava on her hand.

“ Fuck ,” she gasped down at her hand as she squinted through the too-bright light beaming from above her.

“What a wicked mouth,” Knox purred. “Don’t worry, I can take care of that.”

He snapped his fingers and the stain—as well as her drink—instantly disappeared.

“I wanted that,” she complained.

“I have something better,” he said as he snapped his fingers again and a flute of something purple and fizzy appeared in his grasp. “Try this.”

Her instincts screamed at her to reject the offering, to turn and go back to Rowin. Her first reaction when it came to Devils would always be flight. But maybe it was the liquor already in her system that made her desperate to try.

“What is it?” she finally asked as she took the glass and gave it a sniff.

“Passion fruit,” he told her. “My favorite.”

“I’ve never had it.”

“Try it, then,” he persuaded. “Just one sip.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“I insist ,” he urged through clenched teeth.

She drank.

Extraordinary.

She went to down the rest, but Knox clucked his tongue. “Ah, ah, ah. We must toast your fellow players.”

He gestured behind her with his chin, and she spun to see Barrington leading his family—sans Rowin—toward the circle of light. Their faces were all carefully blank, leaning toward apathetic, except for Sevin, who looked amused as he eyed the drink in her hand.

She opened her mouth to ask where Rowin was, a sudden need to see him erupting within her, but before she could get the words out, she felt the static warmth of his presence approach from behind.

“Move,” he said against her ear as he began to guide her toward the rest of his family.

In a blink, glasses of champagne appeared in everyone’s hands around the room as Knox announced, “I propose a toast to another lively season of the Hunt and a healthy year for dear Vira.”

At the mention of their mother’s name, Grave shattered his glass to pieces in his fist, sending a spray of black blood and bubbly to the ground as Ellin shifted closer to place a comforting hand on his arm. Remi and Wells didn’t even bother glancing at the scene, while Sevin and Covin exchanged loaded looks.

Knox raised his glass in the air, and all around the ballroom the guests returned his gesture. The clinking of glasses rippled through the room as each of the Silvers took a customary sip of their champagne. Minus Grave, who was already storming away from the illuminated circle.

Genevieve tilted her own glass back and polished it off in one go.

After she licked the last drop from her lips, she blinked over at Rowin, who she now realized was simmering with barely contained rage beside her. She furrowed her brow at him in question as she searched for what might be wrong, but there wasn’t a hair out of place. Even the champagne in his hand looked perfectly yummy?—

—except it was no longer champagne. It was now the same bright purple liquid that Knox had given her.

“What’s wrong, Rowin? Don’t like the flavor of passion fruit?” Knox smirked. “I just wanted to make sure you and your new bride had a good time tonight. The honeymoon will be over as soon as the clock strikes midnight, after all.”

Genevieve’s head was swimming, and she couldn’t work out what the Devil was getting at, as Rowin shoved his half-drank cocktail at a passing waiter before unceremoniously wrapping an arm around Genevieve’s waist and yanking her across the dance floor.

“Are you alright?” she asked as he steered her toward the outer perimeter of the room. He looked like he was in physical pain.

“Fine,” he said between clenched teeth, which was not at all convincing, but he only held on to her tighter and kept walking.

She could feel the impressive muscle of his bicep where she held on to his arm like a lifeline as she tried not to stumble, and before she could stop herself, she squeezed. He skipped a step in surprise, his eyes flicking down to hers. The music around them had begun to shift into something much more…intimate, and she found herself pressing closer to his side as their steps slowed to match it. Every inch of her skin that was covered suddenly felt much too hot, and she had the primal urge to rip off the suffocating cage of the dress then and there. Her teeth began to ache, her mouth watering for something she couldn’t quite pinpoint, but the shape of it was awfully reminiscent of his name.

The desire was coming from somewhere intrinsically within, spreading through her veins until it took over her entire system and she could barely think of anything except for him .

“You have to fight it,” he implored, his voice thick with…lust?

That couldn’t be right, and yet, when she peered up into his eyes, she saw that his pupils had nearly completely swallowed the gold of his irises.

“ We have to fight it,” he gritted out again.

When she saw how hard he was clenching his jaw, the strain of keeping his breaths steady in his chest, she knew she was not the only one losing her mind. “I don’t want to fight it.”

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Neither do I.”