Page 17

Phantom

S he was beautiful. It wasn’t anything unusual, since she was glorious at any time of day and night, no matter what she wore. But now, standing in a dress she chose for herself, with her hair curled and face made up with silvery highlights and luscious pinks, she was somehow even more glorious.

I didn’t wish to see her in the black dress anymore. This one, bright and modest while also revealing her strong legs, suited her perfectly. I sat in silence, a pillow in my lap, and watched my principal with an ache in my chest and agony in my loins.

“Nat, I want to write her poems. She’s gorgeous. When she smiles, I forget who I am. What do I do?!?!?!”

His reply was completely unhelpful, as usual. “Write your name down and put it in your pocket if you forget who you are. Also, what poems? Send an example.”

I gritted my teeth and quickly typed up a haiku.

“You are a vision

I want to lick your titties

Get naked with me.”

Nat’s only response was a laughing emoji. I pocketed my phone with a huff, though I felt a bit better. At least I could pretend it was only lust, even though in truth, I wanted to wax poetic about her eyes, her smile, and the way all of me fucking melted when she looked at me with complete acceptance, as if I wasn’t a monster.

I wanted to serenade her because she wasn’t afraid of me or disgusted. It was pathetic.

When we sat in the car, she clenched and unclenched her hands in her lap. Her scent filled the vehicle, citrusy and sophisticated, and I breathed my fill like a junkie.

“Stop it,” I said, putting my hand on top of hers, which was just an excuse to touch her. “You’re distracting me.”

“Sorry.” She slid her hands under her thighs, pressing her lips together. “I’m just nervous.”

“Don’t be. If anyone’s mean to you, I promise to flush their head down the toilet,” I said seriously.

I would, too. The gala would be in the papers for all the wrong reasons, and I wouldn’t give a flying fuck provided my princess had a good time.

She smiled feebly, shaking her head. “I’m not really worried about that, but about my outfit. My mother chose that black dress for a reason, and I wonder what it was.”

She clamped her mouth shut, looking away. I watched the back of her head while she stared out the window, her neck muscles taut with tension.

“Should I flush your mother’s head down the toilet, too?” I asked mildly, wanting above all else to make her laugh.

She did, though it was more of a snuffle than a laugh, but I took it. She turned back to me, her expression turning mischievous.

“Don’t do it, obviously, but thank you for adding to my meditation bank. Imagining this should be very helpful once she lays into me for wearing this outfit and chopping off my hair.”

I swallowed, glancing at the partition between the back of the car and the driver’s space. Victor couldn’t hear us if we didn’t raise our voices, so I leaned in carefully, inhaling more of her exquisite scent. She sighed softly when she saw me invading her space but didn’t protest.

“Don’t be scared,” I said, my voice alien to my own ears. It sounded almost tender. “I won’t let them hurt you. If it gets too much, I’ll kidnap you out of there and take you on a ride. We’ll get burgers and ride to Hains Point to watch the sun rise over the river.”

Her lips parted as she watched me, her breaths growing quicker. Mere inches separated our faces, and damn , if I just leaned in, I could flick my tongue out and taste her lipstick.

“Promise?” she asked in a soft whisper, and maybe it was my imagination, but I thought she swayed an inch closer. I tasted her breath when I parted my outer teeth just a fraction.

“Yeah. One word from you and we’re out of there. So don’t be nervous, okay? I’ll take care of you.”

I cringed internally at how mushy it sounded, but when she let out a soft sigh, blinking slowly as she swayed closer yet, I forgave myself for being a sentimental moron.

Fuck, I could kiss her.

When her eyes dropped to my teeth, her tongue flicking out to wet her lower lip, I shot back and pressed myself into the back of my seat, breathing hard. What. How. Why.

She straightened, too, looking away with a slight frown. My vision was pink, pink, pink.

When she cleared her throat, looking out the window, I grabbed my phone.

“Nat. We almost kissed. I think she wanted to, but hell, I DON’T KNOW. No one ever wanted to kiss me. How do I know for sure? Is there a questionnaire I could have her fill out?”

We were almost there when my phone finally pinged. I fumbled in my haste to read his words of wisdom, but Nat didn’t give me anything. Instead, he sent me a link to an article in a men’s magazine.

10 Signs She’s Really Into You.

“You’re a hideous knave and a toad,” I replied, mindful of not putting any cusswords in writing. “I hope you get a nasty STI so your spikes rot in their little pocket.”

This time, he replied at once. “It’s not little. I could fit your ugly skull face in there.”

This lifted my mood a bit. I evidently brushed on a touchy subject, and good for him after making fun of me in my hour of need.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” I replied.

And then the fun was over. It was time to get out.

Our arrival was marked by excited shouts and a flurry of camera flashes even before the car door opened. Every guest had to do the red carpet walk since this was that kind of event, and a crowd of paparazzi blocked our way.

I got out first and opened her door, following close behind her while the security team manning the event pushed the journalists to the sides. As she stepped out of the car, an avalanche of questions tumbled her way.

“Why did they target you and not your father?”

“Barbara, what do you think about the video?”

“Why did they try to kill you?”

“Who designed your dress?”

She remained calm through all that, gliding serenely up the carpet and smiling a fixed, radiant smile into each blinding flash of a camera. Her lips were sealed but not tight, and she looked beautiful, glowing, and happy as she ignored every single question.

I wondered how much training it must have taken for her to maintain that expression. Since I was privy to her nerves in the car, I knew she wasn’t as composed as she appeared on the outside. She played her part really well.

The doors opened, letting us into the brightly-lit hall of the Concordia Royale, the swankiest hotel in town. I walked a pace behind her, scanning the crowd for potential dangers, noticing the security planted around the perimeter.

A waiter swooped in with a tray of champagne glasses. Barbara accepted one, and as soon as the waiter turned away, I pulled it from her hand.

“I can’t refuse a drink, it’s impolite,” she whispered, her voice mild thanks to the wide smile she still wore like a shield.

“I know. I’ll just check it. I’ll be discreet.”

While she walked forward, exclaiming a greeting to an elderly demon man with a beautiful dryad woman on his arm, I turned away and dipped just the tip of my tongue in her drink. Abomination senses were much sharper than a human’s, and we had a natural ability to detect all manner of poisons and other death traps.

When Barbara bid the couple goodbye and slowly glided toward the main event venue, I slid the glass back into her hand, not even feeling guilty about how I had conducted my test. If I had followed the protocol, I would have gotten a bit of the drink on a hygienic swab to taste, but a perverse, greedy part of me desperately wanted to see her swallow something my tongue had been in. It would be just like when she ate with that spoon I’d licked.

Here it was, my new kink. It was her fault for unlocking it.

We entered the main floor, where a throng of people in black and white with an occasional splash of color talked and mingled in small groups. A string quartet played in the corner, giving a lazy rhythm to the hushed conversations and pleasant laughter, and wait staff navigated the smooth marble floor with ease, distributing champagne and canapes.

It was real champagne, too, not just fizzy wine. My sense of taste was surgically attuned to liquor varieties ever since I made it my goal to drink every sort of addictive toxin made by man when I was in my twenties. Fun times.

Barbara stood for a moment, looking around, her expression soft and inviting. She held herself with grace, straight but not proud, her legs exquisitely on display thanks to the short dress. Soon, she noticed a familiar face and set down that way with an easy smile.

As I followed, I eyed the stucco ceiling, ornate pillars decorated with designs of vines and orchids, and the dark wall paneling. This place was elegant, its atmosphere hushed and heavy with money. All the people here were posh, everyone wearing at least a few thousand dollars on their backs like it was no biggie. They talked in melodic, easy voices, all pleasant and somehow tempered.

When I caught a glimpse of myself in one of the tall, ornate mirrors spaced out around the walls, I couldn’t help but feel the dissonance keenly. With my heavy combat boots and pants, my weapons, and, worst of all, my skull of a head, I stood out, and not in a good way.

I knew I’d say something brash and horny soon. It was my nature, and when I did, everyone who heard me would look horrified and then pretend I didn’t exist.

Barbara ended her polite chat with an elderly vampire woman and glided across the marble like a true princess. Her posture, her smiles, her graceful gestures—all of her fit in seamlessly in this elegant, luxurious space, like she was born for this. Duh—because she was.

It was her birthright.

It hit me again, how much of a dumb fuck I was. Good for me that I stole a lick of her champagne, because that was all I would ever get. Even if she did actually want to kiss me, the best I could count on was being her secret side-piece.

Princesses didn’t marry monsters.

She stopped suddenly while tension gripped her nape. I hurried to her side, instantly locating the threat.

Her parents headed our way, her mother resplendent on her husband’s arm, her neck and wrists laden with heavy coils of pearls. Her smile wasn’t as perfect as Barbara’s, though. I saw the hard edge of anger behind it.

“Mother, Father,” Barbara greeted them with perfect daughterly joy. I was certain no one could tell how anxious she was. “How are you enjoying the evening?”

Her father, who was a handsome man in his fifties, slim and impeccably dressed, gave her a non-committal nod. He didn’t even look at her properly, his eyes passing over the crowd as if he was looking for someone.

“The gala is beautiful,” Madame Ashford said with a tight-lipped smile. “Oh, is that Patrick? Go on, dear. I know you have much to discuss.”

Her husband barely acknowledged her before he strode away to a group of men around his age, all of them human apart from one vampire. Clarissa gave me a cold look, her eyes snagging on my outfit. Her nostrils flared before she graced me with an insincere smile.

“Would you leave us alone? I need to speak with my daughter.”

I almost laughed in her face. Almost. It took a great deal of self-restraint, but I kept the mocking laughter back, giving her a cheerful smile instead.

“No, unfortunately. Her life is in danger, and I will do my due diligence to protect it. I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’re not capable of protecting your daughter if she is attacked.”

Clarissa scoffed but didn’t insist. She grabbed Barbara’s elbow in a vicious grip and pulled her toward the canape table, which was now deserted. Barbara gasped from pain when she stumbled, hastening to follow her mother, and my vision grew red.

Uh-oh.

At the table, her mother leaned in and spoke in a low voice, probably hoping to keep the conversation private, but my sensitive hearing allowed me to catch every word.

“Why didn’t you wear the dress? And what have you done to your hair? You look all wrong. This is unacceptable, and you’re about to start on the wrong foot. It’s all your fault, you willful girl.”

“What… what do you mean?” Barbara asked, her hands clenched into fists, her posture rigid. Gone was her poise. It seemed like her mother had the singular power of sucking all confidence out of her daughter.

“I wanted you to look like a woman!” Clarissa hissed. “But no, you had to do it your own way. Fine! You will fix it now, though, how? I have no idea. Your looks, inadequate as they are, are your best feature, and now even that advantage is gone. Try not to bore him with your dull conversation, will you?”

The red covering the edges of my vision crept steadily into the center of it with every insulting, untruthful word. I stood motionless, waiting to hear the purpose of this cruel dressing down.

“Not to bore… who?” Barbara asked tentatively, the slightest quiver in her voice.

Her mother looked at her with utter contempt.

“Who do you think? Your future husband, of course!”