Page 29 of The Tracker's Secret

“Thank you, Dani,” I said.

“I’m sure Dad would agree,” Lucia put in, and as soon as she said it, I knew she was right. Dad wouldn’t have cared. He would have loved me just the same, and even if everything else changed, this one truth would remain the same.

I was Peter Sunder’s daughter.

Chapter 11

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LATER THAT EVENING, Rosalina and I sat in front of the vanity in her bedroom, getting ready to go to Damien’s party. She stepped away from me, tiny brush in hand, and let her eyes rove over my face as if it were a canvas.

“Yeah, now, it’s perfect.”

She hadn’t approved of my makeup job. I thought I had done all right with it, but to her standards, it was seriously lacking. I turned to face the mirror—a large, rectangular piece with tiny, clear light bulbs going all around its frame—and stared at myself in surprise.

I lookedah-mazing! My jaw dropped.

“See?” Rosalina jutted a shoulder out, putting on a smug expression. “Now, that’s how you do makeup.”

She had spent five minutes removing what I’d put on and fifteen more applying everything from scratch. I had to admit my skills, which I’d acquired in high school during a quick instruction from Daniella, left a lot to be desired.

Rosalina had applied a primer, foundation, concealer, blush, eye shadow, eyeliner, falsies, setting powder, and who knew what else. She had given me a rundown as she worked, but it had been so many things that I’d lost count. I’d been afraid it would be too much, that I would look unnatural, but what she’d done had simply enhanced my features. No more, no less.

I blinked at the mirror, turning my face in different directions, completely in awe of her talent. “Shit, Rosalina, you could probably work on Broadway or Hollywood or something.”

“Yeah, if our agency doesn’t pan out, that’s my plan,” she joked.

She opened the drawer to my left. Glass clinked inside. The space was full to the brim with perfume bottles of different colors and made me think of a pirate’s treasure chest full of glittering jewels. She ran her fingers over them, picked a red bottle, and sprayed herself generously.

“I’d better change. Damien will be here soon,” she said, walking toward the bed and picking up the dress she’d selected out of her closet.

I went to my room to change, too. It was eight forty-five, and my nervousness had mounted. I felt like a young teen going to her first dance. I’d never been to a werewolf party. I preferred to party with Stales in mostly benign, public places. I had never even been to The Scourge—the Skew party district—because I knew it could be dangerous for people without considerable power. Shifters, vampires, powerful mages, and witches partied at a whole other level, which was not safe for Stales or weaker Skews like me. I didn’t feel at all like going, but I didn’t have a choice if I wanted to quickly tame Red. On top of that, I had to worry about Rosalina and hope Damien would keep her safe.

I slipped into my dress—an off-the-shoulder, knee-length number with slits running up both legs. Its fabric was flowy and plum-colored with a bit of glitter. After slipping into a pair of strappy kitten heels, I walked out of the bedroom and sat at the edge of the couch, tapping my fingers on my bare knee.

My back began to itch. I pinched my arm as hard as I could.