The Monster Ball is legendary, and now being here, I can certainly see why.
Between the secrecy, guests, music, and décor, I can’t imagine it not being infamous.
I lean back on the circular white bar, and as I do, it changes colors behind me with the music.
Strangely, I notice these things now. When faced with your own demise, you tend to see things you never really noticed before. Like décor and fruit bat and unicorn bartenders.
Sipping on my bourbon, I look around for my target, disregarding the purple-haired witch on my left watching me with a knowing smirk. Unlike many of the ball’s supernatural guests—engaged in private discussions in the sunken conversation pits—I’m not here to relax and party.
I’m here on business.
And strictly business.
Sex complicates professional outcomes.
It’s just a hunch, but I’m guessing from the way she’s studying me, the purple-haired witch eyeing me is also here on business, not pleasure. It’s a fucking shame. She’s hot as hell.
“Dragneel Estaban?” A seductive voice coos from my other side.
I’m not surprised that whoever she is, she knows who I am.
There are very few who don’t, especially women.
I am a dark wizard. Regardless of how charming I appear, I will always be a dark wizard.
Broken.
Damaged.
Ruthless.
I’m part of the supernatural elite and corrupt. An eligible and powerful dark wizard with more money than I know what to do with, thanks to my lucrative career selling eternal magic on the supernatural black market. That makes me desirable amongst the opposite sex. Well, that and the rumor floating around that I wield both fire and ice magic—a pleasure-and-pain rarity.
And it never gets fucking old. Not ever.
Power.
Dominance.
Their desire.
Paying no attention to her, I take another sip of bourbon and keep my focus forward. The expensive liquor burns the back of my throat as it slides down smoothly, soothing my edginess.
“Pink cube.” The temptress whispers the two words in my ear and sashays away.
Curious, my gaze slides to her disappearing form. For a moment, I watch the black feathers on her dress sway in the warm evening breeze before I look around the rooftop for the staircase.
Pink Cube. If memory serves me, I saw the glowing cubes in the loft area when I first arrived.
Lost in thought, I scan the crowd on the roof.
Why the hell would she direct me to the cube?
Unless . . . she is our mysterious hostess.
That would mean the reason for my presence this evening is waiting for me in the cube.
I don’t hesitate. With a casual gait, I walk toward the stairs to the loft area.
As I pass, the crowd parts a bit, giving me space. This happens a lot. Most supernaturals feel the dark power seeping off me. They provide me with space either out of desire or fear. When you carry two forms of dark magic, beings tend to be intimidated. Then again, being a well-known manwhore could be the reason for the wide berth. Either way, they step aside politely.
With a little bounce in my step, I head down to the loft. Once there, I pause, taking it in.
A birdlike creature slips into a different colored cube with an eager woman. The darkness radiates off of him. A darkness I can appreciate and relate to—sexual darkness.
The corners of my lips tilt at the knowledge he’s about to get laid. He disappears, and I continue searching for the pink cube. The moment I see it in the corner, I toss back the rest of my drink and place my empty glass on a nearby ledge. With a few strides, I’m standing in front of it.
“There’s a wait,” someone says, grabbing my arm to stop me from entering the cube.
I look from my arm to the soulful eyes of a lion shifter. His long brown dreads and golden skin appear even darker in the lights changing color in sync to the rhythm of the bass.
When he sees whom he’s grabbed, he releases his grip, stepping back.
“Dragneel?” He sounds surprised. “Sorry, man. Didn’t realize it was you.”
The lion looks me over with a peaceful, knowing expression.
“Barassa,” I reply, watching him take me in. “You bartending tonight?”
He winks. “Just delivered my specialty cocktail to some beautiful women.”
I smile, the heaviness in my chest lightning a bit at my friend’s appearance.
Eyeing me for a moment, he laughs.
I like that Barassa isn’t terrified of me. It’s a nice change of pace.
“Something funny?” I ask.
“It’s just, I would never have pegged you as someone who gets his future read.”
“Future?” I repeat.
He throws his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to a small line. “Kat is doing readings.”
“Readings?”
Barassa shakes his head, seeming to find me amusing. “Tarot readings.”
Tarot readings . I try not to crack a smile. “I forget just how spiritual you lion shifters are.”
A deep chuckle falls out of him. “Spiritual or not, she’s the best card mage.”
At his words, my interest is piqued. “If she’s the best, why wouldn’t I want a reading?”
“I guess I imagine you would be hard to read, given your lack of morality these days.”
He’s right. I surround myself with liars, cheaters, thieves, and murderers. The only light I carry is in the form of my fire magic. The power to burn down everything in my path.
“My lack of morality aside, I’d like to see what my future holds.” I stand unmoving.
“Is that so?” His tone has a slight protective challenge in it. He holds my eyes for another moment before releasing them. “Well, your reading with Katya will have to wait.”
Tired of him standing in my way, I sigh, “And why is that?”
“Some blonde chick with a black sunflower on her dress pushed her way in. Their exchange looked intense, so I’d wait before barging in”—he pauses—“and coming face to face with your fate.”
I’m not sure why, but his words cause a coldness to crawl over my skin.
My eyes slide over his shoulder to the closed cube. “Thanks for the tip.”
With a slight dip of his chin, he makes his way back to the bar.
Taking a seat on a couch outside the cube, I stare at it.
Whatever is waiting for me behind that closed door has something I want.
Time to come up with a plan and set it in motion.
Chapter Three
The Scent Of Darkness
Katya
Under my fingertips, my cards hum with nervous energy. The blonde girl seated next to me on the couch has an underlying desperation surrounding her aura. Even though my deck keeps picking up her edginess, the mask of indifference she wears gives nothing away.
I should’ve known better than to agree to her reading, but I couldn’t help myself. Her request was too intriguing to pass up: locate a witch who has feasted on souls, hiding at the ball.
My gaze slides over the cards she’s chosen, then toward her hands, and up her arms. I follow the decorative vines twined around her upper arms before meeting her eyes. Though she’s calm on the outside, her stare gives away her real emotions. There is no peace radiating from her. This woman, Tansy, has faced death and lost everyone close to her; nothing scares her.