Page 29 of Brutal Birthright

With a dark curse and glare, the eldest of the Nocturne siblings withdrew a short knife in an ornate silver sheath from the inside of his jacket and tossed it towards Niall.

“You’re late for the solstice ball, asshole. And while being half naked and soaked in blood might be your idea of a good time, you need to sort your shit out.” Lachie hitched his shoulders inside his jacket. The witch had a natural talent for being a pompous cocksucker at all times.

“Ruby sent us to get you. Obviously, she knows you well enough by now to understand… whatever this is…” Niall dipped his chin in the general direction of where he stood shirtless and looming large over the fae strapped to the chair. Grinning like an absolute air-headed idiot at the disdain written all over Rowan’s face.

Fuck that for a joke.

He’d secretly hoped to avoid the ball entirely.

But the queen of the fae was cunning. He’d give her that.

“Are you going to bathe me? Wash my balls for me, princess?” He sneered at Niall.

“Just get fucking moving, would you?” Lachie pinched his brow. “I could really do without imagining your hairy balls right now.”

“At least I’ve got some. I hear Belle’s got yours locked up in her purse.”

The sight of his brother’s fists clenching and unclenching was almost enough to have him crack a smile. Niall had it right. Lachie was far too easy to poke at, especially where his fated mate was concerned.

He reached over and yanked the blade free from the man’s thigh. More fucking sobbing. The crying was endless with this one. He flicked a wrist in the fae's direction as he wiped the slick crimson onto his trousers to clean off the metal.

Within a blink, a silvery sheen of the enchantment drew down around him, encasing the man within a translucent bubble. All noise finally stopped, and his body sagged despite being restrained and with a gag stuffed in his mouth. He could stay here rotting in a prison of his own imagination for the night, and Rowan could pick back up where they left off tomorrow.

Perhaps a little time spent reliving the events of the past few hours in his mind’s eye might loosen the asshole’s tongue.

Rowan skulked into the back of the ballroom after being herded by his brothers to clean himself and dress in the ridiculous suit Niall had thrust at him. A simple mask in place to cover his eyes. He’d opted for a painted effect by using his magic. Fucked if he’d wear an actual mask. Deep crimson smeared and flecked his skin with a burnt black effect that resembled dragon scales.

He didn’t have to hide behind a costume. The bloody centuries of war was the only mask Rowan needed to wear—a monster’s guise.

Fuck knows what his brothers were meant to be dressed as, but they’d disappeared off to trail after their women like obedient little lapdogs. He could easily spot them amongst the crowd on the dancefloor, looking all kinds of soft and besotted. Nothing he’d done to train them over the past three centuries had safeguarded them from the kind of weakness they’d so willingly exposed themselves to.

Fated bonds were a choice for a witch. By joining with their women, both Lachie and Niall had chosen to lay their hearts vulnerable and exposed to anyone who might try and attack.

Idiots.

Both of them.

He skirted the edge of the crowd. Students were bloody well everywhere. All of them either drunk on fae wine or indulging in spice. Thick clouds of pungent, herbaceous smoke wove around the vast ballroom. Magic hung in the air above the heads of the gathered throng, with the opulent gilded setting glinting like a thousand tiny jewels. The high ceiling filled with a jostling assortment of floating orbs emitting a soft golden light.

A shifter stumbled into him carrying two large goblets of fae wine, the contents sloshing onto the floor and narrowly missing the godsdamned suit. Rowan had no qualms in pinning the prick to the wall with his magic. A silver streak of light lashed out and slammed him against a pillar, immobile, mute, and wide-eyed. He didn’t even bother to say anything; just arched an eyebrow and carried on his way.

Good luck joining the rest of the party. The fucker could stay there in magical restraints until morning.

Finding a corner well away from the dancefloor, he took up a vantage point overlooking the sea of bodies grinding and writhing together. The midsummer solstice had well and truly taken hold, with no doubt all kinds of debauchery likely to ensue the longer the evening wore on.

He needed a fucking drink to get through another minute of this shit.

Using his magic, he pulled a small gold flask from thin air. Raising it to his lips, oaked notes of whiskey slipped down with a delicious burn. At least from here, Rowan could observe at a distance while also fulfilling Ruby’s wishes for all academic staff to be in attendance. The familiar sight of Nelloix—herbalist witch, now a turned vampiress—caught his eye with her two vampire mates on the far side of the ballroom. They had been brought in to run the herbarium programme as botanical and potions experts, respectively. He’d yet to properly meet them, but he already knew enough about both of the mountainous-looking vampires. The other, who was nearly as thoroughly decorated with tattoos as Rowan himself, was rumoured to be one of the best trackers across several realms.

On the other side of the crowd, Finnic’s blond hair bobbed as he talked animatedly with a dark-haired fae male. He’d mentioned something about his own fated mate, but in all honesty, Rowan hadn’t really been paying attention.

Laughter broke out in ripples throughout the crowd. Bodies pressed up against one another, moving as though entranced by the heavy beat of the music filling the night air. The entire place reeked of desire and sex and lost inhibitions. Each hit of spice and downed glass of fae wine only served to stoke the flames higher.

As he raised the flask once again to his lips, he stilled.

Her.

Moving through the crowd, with one hand wrapped in the grip of the cocky fucking vampire, Etienne. Dressed in a shimmering silver dress that left little to the imagination. It fell about her breasts without anything holding it in place and barely reached mid-thigh on her diminutive frame. Her mask draped across her cheekbones with a sweep of crystals, matching the glint of diamond jewels wound through her long hair. The ethereal look came complete with matching gossamer wings that flickered and slowly beat with magic, creating the illusion of hovering between her bared shoulder blades.

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