Page 107 of Shades of Silver City

“They need a lab,” Archer says. “It’ll be expensive, but those who are most invested in the lab’s…research will ensure the appropriate funding is there.” Archer looks contemplative for a moment. “We track the major funding, we can follow it back to those with ties to the lab.”

“Why burn it down, though?” I ask. “Why not just track who donates at the event tonight?”

“It’s a threat.” Godric laughs. “Sweetheart—”

“Don’t sweetheart me in that condescending tone, you asshat.”

Archer chuckles, shifting in his seat and watching me with rapt attention.

“Sorry, Tasia,” Godric mutters. “Those who fund the small events like this are mostly people with means who hope to get in the good graces of those with true power in the city.”

“Those with…personal attachments or a true stake in the lab will need it built as soon as possible,” Archer says. “They’ll donate quickly and generously, under the guise of serving the city.”

“Why exactly does it matter?” I ask, eyeing a woman with a gorgeous teal dress and a peacock-feathered mask as she walks past our car, headed toward the stairs. Her soul-shade blends with her outfit almost perfectly.

“Eyes on the enemy,” Godric says. “That’s why it matters.”

“There will always be another lab, more dreamdust, more experiments.” Archer sighs. “It will never end, unless we can find those at the top.”

“And then what?” I ask.

He purses his lips and glances away. “Cut the head off the snake.”

“I gotta move,” Godric says. “Can’t park here.”

Archer pulls out our masks, handing me mine before pulling his own on. I’m careful not to mess up my hair or makeup as I slip it into place. The butterfly stretches up on the left side, reaching a few inches higher than the right. I was worried the asymmetrical design would make the mask heavier on one side, but the thicker material on the right balances the weight distribution.

His mask is much simpler than mine. Its coloring is black and gold like mine but is entirely matte, understated. It covers the top half of his face, leaving his defined jaw and soft lips exposed. I’ve never noticed before how beautifully sculpted his face is. Yeah, he’s handsome. Hot. But with his mask putting the bottom half of his face on display, he looks downright beautiful.

Like he’s on a mission to break hearts.

When he catches me staring unabashedly, his face slowly lights up. He breaks out into the smallest, cutest grin, and Sirius save me, I practically melt.

Something flutters in my stomach, and heat builds in my core again.

How can this powerful, dangerous, asshole of a man be so fucking cute at times? A gangster who helps out old ladies and blushes.

For a moment, I let myself forget that he’s already turned me down once. Instead, I wonder what it might be like between us if this date were real—if I could act on my attraction to him. Before Reed, I had plenty of enjoyable encounters. But during the last year or so of my relationship with Reed, that side of me died. Even before that, since the beginning, our intimacy was a monotonous routine—something done out of requirement—lacking the passion, lust, and spontaneity that’s suddenly begging to be released.

I yearn to hike up my dress and straddle Archer—masquerade ball be damned.

“If you two are done eye-fucking each other back there…” Godric says.

He presses the button, and the locks disengage. Archer breaks eye contact, smoothing his hand down his thigh and straightening his posture.

Godric glances at me in the mirror, and I flick him off before opening the door and jumping out, nearly tripping over my feet.

And I’m in flats. At least Archer had the sense not to subject me to heels.

“I was supposed to open the door for you,” Archer says as he rounds the vehicle with a scowl.

Once we’re on the sidewalk, Godric drives off, leaving us alone. As I watch the plain black SUV depart, I notice the windows are incredibly tinted from the outside, making it impossible to see the driver. Good.

“So you’re courting me?” I ask.

He glances around, likely to ensure no one is listening to us, then leans in so only I can hear. “For tonight, I am indeed.”

His low, furtive tone sends a shiver up my spine, and I narrow my eyes at him, stepping back. “Stop whispering in my ear.”

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