Page 52 of Guarded By the Phantom

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 shelooked 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 mingledin 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.

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