Page 7 of The Puppetmaster

I’m wearing white lingerie, very delicate pieces with flowery lace trim and a matching garter belt that holds up sheer white stockings. And because I’m shy, I added a sheer white kimono to my ensemble that reaches down to my knees.

I know that Melina is not referring to my get-up as a whole, but the wristband circling my right wrist. The last time I wore a white wristband was ages ago.

On hunt nights, a white wristband only means one thing: I want to become his next puppet.

I offered myself to him once, a long time ago, and when he rejected me, I never tried again.

Until tonight.

“Can you make me a gin and tonic?” I ask Melina, who is still fixating her probing smile on me.

“Gin Mare with the Mediterranean, right?”

I nod, casting her a reserved smile. I don’t know why I’m being so coy around her. Melina knows more about me and my dark little secret than anyone else in my life—and vice versa. It’s not like I’m the kinky one between the two of us; on the contrary, she even met her fiancé here. He used to be one of the earliest patrons but neglected using the services of the club because he never left the bar after meeting Melina here on his first visit. I’m surprised she’s still working here after accepting his marriage proposal a few months ago.

“Are you really sure you’re ready for that sort of thing?” she asks as she places the drink in front of me. The ice cubes clink against the thick glass, causing the rosemary twig to jerk slightly as the cool tonic bubbles seductively.

“He’s not gonna pick me anyway,” I respond, reluctant to reach for the drink. Just like always, it looks perfect, so refreshing and alluring, almost like a piece of art. Drinking it seems like a crime.

Melina rolls her eyes. “Yeah, but what if he does? What about your job?”

“I quit.”

“What?!”

She places her hand in front of her mouth, throwing cautious looks around to see whether her eruption drew any unwanted attention. This is a very exclusive venue, one where conversations are conducted in hushed voices. The background music is set to a mellow jazz tune, and the only time a voice gets raised is when there’s a scene played out on stage for the midnight show.

Melina leans forward, her face so close to mine that I can see the reflection of the chandelier behind me flickering in her eyes.

“You what?” she blurts out, visibly shocked. “How come you never mentioned that on the phone? What on earth happened?”

I shrug, finally reaching for the gin and tonic. I can feel the need for it now.

“It was time,” I say nonchalantly, downplaying the most frightening thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.

I did not think this through. Obviously, I didn’t. But it wasn’t a rash decision either, that much I know.

“What are you going to do now?” Melina presses, her eyes wide with worry.

“I don’t know,” I reply. “Become the next puppet?”

I add a helpless chuckle, which makes my response even more pathetic. Giving up my life to become the toy of a myth-enshrouded Master is the opposite of a thought-out plan for the future, but right at this moment it’s all I have.

Besides, it’s not like he’ll ever choose me.

“I’m serious, Alena—”

“I haven’t thought about it,” I interrupt, casting her an apologetic look as I reach for my drink again. “I’ll be all right. I’ll find something else.”

Melina sighs, the worry on her face still evident.

“You know, if you ever need help, Rowan and I would be happy to—”

“I’ll be all right,” I insist, forcing myself to smile. “But thank you. I appreciate it.”

I take another swig from the drink, relishing the soothing warmth of the alcohol. I have been so tense and nervous for the past twenty-four hours, shaken by the idea that he could actually choose me. But now that I am here, all dolled up and ready to meet the eyes of the most attractive and most mysterious man I’ve ever encountered in my life, the idea of becoming his seems so absurd, so unrealistic, that I find myself oddly relaxed.

He’s never going to pick me, but it’s still a thrill to be here, to see him, to be an option for him. Maybe he’ll even talk to me. Though I find the latter hard to imagine after what happened the last time I wore a white wristband during this hunt…

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