Page 38 of The Secrets of Roan Island

I stay there for a long time. Long enough to know she’s out of the bath, hopefully in bed, asleep. Then I finish getting dressed, muscles tight with tension.

After I’ve donned my shoes and black jacket, I grab my usual mask and step out into the hallway, but the first thing I see is her door. Need floods my system again at the thought of finding her, going to her. Did she heed my advice? Is she asleep or awake? Is she hoping I’ll come for her, waiting for me so we can resume the game we started? I picture her in bed with the candle flickering, staring at the other side of the door I’m staring at.

My feet move forward without thought. From somewhere downstairs I hear my father’s harsh laugh, and it stops me in my tracks. Another image invades my thoughts. Ruby in the middle of the party. Is that why she was bathing? Fuck!

With a glance at the secret passageway, I reason it would be irresponsible of me not to ensure she’s still safely in her room. A quick glance around, and I slip through the hidden door.

She’s there.

The relief that she’s safe only lasts a moment before I realize she’s dressed for the party. A deep crimson dress, sparkling with matching beading, wraps her beautiful form, the back plunging to a deep V just above that enticing swell of her ass. It’s a fucking X on a treasure map.Here I am, it says.Fresh blood.

Struck with the desire to break the two-way mirror and tie her to the bed, I brace myself against the wooden studs and growl.

She looks over her shoulder at the mirror, her eyes narrowing.

My heart jumps, then races as she turns toward me. She peers into the mirror, and her brow furrows. Her eyes meet mine, though she doesn’t know it.

She straightens and smoothes her dress, the bodice hugging every curve. Her breasts war with the neckline, spilling out over the dark piping. I swallow at the thought of biting her there. Her neck is exposed, a small necklace with a ruby teardrop fastened at the hollow of her throat. A drop of blood. I lick my lips.She adjusts her black gloves—now she wears gloves!—then dons a small demi mask, tying it at the back, tendrils of dark curls framing her face.

I groan, my cock thickening at the sight of her. All that flesh.

And she isn’t obeying me, because she turns and leaves her room.

The door slams, and dust drifts around me as I press my forehead against the back of the mirror. Fuck.

My instincts are to chase, to catch, to play, to feed, to fuck. My rational mind considers locking myself away in my room.

But Ruby is out there. Unprotected.

With my brothers. My father. All manner of people looking for pleasure and taking it where they will.

I push away from the wall, dust off my clothes, and go after her.

The dinner party is long gone and the revelry is already deep into its mind-altering dredges. I consider every new moon party I’ve attended, so many over the years as my needs grew and increased. The depravity of the festivities ceased being surprising long ago, but considering it through Ruby’s eyes, I find myself worried about her perceptions. Worse, worried how those perceptions might reflect on me. Then I wonder why I even care. It’s never bothered me before.

I scan the party.

There are thirty people here this month in addition to my father and brothers, not counting the few servants making the rounds with trays of alcohol, smokes, pills, herbs, and powders. We provide anything anyone might want to chase pleasure for the night. Thirty keeps the numbers contained, and with a cap, it’s a premium to be included. There’s a waitlist to attend a Roan Party, but to get added to the list requires vetting.

It’s only to protect our secrets now. The parties wouldn’t be necessary if we just fed and disposed of the prey, but that wasthe Roans of the past. After so many of our kind were killed by theirs, we got more cautious, feeding at more controlled times rather than impulsively. It was something relegated to the shadows. To quick trips into Essik, short-lived dalliances. Until my mother died.

Then my father was hungry for more than blood and sex. He wanted notoriety, attention, worship.

A crimson sparkle disappears between two dancing couples, and I start across the room. The main hall is a narrow but long room, bedecked with several seating areas and secluded alcoves. Small parties of guests have begun to cross the threshold of polite society and are working their way into the vices that bring them here. This is the reason they attend: the pleasure.

Mrs. Frellman, a barrister in New Essik who works with the highest judge in the colony, is snorting spice up her nose as Harlan Duke, the heir to the manufacturing empire, has his head up her dress. Her husband watches an arm’s length away, one hand on his drink, the other on his cock. Kendra Hawkes, the heiress to the Hawkes import-export empire, and Graham Pinkerton, the second son of the Pinkerton political dynasty, snog one another as their spouses disappear into an alcove together. The promise of unadulterated and unfettered pleasure done in secret and without repercussions is what keeps the new moon party successful and our ability to feed available. As much as I detest my father, this does serve a purpose.

“Noah.” A feminine hand presses to my chest, stopping my progress.

I suppress the growl of frustration and look once more for that red dress.

“Oh. So I don’t get your attention, Mr. Roan?”

I track the white glove to a face I recognize and a cloying perfume I detest. “Mrs. Kinner.” I step back, disconnecting. I’ve tasted her, and she loves the bite. Of course, most do. Whenit’s not a Summer or Winter Solstice, Mavarri venom offers only pleasure. Mrs. Kinner is practically addicted, so she's a regular at new moon parties. She’s made her way from my father through my brothers and me. I, unfortunately, am the one she prefers.

“It’s Mrs. Kinner now?” She laughs. “Goodness. So formal.” She steps closer and leans in. “I prefer the names you call me when you’re inside me.” Her voice is low and husky, meant to seduce, but now it only grates on my nerves.

“Those names aren’t for public spaces.”

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