Page 137 of Lamb

Fear I would one day believe him. Fear that I could wish for something more. That if it came down to it, I would wish more than anything to live. That I would risk it all for him.

I had never feared the price I would pay in return; I feared something far worse.

That I would not be the one to pay it.

There was no more time to talk as bright, flashing lights filled the cabin, and the valet hurried to my door.

Lamb turned, a tight smile pulling on his lips, the sharp lights bouncing off those cunning warm eyes. “Shall we?”

Thankfully, getting inside was easier than I had expected. When you were a nobody in a sea of somebodies, people paid you little attention as you made your turn slowly up the red carpet, trying not to draw suspicion. We made our way through the door, invitation in hand, and a champagne flute in the other.

We were engulfed immediately into a slow-moving tide of people; a large crowd gathered like a swarm of bees around elaborate, artistic displays. They sat on marble pedestals, some towering multiple feet into the air, while others were tiny and hidden behind glass displays. People muttered in bunches, discussing the pieces for auction and engaging in false pretences and sly business dealings under the tables.

My champagne soured; the notion of charity encompassing such an event felt bitter. Greed and betrayal were the gravity that pulled these powers together, not generosity.

We were not unlike.

Darkness and bad intentions dwelled in us as much as any other. Perhaps worse.

A tight squeeze of my waist dragged me from the gutters of my mind, warm fingers running along the exposed flesh of my dress. A pink flush heated my skin as I wore his hand like a decoration. I masked my features, hiding how much it electrified and grounded me.

“Stop,” I hissed, turning my head to his shoulder, the scent of his woodsy cologne-like spice on my tongue. “People are looking.”

“Of course, people are looking,” Lamb purred, reaching up with his other hand to push away a strand of hair curling over my collarbone. His fingers detoured, of course, running along the exposed flesh of my shoulder, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “You look beautiful.”

“Beautiful and bizarre are different things,” I snipped, wanting nothing more than to press myself into Lamb’s chest and disappear.

I looked down at myself, regarding the red lace dress clinging to my slim body. It hugged my shape and alluded to curves that did not exist. It was a simple but beautiful dress and would have been lost in the parade of other stunning pieces. If not for one thing.

The moment Lamb had seen me in my dress, he’d chosen to make a single amendment.

The air was cold as it flashed through the crowd, skating across my exposed skin—my shoulder, my stomach, my thigh, my back, my lower leg, and the centre of my chest. In the places where my shining bright pink scars shimmered in the flashing lights, the red lace of my dress receded. It had been tailored, and the design now looked intentional, with the delicate lace edges framing each scar like a centrepiece.

I wrapped my arms over my belly, doing little to protect the exposed flesh from the chill. I had no extra hands to cover my other spots, and it left me no choice but to accept my display and, for the first time, people could see everything—my skin, and bones, and scars.

“You’re alive,” Lamb whispered, his breath warm and damp in the shell of my ear. He tugged me as close to him as I could get, traces of his body heat soothing my goose-pricked skin. “When the odds were against you, you survived. You recovered. And now it’s time to show the world that you live. That you survived. That you’re back.” He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my parted lips, before leaning back just enough for his eyes to hold mine. “That isthe most beautiful thing.”

I burned. A hot, roaring inferno throbbed and boiled somewhere deep down. Deeper than lust. More powerful than love. Something intrinsic changed within me, and I was unsure how to react, or even if I could.

“That is not a word,” I scoffed, staring at my champagne, wanting nothing more than to down it and reach for several others. I knew it would not touch that blazing fire inside, despite how much I craved it, even now.

It slipped from my grasp as Lamb plucked the flute from my fingers, bringing it to his lips, and slipping the drink down in a single, fluid motion. He placed the empty glass on the tray of a milling waiter, giving me a wicked smile. “Then I’ll just make it one.”

“Your arrogance is astounding.”

“One of my many charms.” Lamb winked, and it was devastating.

Never mind what I was wearing, half the women in the room probably paid me no mind after he had entered. Dressed head to toe in a beautiful, red three-piece suit, his blond hair swept back over his head, dark brown eyes deep and rolling, he lookedlike a blood-soaked angel, pristine and powerful, commanding attention and authority. For someone who liked to observe from the shadowy corners, this was a display like no other. I would worry about other women approaching him, except I did not have to. Where I went, his eyes followed, and where he went, so did mine. We were becoming quite the pair.

“Mr. Wolfe, what an honour it is to have you join us.” A man interjected himself between us, extending a hand with a large gold signet ring suffocating his thick finger.

Lamb, with a perfectly welcoming smile, presented his free hand into the air. It did not pair with the offered hand, and the man flashed a quick glance to me, to my waist, and the hand stitched there. Unwilling to move his hand around my waist, the other man quickly swapped palms and gave Lamb a fierce shake.

“Thank you for letting us in on short notice,” Lamb returned, his shrewd businessman persona fitting over him like a second skin. “I hope it wasn’t too much inconvenience.”

“For you, absolutely not.” The man beamed, and I figured out how we had gotten our invitations.

“Thank you, Raymond.” Lamb retracted his hand. “I won’t keep you. I’m sure you have other guests to greet.”

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