Page 138 of Lamb

“Oh, yes.” Raymond’s disappointment disappeared as quickly as it came, schooled behind a practised face. “Enjoy the party, and I’ll catch up with you later.”

“I can’t wait.”

Unwilling to let Raymond drag on the conversation any longer, Lamb ushered me forward, pushing us deeper into the milling crowd.

Without provocation, he leaned down, his warm breath in my ear. “That’s the curator of all these pieces. He manages an art gallery.”

“Oh yes, I forgot about the club’s avid interest in art,” I scoffed.

“We may not be interested, but that doesn’t mean others aren’t,” Lamb corrected, a soft nip of my ear shooting straight through my haywire nerves. My body was like a bungee cord, a scrambled mix of aroused and anxious. “Leverage is a great asset.”

Another of his many “charms.”

I scrubbed the distracting thoughts from my mind as we made our way into the densest part. People were not on top of each other or bumping into one another, but with Lamb plastered to my ass, it took a little manoeuvring and strategic planning to get by without knocking into someone and spilling their hundred-dollar glasses of bubbly.

Only as we were winding our way between a bundle of people and a few servers with trays of food and drink did I have to step back, swallowing the sliver of space between us. My ass pressed straight into Lamb’s crotch, and his hand squeezed painfully into the flesh of my hip.

“You must be happy to see me,” he joked, but his tone was bitter.

I scoffed, adjusting my leg, and simultaneously, moving the small knife holster tucked into the garter at my thigh. It was only a thin stiletto, but it was as much safety as I could smuggle wearing the thin lace number. There were not a lot of places to conceal things when your dress was the equivalent of a red doyley.

Lamb had not objected to my concealed weapon as much as he had objected to placing me in any danger whatsoever. Being armed, even if the intentions were that I would never use it, comforted him to some degree, but he made it clear that it would never leave its holster.

That was the plan.Hisplan.

“I assure you I want to be as far from you as possible,” I joked, leaning forward and pressing my chest into his.

His trained smile remained; however, his eyes darkened and a low guttural noise rolled from his lips. His fingers tightened on my ass, and I fought to hold back my gasp.

“I’ve told you before,babe,” Lamb purred, enjoying the way that pet name made my lips purse. “You can’t run from me.” He leaned in close, his nose rubbing along the edge of my throat. “I won’t let you go.”

“Excuse me, miss.” A deep, rumbling voice sliced into our private pocket in the crowd, disrupting our intrepid moment.

It was familiar, but I was not the first to recognise it.

Lamb plastered against my side, the soft fabric of his suit brushing against my bare areas, once again warming my cool skin. He was a rock wall at my side, his hand a vice against my hip, pinning me tight against him.

I managed to turn just enough to see who had caught his attention.

Under the warm chandelier light, dressed head to toe in an abyssal black suit, with matching shirt and tie, not sparing even an ounce of colour in his attire was the trickster himself. His clothes absorbed every speck of light, like someone had sliced a section of the universe clean out in the shape of an ebony Adonis. But like yin and yang, his best accessory glowed brighter against his black skin—his bright golden eyes, otherworldly and beautifully haunting, richer than any rare ornament on display, fixed with amusement on us both. In a crowd of humans dressed to their best, the difference was vast. He was more akin to a god than a man.

“Charon.” Lamb’s voice was tight and clipped.

“It’s nice to see old friends at a party,” Charon mused, rubbing a finger and thumb under the dark growth beneath his chin. He towered over us both, his shoulders matching our width put together. His dark skin warmed from its rich black to a deepbrown as the man who lurked in the shadows stood comfortably in the bright warmth of the ball.

“We share the same sentiment,” Lamb returned a polite smile, his human switch flipping on. He extended a palm, which Charon eagerly accepted.

“If anyone was to make me believe those lies, it would be you, Lamb.” Charon beamed, genuine but twisted joy bearing a bright, white-toothed smile.

Lamb did not bat an eye at the comment. “I didn’t see you on the guest list.”

“I’m never seen anywhere.” Charon glanced around the room, where guests continued to mingle, paying no attention to the beautiful, looming god. “That’s my whole shtick.”

Lamb did not join him in his perusal, and I suspected he had predicted this to some degree. Charon wasthebig bad of the underworld in the northern continent; to sway this many powerful people to look the other way was a testament to his frightening influence.

“Don’t look like that, beautiful.” A finger brushed against my cheek, and I jerked back into Lamb’s arm. Charon’s trigger finger was rough and calloused against my skin, the sensation foreign and fridged. “You’ll ruin all the effort you went to.”

Lamb’s hand flexed against my skin, but he made no move to retaliate. In fact, his own gaze flittered around the room, as if he had not noticed Charon’s action at all. His hand clinging tight to my hip told another story.

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