Page 13 of Fever

I walk to the door. “Who?”

“Christy from the laundry room with the welcome-home packet.”

I don’t know who this is, and if it were my house, I wouldn’t open the door, but the Stronghold is the safest place on earth. Expecting a man, I open the door and get so much more than a dude. Christy wears a platinum-white wig, white latex corset paired with white pants, and silver platforms I can only dream of wearing. He’s got a full face of makeup, and when he smiles, he shows me his perfect teeth.

“Ta-da,” he says. “Nothing like the look of a new person in the Stronghold when they first see me.”

Caught staring, I blush and open the door wider. “Come in.”

Christy’s heels click, but then he stops midway through the living room and flips his hair. He looks around the space. “Girl, this is some serious primal mating ground.”

I laugh as he crouches and strokes the thick red fur throw over the beanbag.

“You’re gonna roll in the furs,” he says. “I wanna roll in the furs. Alas.” He stands. “Not in the cards for me.” He makes his way to the kitchen and drops an unmarked white bag on the breakfast bar. From the bag, he pulls out a dress holder, looks around again, then hangs the holder from the knob of the top kitchen cupboard. He waves me over, and I rest my elbows on the bar.

Christy unzips the bag. “Ta-da. What do you think?”

It’s a short tight yellow dress with fur trim at the neckline that’s gonna reveal both my shoulders and collar bone. It’s sexy and a little wilder than I’d pick out for myself.

“Do you hate it?” he asks.

“Oh no.” I round the bar and stroke the fur on the neckline. It’s rough and prickly. “I’d hate to think an animal died so I could wear this. That’s all.”

“It’s something dead from Regha, if that helps.”

I give him a side-eye.

He winks. “Yellow is Fever’s color.”

“I know.”

“He insisted on yellow shoes, which, of course, is not happening. You’re not a canary.” Christy reaches into the bag and gets a white box, opens it. “Black Mary Janes. My favorite.” He puts them on the floor. “Try them on.”

I do, and they fit perfectly. “How did you know my size?”

“I know everything. All the sizes and fits. Fever is thirteen inches.” He smiles and looks around. “We can do makeup on the floor or sitting behind the bar.”

I’m stuck on Fever’s length. “Is he really?”

“My best guess. The makeup?” Christy smirks.

“Wherever you prefer.”

“Well, aren’t you nice.” He comes around the bar, and I follow him to sit on the bar chair. Christy opens his makeup treasure chest and steps between my legs, then looks down at me. He must’ve sensed my discomfort at having him so close. “I have to work in these primitive conditions, so I’m sorry for violating your personal space. I’m an Omega like you and, obviously, not into girls. If that helps any.” He proceeds to work on my face. By the time he’s done, I’m carrying a pound of foundation on my face and have eyelashes the size of a fan that he promises only feel weird for the first hour.

Finished, Christy leaves.

I move around the house while I wait and find a few fishing magazines. I read one just to pass the time.

Hours pass.

I don’t have a watch, but the dead of night tells me it’s way past nine.

And still I wait because there’s nothing else for me to do. Eventually, I take a few furs and blankets and move into one of the empty rooms.

The Hordesman stood me up.

Chapter 6

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