Page 66 of Demon Found

As we walk into the Great Hall, I stop in my tracks. The place is unrecognizable from the dull assembly room it usually masquerades as. Rich velvety drapes adorn the massive windows, fire flickering up and down their lengths in an amazing illusion.

At one end of the room floating candelabras hang, strung up on thin air, over a set of ornate tables heaving in all sorts of edible delicacies. The expanse of dance floor is littered with teeny tiny sparkling lights, all set inside the floor itself. Each of the fireplaces has a bright purple flame roaring up the chimney, while the mantel shelves are adorned with holy and ivy—the vines constantly moving, twisting around each other in a ballet of movement. An orchestra, a whole damn orchestra, sits off to one side, playing an ethereal tune. The place is straight out of a picture book.

The hada rush around, serving students and professors from champagne bottles three times their size, chattering excitedly as they flit past my head at breakneck speed. Lia, the hada I rescued from Zephyr, spots me and zips over, fastening a bright red feather in my hair before clapping her hands and fluttering away.

I take a few hesitant steps into the room before spotting Naeve. Farrell and Zephyr stand beside her, looking fucking mouthwatering. Farrell is dressed in a full tux, which he must have poured his body into, and Zephyr is wearing a kilt. A fucking kilt. I’d heard it was formal attire in the North, but I’ve never seen it. Not in real life.

There is something about a man in a kilt. Especially that man.

Zephyr freezes, glass halfway to his mouth as his gaze settles on me. He straightens slightly, hungrily eyeing my dress. So, he does notice me. I’m not dumb enough to miss the feral want in his eyes. I twirl slowly, flashing my thigh through the slit in the dress as I send him a mock curtsy.

Farrell nudges Zephyr before he tracks where Zephyr’s gaze is hooked. His stoic face cracks and he lets out a wolf whistle. Naeve’s elbow hits Farrell square in the ribs. Grinning wildly, I sashay toward them, swaying my hips and snatching a glass from a passing hada on the way.

“Watch her. Something’s not right,” Naeve mutters as I arrive.

“What’s up, my lovers?” Shit, I’m so giddy. The stress of the exams is finally leaving me. I’m ready to let loose. I wrap an arm around Zephyr’s waist, and he immediately throws his own over my shoulders, dropping his head to my hair.

“Are you okay, Lori?” he whispers so quietly I’m sure the others don’t hear.

Giving him a magnificent smile, I nod. “Just off to get some drinkies!” I bound away before he has a chance to say anything else. Truth, I’ve just spotted Chano. As much as I enjoyed the boys’ reactions, I’m desperate to see Chano’s. He’s definitely into me. And damn, I wouldn’t say no tonight.

He’s propped up lazily in a chair, back to one of the fireplaces. The reflection of the flames flickers over his face, making his strong jawline pop. I’m not used to seeing him in anything other than gray sweats, not that I’m complaining, but hellfire, tonight he’s edible. He’s wearing a waistcoat, with his shirt sleeves turned up, showcasing his muscles. And he’s watching me, hawklike. His eyes track my movements across the floor toward him, the sheer intensity making me pause as I finally reach him.

He stretches out, grabbing my hand and pulling me the last few feet, before standing to his full height. Craning my neck, I grin up at my giant.

“You look stunning, chica.” He dips his head until his mouth is a fraction from mine before starting up and staring around like he’s afraid we’d be caught. He needs to chill. Who cares if anyone’s watching? It’s a party, right?

Chapter Thirty-three: Lorelei

Irolloverandpromptly fall out of bed onto my face, centimeters from a plastic bowl. I wrinkle my nose. Not just any bowl. A bowl full of puke. Peeling open my mouth, it’s suddenly obvious it’s my puke. My teeth taste like a sewer.

I scramble for the bathroom. Head in the toilet bowl, I dry-heave. Eventually my stomach lets me take a break. I’m wrung out like a filthy dishcloth, with barely the strength to lift my head up from the cool porcelain.

Holy shit. What did I drink last night? I search my memory, but there’s nothing. Blank. Literally no memories. Suddenly alarmed, I sit up, cracking my head on the sink.

Fuck.

What the hell happened? This is my room, I’m in my own pj’s. How did I get into these? Peering fearfully around the bathroom door at the bed, I breathe a sigh of relief. No stranger in my bed, thankfully. Okay. So, I made it home. I didn’t bring a boy back. I’m in my pj’s. So far so . . .

Where’s Naeve? Shuffling toward my bed, I finally spot the note tucked on top of my books in Naeve’s elegant hand.

Lorelei, I hope you’re feeling better by the time you wake up. I’ve gone for breakfast, but I’ll be back before Dad picks me up for Solstice break. We need to talk. – Naeve

We need to talk. What is it about those little words that immediately strikes fear into the heart? What did I do? I remember arriving at the ball and then . . . not much else. I drag out my tablet. Maybe I took some pictures.

You have been tagged in 58 photographs.

Dread settles over me like a cold, wet blanket. Quickly I flick open Maga and nearly drop my pad at the first photo. I’m perched on Zephyr’s knee, my tongue halfway down his throat and his hands on my boobs. Oh, shit. I flick past the next few, each of roughly the same thing, taken by different people at different angles. I’m stopped in my tracks by a photo of me next to a fireplace. Chano has me pinned against the wall, his forehead resting on mine and his hand tracing the slit in my dress up my thigh.What the fuck did I do?

“Hairy harpy the whore.” Great. A tag line.

There are so many of these. My eyes tear up, but I keep flicking. Toward the end, I’m straddling Farrell as he sits in a chair, my fingers on the sides of his face. He’s gazing straight at my boobs, gripping the armrests so tightly his knuckles are white.

Do allegiances that sleep together, stay together? #hairyharpywhore – Belinda

She can’t keep her hands off what isn’t hers, but he’s not touching her. Poor Farrell being stuck with that for an allegiance. #hairyharpywhore #howtodestroyallegiance – Camille

I throw my pad at the wall just as the door creaks open and Naeve sticks her head around it.

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