Page 37 of Beg the Night

The music caught my attention first. It flowed through the thick forest, ricocheting off the trees and vibrating through the crisp leaves. The tune was surprisingly uplifting.

And as we were led through the dense foliage to a white tent in a clearing, my stomach nearly dropped. All around, twinkling lights had been strung through branches and crisscrossed above to look like stars.

This was a real ball. A real party. With people wearing formal suits and gowns, not military uniforms. They were eating and drinking and chatting as if life was completely normal. Surrounding the white tent, of course, was a perimeter of armed guards. Surely, they’d recruited mystics to work with them. Otherwise, they would be no match for the gifted that had gathered here.

Margaret waved at a group of men from the dungeon and went as far as to try to tug me in the direction of the dance floor, where a few women were dancing and laughing.

“You go,” I insisted. “I’ll be over there getting a drink.”

“Oh, come on!” she argued, still clutching my elbow. “Give yourself permission to have a little fun. You might not get another chance.”

“Same goes for you. Don’t let me stop you from letting loose.” I shooed her off. “Go!”

With a roll of her eyes, she backed away, but there was no fighting the smile that overtook her as she turned. She weaved her way through the bustling crowd, dragging a helpless man—one of the quieter mystics from the dungeon—with her as she spun to flow with the rest of the dancers.

I lingered toward the edge of the party, trying my best to identify the mystics and the…well, whoever had shown up. Regardless of their magical status, I couldn’t trust any of them. They were all here for her, for Director. Any of these people could be soldiers, the force that killed on her behalf. There was no way to tell whether they’d only just washed the blood from their hands before donning the elaborate garb and showing up here to indulge.

Sickening.

To my right, I found a quiet spot where only a few guards lingered, not paying much attention to the party. I took a few steps in that direction and crossed my arms over my chest, doing my best to look somewhat normal.

“You’re scowling.” Leon approached, holding two glasses of sparkling wine.

I accepted the flute he held out like a peace offering, but rolled my eyes to fortify my stance on the matter. “This is just my face.”

He shoved his free hand into the pocket of his trousers as we watched the crowd. Regardless of what he had to say, I was ready to argue. In a mood like this, it was my default setting. But he just…stood there. Silent. Watching.

I’d allowed my muscles to relax a fraction and had taken a few sips of the wine when he finally spoke.

“They’re all acting like we actually have something to celebrate here.” He huffed. “They’re also very aware of the conditions we’re being kept in, but nobody seems to give a shit about any of it.”

Anger flared to life in my chest once more. “Why would they care? They claim to be winning the war. According to them,they’re doing the right thing. Their absurd mystic matchmaking plan seems to be working just fine.”

“You don’t actually believe that, do you? They’ll say anything to keep the mystics fighting. They’ll even make up this story about how we actually stand a chance.”

He made eye contact with me, but his attention was caught by something over my shoulder. Instantly, his expression fell, his eyes shifting quickly from flirtatious to stone cold. Then, without so much as a goodbye, he turned and left, bumping shoulders with another man as he scurried back into the crowd.

What the hell?

I felt him first. A cold, solid presence behind me, making my heart beat faster, as if telling me to be alert, then lighting up the rest of my senses. The hair on my arms stood, and my stomach flipped over itself.

Sinner.

“What did I tell you about talking to other men?”

I stiffened. “And what did I tell you about giving a shit?”

I didn’t give him the satisfaction of turning to look at him. I kept my gaze straight ahead and gulped the rest of my drink.

He stepped up beside me, his shoulder brushing mine as he settled much too close. In heels, I was still a head shorter than he was. It was hard to scowl at him when I had to look up to see his face.

“Shouldn’t you be out there celebrating with the rest of the mystics?”

In my periphery, he shoved both hands into his pants pockets. He wore a black suit, similar to the rest of the men, though if I didn’t know any better, I would have sworn it was tailored to his exact measurements. It fit his lean body perfectly, drawing my eyes to his large biceps and toned chest before?—

Shit. I was staring.

“And leave you here sulking by yourself, pretending you’re not actually one of us?”

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