Page 126 of Dance of Ruin

No one looks twice at me when I step back into the cathedral.

I’m just another person behind a mask now. Even if my heart is racing and pounding against my ribs.

Soft laughter and exquisite moans ripple through the space as I walk slowly, trying not to stare.

My face heats as I lay eyes on a muscled, tattooed man, groaning as he tangles his fingers in the dark hair of the woman on her knees in front of him. She’s wearing only a see-through golden gauzy skirt, her hand busy between her thighs and her lips wrapped around the man’s cock.

Another couple is on a velvet chaise, him holding one of her legs up as he rams into her from behind.

Holy fuck.

Every wall, every couch, every shadow holds some act of sin.

I keep walking, glancing around, simultaneously trying to spot Nico and dreading that I will.

Suddenly, I jump at the sound of a low bell tolling from somewhere high above.

Once. Twice. Three times.

The entire cathedral stills.

Voices cut off mid-laugh. Movements stop mid-thrust. Heads turn almost in unison toward the raised dais at the far end of the room, and the people that were fucking not three seconds ago stop and adjust their clothes, or get dressed.

A door opens behind the thrones.

My heart lurches into my throat as five figures step into the room.

Tall, built men, dressed in sleek, tailored black suits. But it’s themasksthat make the breath still in my lungs.

A dog. A bull, with sharp, vicious horns. A bird of some kind, maybe a crow? A wolf. And finally, a stag with towering antlers.

They move like gods.

Kings.

Predators.

The crowd is all drifting forward, finding seats in chairs arranged in semicircular rows around a stone area in front of the dais. I join them, lingering at the back.

One of the masked gods—the dog—steps forward.

“The Black Court is now in session,” he growls in a deep, gravelly voice. He turns, nodding to two men dressed all in black with plain masks standing by a door.

“Bring out the accused.”

Yeah. I should not be here.

At.All.

27

NAOMI

The cathedral is silent—atense silence, like a held breath before a scream.

Everyone remains still, turned expectantly toward the dais as the five men in the animal masks take their seats, then silently nod to each other.

The whole vibe feels weirdly reverent, and not because we’re in what might be an actual cathedral.

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