Page 10 of A Chill in the Flame
Aemon was pretty. He was not handsome, but he had a loveliness often worn by someone who intended themselves to look innocent. Yes, pretty was the correct word. She was sure it was an effective trap for many women, but she didn’tfind herself particularly invested in anything this fae had to say. Any hope of a fun night soured. The smell of roses was too strong. The music was too loud. Anxiety intermingled with a sense of responsibility at having abandoned Caris, a woman who’d been radiating the terrified energy of a startled deer from the moment she’d entered.
Ophir would need to cut this man off if she had any hope of reuniting with her sister.
She made a gesture to excuse herself from the conversation, stopping him in the middle of his sentence. “I’m sorry—I’ve lost my sister. I need to go find her.” She moved to push past the bodies, both clothed and unclothed, when he grabbed her elbow with more force than seemed necessary.
“I’m quite certain she’s fine,” he purred. “Why don’t you relax and let her enjoy the party? Here, have another drink.”
She hadn’t remembered finishing the second glass. Wasn’t it full just a moment ago? Ophir shook her head in an attempt to argue. He procured a brand-new glass of champagne seemingly from thin air, snatching the empty one from her hand. Her head swam with the pulsing song as it overtook her. Was the music louder? Why was the smell of roses so strong? She needed fresh air. She needed a window. She needed to sit down. The dull throb of a migraine began to bloom behind her eyes.
“No, I’m sorry. Thank you for your company, but I need to find her.” She’d intended for the words to come out with firm assuredness, but they slurred as if she spoke with a mouth full of molasses. She stumbled toward the nearest table and reached out a hand to steady herself.
He tightened the grip on her elbow before she could reach the ledge. His words came out as anything but friendly. “I said she’s fine. Leave her be.”
In a moment of lucidity, she snapped into her sense of authority.
Ophir clamped down on his hand and summoned fire through her palm, singing a hole cleanly through the lace ofher glove.
He screeched as he winced away in a whimper but then returned with an icy fist of his own. Icy powers battled against her flame in a war so quiet, so covert, that no one around them seemed to have noticed.
Aemon’s ice bore into her hand, quelching her fire as their powers remained trapped by the press of their flesh. He attempted to maintain his smile as he snarled, “How dare you use magic on me, witch. This is a party. No need to get violent.”
Her vision swam. Sweat spiked across her forehead as she struggled to keep her eyes open. His cold was winning. Ophir released the champagne flute and heard the high-pitched sound of glass and bells as it shattered to the marble floor.
She knew in that moment she had been drugged.
A male arm slung itself around Aemon’s shoulders, smiling broadly as he clapped the pretty, icy man on the arm. She recognized the handsome newcomer from when she’d first entered the party, identifying the simple black, silk band around his eyes with holes cut for his vision. A muscle in his jaw flexed with an unreadable emotion. She blinked through an ever-growing blur as she traced the line from his chin, down a tendon in his neck, and landed where the dark corners of a tattoo seemed to be peeking up from his shoulder on one side, stopping as if they were vines prepared to reach up his throat. She’d never seen a courtier or nobleman with a tattoo, but then again, there was plenty at this party she’d never seen before.
He said, “Thank you for finding my lady. She’s always wandering off. Are you okay, love? You’re looking a little pale. Let’s get some fresh air.”
Ophir’s knees buckled as the stranger braced her for her fall. “My sister—”
He had his arm around her in a second, pushing past the people who’d pressed in on them as he guided her away from Aemon. He dropped his voice so no one around them wouldhear.
“You have to get out of here.”
The world rippled like the surface of a pond. “I don’t feel well.”
A wave of nausea overtook her the moment she spit out the words. She threw out a hand to stop them from walking, holding her hair while she emptied the contents of her stomach onto the floor. The partygoers shrieked in both amusement and disgust.
“Sorry, but we don’t have time for this,” the man said. She’d barely finished throwing up before the stranger scooped her from the floor and began to shove people to the side in his haste for the door.
“Stop,” she protested weakly as another wave of nausea rolled through her.
No. She would not be taken again. She would not be taken anywhere.
A resurgence of fight and fear pulsed through her. She didn’t know this man. She didn’t know where he was taking her. The small relief that had come from the vomit dispelling some of the drug from her system rushed her wits back into her as she threw a handful of flame onto the stranger who gripped her. He cried out in surprise and loosened his grip, but the small distraction was all she needed in order to push away. She began running the moment her feet hit the floor, stumbling through the crowd as up and down tipped and tilted. She pushed her way through finery and naked bodies, shoving off the hardened abs of a male attendant as she fled. Ophir turned just long enough to see the stranger pursuing her.
She burst from the enormous hall and rounded the corner into the corridor. She grabbed the first handle she saw and yanked it open, then another, then another. Each had some manner of sex, lust, drugs, or violence contained within its walls. Screams, whips, blood, and blades joined the slamming of flesh, the sounds of sucking and fucking, the moans ofclimax.
“Caris?” she shouted into one room after another. She didn’t care if she was giving away their names; she needed to find her sister. The wooziness of the drug in her body tripped her against the smooth floor. Her ankle twisted as she slipped and bruised her knees on the marble. With a slap, stumble, and crawl, she was on her feet again, throwing open another door. Her voice escalated in pitch and terror with each new unsuccessful thrust of a handle.
“Caris? Caris!” She struggled to say her sister’s name through the dizzying lure of unconsciousness.
The stranger caught up with her as she stumbled through the opulent hall, still attempting to pull her from the manor. “Get outside,” he urged. “I can find your friend. Youneedto get out of here.”
Hysterics won. She choked on her panic as she screamed, “I’m not leaving without her. She needs help! I know she’s in trouble.”
She reached the final room at the end of the corridor. Either she’d suddenly lost her strength or something was blocking her efforts. She grunted as she threw her body into the door and forced it open. It cracked open just enough for her to see a large, dimly lit bedroom. The black rectangle of the bed was nearly concealed by the terrible crowd of men.
