Page 126 of A Steeping of Blood
Nor did he find much joy in wearing a suit as he once did: He’d worn them because of his father. For years, when Jin closed his eyes, he would see his father as he did when he was a little boy, sitting in his study, legs crossed, back straight, jacket crisp.
Now Jin saw his father’s glassy eyes and slumped-over form. He saw his dead body.
A knock sounded on the door. It was stilted, like someone wasusing their elbow instead of their knuckles. He knew exactly who it was, which gave him pause.
“I know you’re in there, Jin,” Flick said from the other side. “And I—I can help.”
“How do you know I need help?” he asked.
She said nothing.
He growled beneath his breath and opened the door. His jaw dropped.
She was wrapped in the most stunning shade of crimson. It was dark and rich, the hue painting a lively flush on her already gorgeous skin. It hugged her chest and middle, the neckline shaped like a heart, cupping her curves while the skirt flowed wide. A necklace was cinched tight around her neck, made of tiny red beads, a rainfall of red along the side of her neck, large jewels hanging off the end of each one. Jin knew what the necklace was meant to represent: blood trickling down the bite of a vampire. It taunted him no differently than the sheen on her lips.
He had grown so accustomed to seeing her in trousers and a shirt that the sight of her in a dress tugged at every fiber of his being.
She was waiting with lifted eyebrows. Somewhere since escaping the prison of Lady Linden’s estate, Flick had picked up a good bottle of sass and gulped it in one go.
“Do you approve?” she asked. “There wasn’t time for the tailor to make me anything custom.”
“Are you aware that we have somewhere to be quite soon, Felicity?” he asked in a slow drawl. “We haven’t time to find another bed and get snug.”
The way he spoke the wordsget snugmade it clear he had no intention of doing anything as sweet as they had the night before.
She swallowed. Jin smirked. Her eyes drifted down his outfit,lingering on his trousers and then his double-breasted ivory shirt and the dark teal tailcoat that tied it all together.
“I see that you didn’t need help,” Flick said quietly.
“Hmm,” Jin drawled. “I wasn’t sure I didn’t until that reaction, honestly.”
She looked like she wanted to throw something at him. “You really are infuriating, did you know?”
He pouted, and she sighed, watching as he ran his fingers through his hair, wishing it was hers again. “Good?”
This time, she smiled softly and replied with a nod.
He held out his arm. “Shall we save my sister and ruin the Ram’s night?”
“Please,” Flick said.
Out in the hall, Sidharth was already waiting, as was Matteo. Impatiently. He still couldn’t find his buttons, it seemed, but his hair was tied neatly at the base of his skull.
“Ready? Good. Let’s go,” Matteo said. He was holding the Council member’s mask in one hand, a bag in the other. A gift for Arthie, he said, as if this were any time for gifting. “What does Arthie usually say? Time for mayhem, charlatans.”
“That’s not even remotely close,” said a new voice. “She’s had her tea; now she’s out for blood.”
The four of them whirled to the hall entrance. A Horned Guard stood by the door, one Jin didn’t think he’d ever see again.
“You’re alive?” he asked.
“Unlike you,” Laith replied.
“I’d almost forgotten how little I like you.”
Laith tilted his head. He was panting, bloody and bruised, and his clothes had seen better days. “I am sorry for what transpired that night.”
“What happened to you?” Flick asked.
