Page 14 of Consume Me
Instead, I’m wearing a tailored black jacket, silver-threaded cuffs, and shoes that I think might actually be cursed because they squeak every time I shift my weight. Vaelora said,“Dress appropriately,”which I’m pretty sure meant I better not wear my warrior leathers.
This is the only formal attire I own, and even though I haven’t worn it in a decade, I hate how well it fits. I hate that I look like I belong.
Because I don’t.
Not to this mortal world. Not to Vaelora’s stupid games. And not to the sparkling horde currently twirling around the ballroom, masks glittering, fangs bared in too-wide smiles.
A human in a tux stands just ahead. “Invitation?” he asks in a formal tone.
There’s no reek of fear on him, which is either bold or stupid, considering how outmatched he is in a house full of supernaturals. I hand over my invitation without a word.
“Thank you. Enjoy your evening.” He ushers me onward.
I make it six steps into the ballroom before someone steps into my path.
She’s taller than other females, especially in those shoes. Her long, dark hair hangs down her back in wild waves, her dress thin and clinging. But her beauty is second only to the power radiating from her. A power that smells of death.
“Apologies,” I murmur, ready to step around her.
“You're looking for death… Oh crap, sorry. That came out way more ominous than I meant.” She laughs, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I get this vibe around you, like death is circling, looking for something. Sometimes the dead are so loud I forget to filter what comes out of my mouth. Occupational hazard.”
She smiles ruefully and turns away.
“I do seek death,” I say before she can go.
She looks back at me, and I note her ears.
“You’re fae,” I say, eyes narrowing at the contradiction of the power she holds.
“Half-fae, full-time ghost whisperer, part-time bad decision maker,” she says with a wry smile. “But in truth, I was gifted with a connection to the afterlife.”
I hesitate, unused to being so open with my own missions. But if this fae can help—and the power I sense in her suggests she can—then I’m willing to try. Maybe Vaelora brought me here for this female’s insight.
“I’m hunting a pair of daggers,” I tell her. “They are made of an ancient magic that predates this world, and they are deadly to anyone they encounter. Do you sense anything like that here?”
“Honestly? Parts of this place reek of death. Many of these people have killed; others are thinking about it.” She glances at the crowd, rubbing her temple like she has a headache. “Your murder daggers could be right in front of me, and I'd probably miss them in all this supernatural noise. But hey, if they're that dangerous, I really hope you find them before someone decides to test them out at the party.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, trying not to be disappointed, as she slips away with a quick smile.
When she’s gone, I head straight for the bar—the optimal vantage point to search for my prey. As I move, the music shifts—something lusty and probably laced with compulsion—but it slides off me like water.
The bartender, a vampire with a smile that makes me want to punch him, eyes me. “What’ll it be? Whiskey, neat?”
“Just water.”
He shakes his head as he pours it. “A real party animal.”
“You have no idea.”
After a hesitant sniff to check for foreign chemicals, I drain the glass and set it on the counter.
“Refill?” the bartender drawls.
“No thanks.”
He walks off, and I scan the room. The rune on my forearm has been smoldering since the moment I crossed the threshold. It’s not just awake—it’s seething. Which means Vaelora was right: The daggers are here.
A threat to every guest at this party unless I get to them first.
