Page 35 of That Sik Luv

The Lord your God goes with you to fight for you against your enemies.It wasn’t meant as blasphemy. It was a sign of his protectiveness. He’s willing himself to be my shield, but only if I bear the sword.

He straightens his spine, towering silently above me, and if I could see more clearly, I’d only imagine his face held a proud look of admiration. His head dips towards my neck, my eyes are closed tightly as my body shakes with the fear of revelation. Warm wet lips surround my earlobe, sending that shrill of sparks through my body again. He sucks it gently before I feel his wet tongue slide up the length of my ear.

My pulse is pounding in my neck as a hoarse moan just barely escapes. He places something small and metal against my palm, and my fingers close around it. I can just barely see the glint of light hitting his eyes from the sliver beneath the door, but their fire burns through the darkness.

“And we shall reign victorious,” his smooth voice purrs.

Chapter nineteen

Set Fire

Istepoutofthe vehicle, clutching the extra fabric from my long silk dress in one hand, placing my other hand out for assistance.

Right on time, Saint grasps it, grinning at me behind his bronze Roman-Greek mythological-style mask. He’s so handsome in his fitted navy blue suit and crisp white button-up shirt. A fresh fade to his already short blonde hair has his jaw looking even more defined beneath the partial mask, his sparkling blue eyes lighting up with excitement. He helps me sturdy myself on my heels, adjusting the seams of the dress to fit right where they need to on my hips to allow the fabric to dip between my breasts as minimally as possible.

Mia is definitely slimmer than I am, but the silver dress fit me better than any of the others did when it came to covering my goods. She also helped to pin my long black hair back into a loose, low bun with some tendrils framing my face to accompany the classic look.

With my hand in Saint’s, I hold my white and silver Venetian mask by the stick, jewels dripping from the bottom to dangle from strings onto my cheeks.

“Like an angel,” he says, bringing my hand to his lips.

I flush beneath the partial mask as the chauffeur drives away down the tree-lined driveway. I don’t know if it’s Saint’s lips on me, or if it’s that I know Aero’s tongue will be on me later to erase it that brings about that tightening in my lower abdomen again. Rubbing my lips together, hoping my mauve-colored lipstick is still in place, I take my first step, threading my arm through Saint’s, knowing tonight is about to be an eye-opening experience. One filled with mysteries to be solved.

Guiding me into the massive, castle-like home of the Governor himself, I see Alastor Abbott on the other side of the colossal wooden double doors, greeting guests as they arrive. Special invitation to this event only. Big names. Only the most important men, along with their wives, congregate together to celebrate their success by marketing themselves to one another, praising each other for solidifying their pristine status.

“Let’s go say hello,” Saint says, ushering us towards the round, animated man.

I swallow what feels like a mountain of sand, aware of the fact that I’m seeing everyone through a new lens since meeting the vanishing man from the shadows who’s seeped his way into my bones.

He introduces us, shaking hands with Governor Abbot and his wife, who’s dripping in expensive jewelry as she holds her glass of wine in one hand, chin held as high as her implants. Governor Abbot eyes me for a second longer than what I would assume is socially acceptable as he shakes my hand.

“Ah, yes, Briony Strait. The first female Magnus Princeps of the Covenant Academy.” He pulls my hand closer towards him, causing me to fall into his chest. “They’ve never seen anyone like you,” he whispers before leaning back with a certain grin on his round, greasy face. One I can’t entirely place.

We continue into the ballroom, which is brilliantly decorated in art déco-style decor, with candelabras, string curtains with the finest drapery surrounding the dance floor, and an excessively ornate crystal chandelier hanging from the center of the room. The dimly lit ambience of the candlelight surrounding the room has me clutching Saint’s arm tighter than I normally would.

Masked faces pass us left and right. The anonymity of the entire event is not only hilariously ironic, but completely frightening.

In a room full of wealth, the rich decide to hide their identities for the evening, living out their demons for a night beneath the lies of a new mask.

I scour the room with my eyes, looking hastily for Bishop Caldwell’s arrival. A sickening sensation hits my gut as I part from Saint, bracing myself against the wall of the ballroom. He’ll most certainly be here, awaiting a conversation to ensure my silence. The inevitable moment cements a distasteful unease to the entire evening.

Saint gets roped into conversation with an older man in an animal-style mask with a long protruding beak and a dark gray suit. Turning his head, he quickly spots me near the wall and breaks off his conversation. He approaches my nervous self with concern written on his face.

“Hey,” he whispers, leaning against the wall along with me, tipping his head down as he talks. “Are you alright? What’s going on?”

I force a smile, nodding my head. “I’m fine. Just...catching my breath. The dress,” I wave my hand over my body, releasing a fake chuckle. “It’s making it hard to breathe.”

He stares down at me with concern still present in his worried gaze, my words doing nothing to take away from my obvious discomfort. His hand reaches out to grab mine. He pulls me forward until I’m pressed against him. Wrapping an arm around my lower back, the other finds my cheek, softly cupping my face. I hold my breath, my eyes darting around to the other guests who may or may not be watching us.

“I get it, Briony. These people...this place.” He looks around before shrugging. “It’s all a lie.”

My stomach drops at his words.What does he know?

“No one here can really dance,” he admits with a sexy grin. “They talk the talk, but they can’t walk the walk. Liars and con artists, these men.”

I release a sigh, chuckling at myself for overthinking.

Backing away from me, he extends his hands, pulling me along with him onto the middle of the dance floor where the guests are all forming a line across from one another. The violins sing their sweet, familiar tune through the air as couples prepare to begin the Baroque-style dance we’ve studied and been taught since we were young students in the Covenant.

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