Page 31 of Empress of Ruin
No, I hadn’t. It didn’t seem relevant… but maybe it is.
“Get dressed,” I tell Lyra the following night, straightening my bowtie. “We have an event to attend.”
She gives me a petulant look from her spot on the couch, where she’s leafing through a random historical fiction she plucked from my shelves.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not.”
“It wasn’t a question. I laid a dress out on the bed. Tonight, you will accompany me, and youwillbe a doting girlfriend.” I don’t mention the plans I have set for tonight. The event is a charity gala, the epitome of high society; almost everyone from The Eyes will be there. Not because anyone gives a fuck about whatever endangered species our money is meant to save, but because they’ll get an opportunity to network combined with a very nice tax write-off.
Not that they need it. Most of their income is stowed away tax-free and cleanly washed. Their public net worth rarely holds a candle to theirrealassets.
I scroll through emails on my phone as I wait for Lyra. She emerges downstairs fifteen minutes later,notwearing the dress I laid out for her.
I selected a reasonably modest green gown for her, but she chose a dusty-rose number accented with lace. The neckline shows off a flash of cleavage, enough to tantalize without delivering. Her neck is draped with a beautiful rose-gold necklace—I’m pleased she’s gone through the jewelry I selected for her—and there are a few matching cuffs on her wrists. It brings to mind vague impressions of actually cuffing her wrist, edging her, and leaving her wet and wanting on the bed until she’s pleading for my cock.
A fantasy I’ll be sure to enact. Lyra will curse me and profess her hatred, but as always, her body will tell the truth.
“Very well.” I stand, wrapping an arm around her waist. She’s in heels that lend a few inches to her height, but I’m still significantly taller than her. I enjoy our height difference; it makes it easy to maneuver her and bend her to my will.
We take a heavily-armored SUV to the event center, which is in the ballroom of an upscale hotel. Locke gives the car to the valet and escorts us inside, waiting by the door of the ballroom in case I need him. I don’t expect any blood to be shed tonight, but then, one can never be too safe.
And with Silas having finally pulled his big boy panties on—afterhe cut a pound of flesh from his body—there are new complications in my life.
Lyra pauses at the entrance to the event hall, going tense. I pause alongside her, squeezing her hip. “What is it?”
“I… would like to go home.” She’s staring at the crowd within with a frightened, unnerved expression. I did consider that crowded areas filled with people might now be a phobia of Lyra’s, considering everything that’s happened, but… exposure therapy is the best antidote. Besides, I’ll be beside her all night. That should be more than enough comfort.
“No,” I say, maybe a bit harshly. I make an effort to soften my tone. “We’ll be here for an hour or so. I didn’t bring youhere to make you uncomfortable; believe it or not, it’s for your protection. I’ll be by your side the whole time.”
She relaxes just a little bit, but still seems hesitant. I take her silence as implied consent, and lead her forward.
Our first stop is the bar, where I order myself an old fashioned and Lyra opts for a glass of white wine. I keep one arm wrapped around her and sip my drink with my other hand, taking a few moments to survey the room.
Silas is here, as are several members of The Eyes, all mingling on the marble floor—expected. What’sunexpected is that Carter is also here, and he’s standing in a corner, speaking withHerald. I’d be more concerned if he was speaking with another member of The Eyes, but still. It’s unsettling.
“Are we going to… mingle?” Lyra asks quietly.
“No.” I shake my head. “People will come to us. In a little while, we’ll have a dance, and then we’ll leave.” The dance floor carved out in the center of the room is populated with couples, each of them radiating varying levels of utter disinterest with each other, but all moving gracefully across the floor.
We don’t have to wait long before the first couple approaches us. My eyes narrow as Bull moves through the crowd with his third wife, a former supermodel in her twenties. He’s three decades her senior; he certainly likes them young. He’s also known to discard wives as soon as they hit their thirties.
“Killian,” he says, brown eyes flitting between me and Lyra.
“Vladimir,” I reply, using his given name. “Wonderful to see you. Your new bride islovely.” While I abhor the waste of time that is small talk, certain circumstances call for it. “Have you met my Lyra?” I put just enough emphasis onmyto draw his attention.
“No,” Vlad replies. The slight tensing in his jaw tells me he is not enjoying this turn of events—me showing up here with Lyra on my arm.
I wonder if he knows that I’m aware that he’s the main threat to me within The Eyes, or that I know about his alliance with Silas. My alliance with Herald isn’t public knowledge, but I’m also on reasonably good terms with Crow. I’m still not sure whether she’s chosen to back Silas, however. Knowing her, she’ll be sitting back and observing for a while before intervening—ifshe intervenes.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Vlad picks up Lyra’s hand and brushes a kiss over her knuckles. All the color drains from her face, while rage lights me up from the inside out. I do not appreciate any other man touchingmywoman.
“You as well.” Her voice is strained. She flicks a glance over to Vlad’s wife, but he doesn’t bother introducing her, and she doesn’t speak up, either. From the glazed look in her eyes, it looks like she’s been hitting the liquor.
I can’t blame her. Tolerating Vlad is difficult for his acquaintances; it must be repulsive to her. Then again, wealth goes a long way, and Vlad isphenomenallywealthy.
We exchange a bit of asinine small talk, pretending like we’re friendly acquaintances. Vlad plays his part well, asking where I met Lyra and how long we’ve been together.
“Surprising that you haven’t shown her off sooner,” he says after a while, leering at Lyra’s chest. My jaw clenches, and my fingers bite into her hip. To her credit, she doesn’t flinch or grimace, only tenses a bit.
