Page 39 of Pride: Kneel Before None

It broke when I snorted, and he choked on a laugh.

Neither of us believed Ace planned all this as part of an extravagant courting ritual, least of all me. That delusion evaporated when he claimed and marked me like a possessive dunecock, a bird native to Superbia and a close cousin to the peacock. It was known for its thick plumage that spread wide enough to wrap itself in. The feathers were a shimmering bronze with burnt sienna diamonds on the tips.

Beautiful creatures, even if they were psychotic little shits.

They thrived in the most remote wastelands of the desert, claiming dunes as their own, often fighting to the death over a mound of sand. On the rare occasion one wandered too close to city limits, the most common cause of their demise came from staring at reflective surfaces for hours, regardless of any danger going on around them. Cars. Citizens walking their hungry pets. Demons with anger management problems.

A few glasses of champagne later, Iggy had my hair locked into loose curls and my face done up enough to enhance but not overwhelm.

“I may have outdone myself,” Iggy boasted as he handed me a mirror.

Satisfied with my reflection, my rose colored lips curved into a delighted smile. Elevating perfection was no easy feat, but he had managed to do just that.

I stood from my seat, turning to catch all angles of lighting as I stared at each brush stroke and curl.

“I don’t know how you do it,” I breathed.

“Simple. Besides me being me, you were born for all this.” He gestured to the hourglass outline of my body, paying me the compliment that was owed.

The door to Ace’s office opened with enough force to draw my attention toward the stairs, the mirror momentarily forgotten as it lowered to my side. Without breaking stride, he descended briskly while fastening what looked to be a blackened platinum watch around his left wrist.

One moment he was on the staircase, and the next he stood before me, looking me over with sharp, evergreen eyes flecked with gold around his widening pupils.

His hair had a slick shine to it, styled to keep the longer strands locked in place with the shorter ones. Sharp lines edged the shadow of his stubble, and the closer he came, the more I could smell his aftershave blending seamlessly with his chosen cologne. Clean citrus commingled with darker notes of smoked amber and midnight oakwood, the combination designed not merely to draw you in, but to make you linger. The heady mix had me swaying forward enough to steal a few more lungfuls of it.

Intoxicating didn’t even begin to describe the effect it had on me. The mirror in my hand felt weightless until the spell was broken by Iggy’s murmured quip.

“Don’t need to add seven years of bad luck to the evening, hm?” He relieved me of the mirror before it slipped fully from my fingers.

I’d never been one to obsess over a scent, not like this anyway. Fuck, this man made me want to rub against him like a cat in heat.

The way his pupils dilated after drinking in the sight of me suggested he sure as hell wouldn’t turn me away.

“You’re not dressed yet, Little Spade,” he dryly observed before adding, “My specialty lies in removing your clothes, not putting them on you.”

Confidence nudged my chin up a fraction. “You should be so lucky.”

The air between us hung heavy, the type of stillness that preceded the rare storm that struck Superbia.

Ace smirked.

“I’m more than lucky, I’m the one holding all the cards.”

Silverware tapped against fine china, and hushed conversations got lost underneath the sound of the piano playing a low tune. The sound was repetitive, but it weighed on your soul enough that the notes seemed to wrap around parts of you that kept you bound to your seat.

Perhaps they truly did.

I wouldn’t put it past Sebastian Crowe to hire a songbinder at The Gilded Veil’s premier restaurant, Cinders & Marrow. Those sneaky supernatural pied pipers used the influence of musical instruments to sway those within earshot to linger, to crave, to desire more. More drinks, more appetizers, more everything.

Dinner had passed with idle conversation, mostly Ace complimenting the dress he had chosen for me—a sleek little number encasing my body in unforgiving silk that blended with shadows but winked violet accents under certain lighting.

The floss-like straps crisscrossed behind my back, leaving the neckline a drape of fabric that hung low enough to tease, and even lower to seduce if you leaned over just right. As for the length of the dress, it cut diagonally across my legs, leaving a high angle of my thigh exposed. Every step taken exposed a peek of the mark he had made on my leg, leaving no doubt who I was with.

Along the sides of the dress, panels of sheer material had cutouts of—you guessed it—fucking spades. Ace was claiming his territory in more ways than one tonight. Subtlety was a skill set he clearly found no value in.

Ace leaned back in his seat, studying me. It wasn’t lust in his eyes but something deeper and more delicate. Without being able to get a read on any future state with him, it forced me to notice finer details about him. The way his finger lightly tapped his glass of bourbon when he grew quiet, the occasional flare of his nostrils when I dragged my teeth over my bottom lip, and how he adjusted his shoulders anytime a passing waiter stepped too close to me.

I traced the lip of my wine glass with a manicured nail.