“Wow, they’re really into this,” I mumble.
Luckily, everyone is way too busy to notice me, and there’s so much steam and smoke in the room that I’m kind of obscured. I manage to slink my way out of the kitchen and through the open doorway on the opposite end where I slip out.
I find myself in a hallway, and it’s dim since the only light is coming from lanterns hanging on the wall. Maybe this mansion hasn’t been converted to electricity? It does look old, so maybe they’re renovating. If that’s the case, they really should start with that ancient looking kitchen.
I bypass some massive oil paintings hanging up along the stone walls, my leather squeaking as I go. The paintings aren’t just your run-of-the-mill dead people portraits or landscapes. Nope, they’re demons writhing around naked and having graphic sex with other horned demons. It’s hot—literally, because there are flames all around them.
So I’m stuck in a mansion where everyone is dressed up for Halloween a couple months early, surrounded by demonic Renaissance porn. This event has obviously spared no expense.
My steps slow as I curiously look at each painting that I pass, ignoring the fact that my body lights up with interest. I bet this costume party is why the three men in the mausoleum looked so different. They were probably half dressed-up. I bet Crux will end up in board shorts with a surfboard over his shoulder.
When I finally get past the paintings and make it to the end of the hallway, I get spilled out into some kind of antechamber. There are staircases leading up and down, and a few doors are scattered around the room. I’m about to eeny meeny miny mo this shit in order to choose a direction, but a woman wearing a long black dress with an apron comes walking up. She’s ethereally pale and bald, and she wears a uniform that has me thinking she’s a maid. It doesn’t look like a costume though.
“There you are!” she says, her voice lilting slightly with an accent. “Right this way, Miss Gates. He’s waiting for you.”
I’m assuming that the he is Iceman, so I follow behind her as she leads me up the staircase. Unlike the floor I was on, which is obviously meant for the staff, the next floor up is the definition of opulent, the design and aesthetic immediately changing. Okay...so maybe he’s not just a security supervisor eating chips in the break room.
The woman leads me up the stairs, past another antechamber, and then into a room with marble flooring, wallpaper that has texture and looks like it’s made with actual gold, and chandeliers thrown around like confetti. The chairs all look uncomfortable as fuck though, more for looks than comfort. I suddenly feel itchy just being in here. Maybe I’m allergic to rich. Wouldn’t that just fucking suck.
We’re in some kind of sitting room, and I look around with interest when a voice interrupts my perusal. “Persia, did you iron my shirt?” a massive muscled blueberry with horns asks as he stalks into the room from the other doorway.
His deep voice reaches out and slaps me across the face, and I’m momentarily stunned. Iceman?
He doesn’t notice me, since he’s too busy messing with his pants, and I thank fuck for that as my mouth literally drops open and I drink my fill of him.
I don’t know where he got his costume, but it is fucking working for him...and for my vagina, not gonna lie. He’s bare chested, and his skin has been painted cobalt blue, the color accentuating every dip and curve of his extensive muscular frame. Well, I get the Iceman nickname now.
His hair is a deep midnight blue, the wig almost as long as my purple tresses that reach just below my shoulders. But the pièce de résistance of his costume are the massive horns he’s sporting. They come out of the side of his head and curl forward and up. They almost look like a super badass crown, and all I can suddenly think about is how they’d probably be good leverage for me to hold onto while riding his face. Unfortunately, I doubt they’re sturdy enough. The horns are probably attached to a headband or something, but I revel in the fantasy of it anyway, because...yum.
He glances back at the bedroom behind him. “You think we should have her shown into the salon, or do you think maybe the formal living room would be more comfortable? No one should be down there. She might be hungry though, in which case the dining room would probably be the best—”
The blue beast of my wet dreams stops as Jerif—the dark-skinned, lava haired dude—walks in after him.
What the fuck? How did Lava-Jerif beat me to the estate?
The bald woman who guided me up here clears her throat. “Sirs, your guest has already arrived,” she says, getting their attention pointedly. She steps to the side to dramatically reveal yours truly. Both men whirl around, and I give an awkward wave hello.
“Maverick…uh…I mean, Miss Gates. Welcome,” Iceman stumbles to greet me, obviously surprised by my presence.
“Delta is fine. Or Maverick,” I tell him as I offer a friendly smile. Fuck, with that blue-chiseled body, he can call me whatever he wants and I’ll answer to it.
Iceman shares a look with Jerif before he looks back at me. “Would you like to have a seat? The others will join us shortly,” he offers as he turns and gestures toward a cluster of chairs. The formality in their countenance puts me at ease, but I try not to get my hopes up that I’m here because they’re actually impressed with me.
“Um...sure.”
Iceman touches the back of a sitting chair like some sort of gallant gentleman and gestures for me to have a seat. I give him a small smile as
