From Slave To Queen (Athena and Michael) novel Chapter 37

Chapter 37

He exhales, and from the way he does it, I suppose he agrees with his friend. I decide not to press my luck any further and slip away from the door. I retrace my steps and return to my chambers. Clarissa and Naida are inside at the low table where they usually play cards. They smile until they see the state of my clothes and the bird’s nest that is my hair.

“What happened?”

“We were attacked on the way back to the castle.”

Both stand so quickly the cards scatter everywhere. Clarissa starts checking my body for injuries I might not have noticed.

“I’m fine, really.”

They don’t believe me and keep inspecting for a while. I let out a heavy sigh when they finally give me space to breathe.

“You must’ve been so scared…”

I nod.

“There’s hot water ready. Best we get that mess out of your hair,” says Clarissa, lifting one of the tangled locks.

X

Chapter 37

And I don’t. Bleeding is normal for women. I just hope it doesn’t make me a juicier snack. I wrinkle my nose at the thought.

I let them do as they please. Instead of the white dress from the other night, they choose a dark red velvet one, the color of blood. Much to my dismay, they insist on a corset with stiff bones that dig into me every time I breathe. They say it accentuates my figure. And it does–my breasts are practically an invitation. I never thought that part of me was especially generous, but now I wish it were even less so.

They’re always attentive to the details, and before long, I’m on my way to the carriage where Cassian waits. The ride is silent. We don’t speak, we don’t argue—which I consider a small victory. Neither of us brings up what happened earlier. We stop at the same place as before–I recognize the façades and entrance doors. This must be their party palace.

Cassian walks ahead several paces, not bothering to wait for me. I watch him silently from a distance. His pants cling to his long, strong legs, and his chest is covered by a black shirt with the top buttons undone. He doesn’t need a coat–few things in this world are colder than he is. Meanwhile, I’m burdened not only with a cumbersome dress but also a white cloak lined with wool.

I catch up just as he reaches the doors. He glances sideways at me.

“You know the rules. Do whatever you want, but your blood is mine.”

He disappears into the crowd, but his presence is unmistakable. I watch him longer than I should–and I wish I hadn’t looked away, because the rest of the attendees are not dressed like him. I see vampires sitting on small thrones with naked women squirming in their laps, blood dripping from their throats. The rest of the room is no less obscene–bodies tangled together on the marble floor, moving to various rhythms. I have to look away.

No matter how loud the music is, it can’t drown the sounds. The moans bounce off the marble, creating a cacophony that makes my skin crawl. My eyes desperately seek a familiar face, but Walter doesn’t seem to be here–or hasn’t arrived yet.

I feel lost and disoriented. I try to escape, edging through the crowd until I press myself against one of the red tapestries that serve as curtains. Slowly, afraid to find someone already using the small space behind me, I lift the tapestry. Inside is total darkness, but it seems empty, so I crawl in.

Once the tapestry falls completely behind me, the darkness becomes absolute, but eventually my eyes adjust. It’s a small cubicle with a chair. I collapse onto it, ignoring the thoughts in my head about what inappropriate things may have happened here.

The moans drill into my ears.

I slouch into the armchair, feeling the corset boning digging into my skin. I think about trivial things until I get lost in my own thoughts. I go over and over the most recent events, as if I weren’t capable of moving forward. At some point, someone stumbles in accidentally and immediately apologizes, laughing–no doubt under the effects of wine. Or perhaps blood has the same effect on them.

Nothing else happens, and I suppose that’s what leads me to fall asleep. When I realize what’s happened, I sit up with a jolt, wondering how long I’ve been lying here asleep and whether anyone came in. My hands fly to my neck by pure instinct, but it doesn’t seem to have been touched by anyone’s fangs, much less pierced.

When I step out, the light makes me squint and even brings tears to my eyes. I look around, visibly disoriented from the sleep. The hall doesn’t look any emptier than before–maybe even fuller–so the party must be in full swing. I consider going back to the darkness of my refuge. I’m already turning when a voice interrupts my escape.

“Hello, darling.”

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Chapter 37

The voice isn’t entirely unfamiliar, but it’s definitely not Cassian’s. I turn heavily,

It’s Ciro Amery, wearing a blood–red shirt, open, exposing the paleness of his chest that looks as if it were carved from stone. My eyes travel down that path of skin, and a little voice in my head tells me it’s inappropriate to look at a man like that, especially a vampire, so I lift my gaze again. His pink eyes look at me with amusement, and his chestnut hair is tousled, a few curls falling over his forehead.

“You look tired.”

I’m completely speechless. I stare at his face like a fool, unable to stop. The amusement in his eyes grows.

“This is… this isn’t my idea of an i–ideal party.”

The words come out with difficulty. What’s wrong with me? With Cassian, this doesn’t happen. With him, I often become a sharp–tongued girl who doesn’t hesitate to blurt out whatever comes to mind, even if it might cost me my life. Ciro Amery wouldn’t hurt me, he can’t touch me… right?

“Yes, you’re right.” He dangles a glass from one hand. “The orgy was definitely too much.”

His words draw my eyes briefly to the center of the room, where something my eyes shouldn’t see is happening, Sweaty bodies, entangled, moaning. Immediately my cheeks burn.

“It’s obscene,” I declare.

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