Where is he?
What had happened to warrant him leaving me alone in jail?
Even though fear pressed and tiredness fogged my mind, I held my head high and followed my guide. Passing through security, I signed out and pushed open the doors to return to freedom. The irony that I’d been a captive along with my mother wasn’t something I found humorous. I had my freedom now but how long would it be until she got hers?
My heart swelled with affection rarely felt toward her.
We’d both entered this calamity and survived with different habits and become someone entirely new.
In a way, I was glad. Perhaps this new mother-daughter existence would have a much closer bond than the previous version of ourselves. For once, I was looking forward to talking to her, answering her prying questions, and remembering how to be a member of a family.
Family...
Elder.
He was my family. He was the one I loved above all others—including myself.
Yet...he’d vanished.
Squinting in the newly appeared sunshine making a last hurrah before dusk fell, I spotted a black clad figure standing beside the sedan that travelled with the Phantom.
My heart leapt then plummeted as I recognised him.
Not Elder.
Selix.
Moving toward him, I struggled to contain the worried flutterings in my belly. “Where’s Elder?”
Selix cocked his head as he opened the back door for me. “He told me to inform you something urgent came up, and he had to attend to it.” His eyes flickered with the lie. “He’ll meet you in a couple of hours and escort you to Hawksridge Hall where the ball is taking place.”
Part of me wanted to stomp my foot and demand to be told the truth. To figure out why Elder had run and left his friend to feed me fibs. Yet the other part of me understood why.
I could understand how watching my mother and me rekindle our strained relationship could be taxing to anyone. What I’d said in there wasn’t nice or sugar-coated. My tears hadn’t been controlled or pretty.
But he knew me.
He knew where I’d come from. He’d been there. He’d waded through the blood and patched up my broken bones.
If he could do all that—stand beside me unflinching until today—then what had set him off? What made him run when we’d faced so much worse together?
Perhaps he regretted doing what he did for me. Maybe he second-guessed his willingness to get involved and needed some time on his own to revaluate his commitment now he knew more.
Or maybe...he wasn’t thinking about me at all? Maybe he’d sunk into his own private agony—his pain at never having an open-armed reunion with his family. My mother had withheld her love but had killed for me. His mother had lavished her affection and then banished him.
I was so lucky.
He was still alone.
My heart twitched and tore at the thought.
I’d been so selfish. Of course, he would be distraught at seeing two people who had never been close overcome their differences and unify.
I’m an idiot.
I rubbed my chest, doing my best to calm the lovesick muscle as I nodded at Selix. “Tell him to take all the time he needs.” I placed a leg into the car. “If you speak to him between now and tonight, can you please tell him I’m eternally grateful for everything he’s done for me. That he’s my family just like I hope I’m his, but if he’s reached his limit and needs space, then...” I looked away, fortifying myself for such traumatising words. “Tell him I understand, and he’s under no obligation.”
He smiled stiffly. “Will do. Now get in the car.”
I slid into the vehicle and held back the wobbliness of sadness and exhaustion as Selix slammed the door. That was what I liked about him. He was no-nonsense. He saw I was upset but didn’t take it upon himself to cajole or soothe.
His loyalties were to Elder, though I didn’t understand why as their bond bordered violence with a sprinkling of mutual respect.
At the start, I’d believed Selix was a servant loyal to his employer. That he was nothing more than paid help.
There was no way I thought that now.
Now, I believed Selix was there for his own purpose, and Elder would prefer them equals instead of the second-in-command role Selix preferred to play.
That’s all it is...a role.
A pantomime.
Just like Elder was playing the role as my protector.
He had his lines and delivery—following the script he wrote himself. However, I doubted abandoning me inside a prison while emotionally distraught was planned.
He must be hurting terribly.
I wish I was with him.
I wish he would let me help him.
Selix climbed into the driver’s seat, and, without a word, drove me to wherever I was meant to be.
* * * * *
The hotel room was opulent, but it wasn’t private.
As I entered the suite at some luxury establishment, I expected to have some time alone. Selix had checked me in and given me the keycard. He’d escorted me up in the elevator and left me to my own devices once I was safely deposited outside the room.
I’d happily accepted the reprieve. Readily looking forward to a bath, a nap, and perhaps some time to write a letter to No One.
My fingers itched to put my thoughts on paper after speaking them aloud for so long. Plus, the need to erase what I’d penned about my mother was the one thing keeping me going instead of collapsing into lethargy.
Yes, a note would help.
They always do...
As the door closed behind me and I entered the lounge, I froze.
Do I have the wrong room?
This one already had guests, and not one of them was Elder.
“Hello?” My voice sounded hollow to my ears. Mild shock that I’d spoken without thinking almost made me wish to be mute once again.
I didn’t want words.
I wanted letters.
I wanted No One.
I want Elder.
Living with trauma was a sneaky thing. Some days I was invincible—able to take on Elder and every obstacle in my path. And some days...some moments...those strengths vanished, leaving me shaking, panicking, and seeking all exits to flee.
This was one of those moments.
Backpedalling, all I saw were two women who weren’t invited, who I didn’t know, who could be part of any trafficking or racketeering scam.
“Get out.” I cursed the wobble in my tone.
A woman, with coiled brown hair and red lipstick, stood smartly from where she perched on the grey and navy couch in the window bay. “Ah, you’re finally here.” Clapping her hands, she summoned her friend to stand. They wore matching cream blouses with tailored black skirts and aprons with needles, tape, and chalk peeping from their front pockets.
“Who are you?” I grabbed a letter opener from the desk beside me, brandishing it. “What do you want?”
The women shared a look. The older of the two with ginger hair styled in a French twist held up her hands. “We’re not here to hurt you. You can put that down.”
“I’ll put it down when I know who you are.” I glanced behind me, eyeing the door. Selix had vanished into the room two doors down. If I was fast enough, I could run there before they could grab me. “Tell me. Right now.”
The older woman with ginger hair pointed at herself and then her friend, followed by the embroidered sigil on their matching breast pockets. “I’m Mel, and this is Nat. We’re from Social Art.”
“Social Art?” My hand grew slippery around my weapon. “What’s that?”
The red-lipsticked lady giggled. “Obviously someone didn’t pass on the message.”
When I gave her a blank look, she added, “We were hired by Mr. Prest to help you get ready for the masque.”
“Oh.”
A reply I could handle.
A response my flight or fight desires could accept.
Slowly,
I put the letter opener down, my fingers creeping to my throat where prickling anxiety remained.
The masquerade.
I’d entirely forgotten about it.
All I wanted to do was rest. To somehow regroup from this afternoon and figure out what had happened to Elder. God, the thought of mingling with strangers...all of them wearing masks?
I gulped.
I can’t.
I wasn’t in the right headspace. If my ever-present fear had sprung up from two women, what would happen in a ballroom full of hundreds?
I had a better handle on my panic attacks, but what if one found me in the middle of a crowd? What if I collapsed and sobbed and screamed and Elder had to drag me away? I’d ruin his reputation and his meetings with whoever he planned to do business with.
Shaking my head, I bypassed them, spying a bathroom beyond. “I-I’m not feeling all that well.” I kicked off my ballet flats and made my way past a small table where a pad and pen embossed with the hotel logo begged me to scribble on it.
Pilfering the stationery, I didn’t care which hotel Selix had brought me to or whereabouts in London we were. We were in England, and that was all I knew. Back in the country I knew better than any other and I still found myself completely lost.
“Do you think you could call Mr. Prest and give him my apologies?” Inching toward the bathroom door—backing over the threshold and almost free from their sharp gazes—I shrugged. “I’m sorry, I’m really not feeling—”
Something whispered over my scalp, warm and heavy.
Oh, God.
Terror sprang. Self-preservation kicked in. I spun around ready to attack whoever had attacked me, only to bury my face in a billow of tulle.
“Ah, you found it.” Mel came forward, her heels silent on the carpet. “Your dress.”
Hugging my notepad and pen, I backed away, my lips parting as I studied the gown hanging from a collapsible wardrobe. Small shelving with the most delicious blood red heels and a box with Victoria Secret’s emblem rested beside the incredible creation of satin and lace.
“It’s one of our signature pieces,” Nat said as my arms went lax and I dropped the pad and paper. My entire body went floppy with awe. Shock. Amazement.
A rustle sounded behind me; followed by a soft voice. “That’s the dress he ordered. It’s from a collection called Bruised by Beauty by Nila Weaver.”
Mel chuckled. “Well, it’s a Weaver creation, but the designer of the company changed her last name a few years ago. In fact—” A light hand fluttered on my shoulder. “You’ll meet her tonight at the masque. She’s married to the owner—Jethro Hawk.”
Even being touched by a stranger couldn’t stop my wonderment as I studied the dress. It hung impersonal and lifeless, but it glowed with magic. Sorcery that promised whoever wore it wouldn’t be mere mortal anymore but someone transcended from mankind. Someone ethereal.
The bottom of the skirt was oversized and bell-shaped with acres of elegant swathes of every colour on the red and blue spectrum. Ochre to blood and midnight to forget-me-nots. The colours twisted and turned, smudged and battled to look exactly like a bruise upon human skin. Slowly, the colours stopped fighting, creeping up the dress until the war ended and red was the true winner.
Red—the colour of passion.
Red—the colour of pain.
It shimmered and beckoned and beamed with the richest, deepest crimson I’d ever seen—as if blood had cascaded right from someone’s heart. Off the shoulder with sashes of beadwork, navy and blue-black lace webbed like veins.
It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
And the most morbid.
Whoever wore this gown was shouting to the world she wasn’t pure. She wasn’t innocent. She was raw and bloodied and bruised and was so much stronger for it.
I choked on overwhelming love for Elder—that even running away he’d somehow found a way to tell me how proud he was.
The hand on my shoulder squeezed gently. “Whatever tiredness, worry, or illness you’re suffering, we have to find a way to fix it. This dress demands to be worn. You must be the one to wear it. It would be a sin not to.”
Nat pushed past me, clipping toward the vanity where rows of makeup already rested on black velvet runners. Bottles and brushes, palettes and creams all ready to paint their chosen one.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Mel plucked a large box from the floor and held it out to me, cracking open the lid. “This goes with it. The whole ensemble is called Queen Who Bled.”
With my heart lodged in my throat, my eyes fell on the final ingredient. And for the first time, I felt faint for all good reasons instead of bad. The familiar closing of my lungs and rush of panic in my veins only brought wonder and a touch of anxiety that I could never be beautiful enough to pull off such a mask.
A mask undoubtedly chosen by Elder.
A mask that would grant me protection, beauty, and queenly power.
I would go tonight.
I would wear the dress.
I would find Elder and thank him for everything he was.
And then I would kiss him.
Because gifts such as these...they deserved a hundred kisses.
A thousand.
More.
“I’m suddenly feeling much better,” I whispered.
“In that case.” Mel smiled. “Let’s get you ready for the ball.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
______________________________
Elder
LIKE A COWARD, I hid.
I shirked all responsibility and ran so I could somehow get my head together and not take my self-loathing out on Pim.
I meant to return to the hotel and collect her. I had a big plan to meet her in the hotel foyer, decked out in my black tux with black cravat, black waistcoat, and black mask and wait for her to descend the stairs as any novel-hero would.
That was before my escape from the prison refused to settle my nerves. That was before my stalk through English suburbs left me worse than I’d been before.
I’d constantly checked my watch, plagued by questions. Where was she? What was she doing? Would Selix have taken her back to the hotel? Would she permit the Social Art crew to dress her or would she refuse—too hurt from my disappearance and too tired from the truth?
Run ragged and desperate for a joint, I found my way to the hotel and dressed. I let the magic of marijuana turn me as normal as possible and waved off Selix’s lecture of how dangerous it’d been roaming the streets without protection with the Chinmoku on the hunt.
I had enough to torment myself without including the mess of my past.
It didn’t help that the instant I was mentally and physically appropriate for the unwanted masque, I couldn’t stop pacing my hotel room.
Only a few doors down from Pim and all I wanted to do was interrupt her and demand she hear me out. But I didn’t know what I’d say to her—the jumble in my brain too messy to configure.
I couldn’t outrun the hatred for all I’d done, the pressure I’d put her under, the frustration with her silence, or the rancid desire that led me to force myself upon her the first time.
Who was I?
And why the fuck had she put up with me?
Me.
I didn’t deserve a damn thing.
I’d made her steal for me.
I’d made her come for me.
I’d overstepped every fucking boundary I could.
So no...with the way I was feeling, I couldn’t wait for her like a gentleman. I had to run like a beast and lick my self-inflicted wounds in private.
I travelled to Hawksridge Hall on my own—encased in a car without Pim for over an hour.
I glanced unimpressed at the giant estate as I arrived at the bottom of an incredibly long driveway to one of the oldest holdings in England.
It made me anxious to have so much permanency on land. The ocean lived in my veins and I missed it already.
I didn’t care about turrets or copper cu
polas or the lattice-work of grass growing up impressive spires. I didn’t smile as I nodded thanks to my driver and entered the warm welcome of such an ancient hall. I didn’t glare at the tapestries of prior lords and ladies or try to figure out the many secrets beckoning to be uncovered.
My fascination with secrets had gotten me into this mess. It wasn’t my right to dig for answers about anyone; I intended to stop such a nasty habit this very moment.
Moving through already tipsy crowds, ducking around ballgowned women and nodding tersely at tuxedoed men, I made my way to the pop-up bar complete with decanters and goblets and allowed myself one drink.
Just one.
My rule of tasting a drop to refrain from the entire bottle.
As I sipped the neat vodka, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the entrance as I waited for her.
The girl I owed a thousand apologies.
How was I supposed to clear my conscience? What if she didn’t turn up? What if she vanished into her home country, deciding for both of us enough was enough?
You know she won’t do that.
The connection between us was too strong to falsify. We were committed—whether we’d voiced that commitment didn’t matter.
I knew in my bones Pim wouldn’t vanish, just like I knew I’d never be able to atone for my needs to master her body and soul.
The elegant ballroom with its stately pillars and monogramed mosaic floor was made to house an event such as this. The curtains glittered gold, and the guests looked every bit as splendid as the wealth dripping from crystal chandeliers as they danced in sync to the orchestra.
But I didn’t care about any of it because it meant nothing to me.
The only thing that meant something was late.
My drink was empty, but my fingers remained tight around the warmed glass—needing to clutch something...waiting.
I thought I’d be prepared for her arrival. In the time it took to drink my vodka, a hastily scribbled script had formed. I was prepared with my apology and explanation.
But when she finally arrived?
Fuck me.
My knees turned to water and my breath to stone.
I couldn’t move.
Christ, I couldn’t move.