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Carly rubs it. “Maybe something’s there,” she says, but she doesn’t sound certain.
“Have you got a birth control implant?” Julia asks.
I don’t have a birth control implant. I should probably have one. Reality suddenly comes crashing down on me, and I swing violently from not believing I’m pregnant to panicking that I might be. What the hell am I going to do if the test is positive? I can’t have a baby. Ican’t. Whenever I’m around Tyrant, I crave the moment he fucks me full of his cum, but that’s not a sane reason to start a family with a man.
“It doesn’t feel like a birth control implant. It’s hard, like metal,” Carly says.
I finger the lump, frowning. What the hell could it be?
I shake my head. Now is not the time to figure it out. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”
When we walk into the ballroom at Henson University, it’s filled with magic. Music plays beneath the lit chandeliers, and golden light dapples the dancers who are moving in a riot of color, silk, sequins, velvet, glamour, and secrecy. I barely recognize anybody behind their masks as I move among the crowd.
After a few moments, I turn to Julia and Carly to exclaim to them how wonderful everyone looks, only to find I’ve lost them among all the dancers. I turn this way and that, trying to find a plague doctor and a Poison Ivy. Only, I don’t find them. I find someone else, who’s instantly recognizable despite his mask.
The crowd parts, and there he is.
The devil himself.
He’s wearing black on black. A black tie and shirt with a black suit, with his hands casually in his pockets as he smiles a wickedly pointed smile at me. His eyes are covered with a black mask decorated with gleaming, pointed horns.
My heart pounds in my chest. Three girls move in front of him as they cross the dance floor, and when I look for him again, he’s gone. The devil has vanished.
I pick up my skirt with both hands and hurry toward the spot, my head turning this way and that as I hunt for the elusive figure.
An arm snakes around my waist, and I’m drawn back against a broad chest with a thud. I gasp and hold on to the man’s wrist. A tattooed wrist. The scent of blackcurrant, cedar, and blood fills my nose. I’m in Tyrant’s arms, and everyone here can see it and later tell my family about it. I feel a thud of panic until I remember that we’re both masked. Tonight we can be anyone we want. Do anything we want.
I turn slowly in his embrace and wrap my arms around Tyrant’s neck. “I should have known you’d come, and as the devil.”
He flashes his smile at me again. “I’m an angel too, only I’ve been locked out of heaven lately. How about you help me find my way back in?”
There’s something strange about his eyes. As the lights flash over his face, I realize he’s wearing contacts and his eyes are demonic red.
“Why would you want to find your way back in?”
His head dips closer to mine and he murmurs against my lips, “If that’s where you are, angel, I’ll break down the fucking door.”
The music changes and swells. Tyrant wraps his arms around me and draws me against him. In this crush of bodies and with the masks over our faces, I can do something I’ve never dared before. Be with Tyrant out in the open. Touch him. Adore him. We dance together, our gazes locked. My body feels hot and pleasant and light in his arms. I’m floating in a warm ocean with him and a nameless score of people.
Tyrant’s lips brush over mine, and I find myself smiling. His fingers trace the nape of my neck, circling right over the lump.
The smile dies on my lips. “Do you feel that? I’ve been wondering what it is.”
“Feel what?”
His fingers are right on top of the bump. He can’t not feel it. Is it just my imagination or is there a gleam in Tyrant’s red eyes?
Something is trapped in a box at the back of my mind. It’s been rattling all evening, desperate to get out. I’m missing something important. “I…”
There’s a peal of laughter behind me, and it echoes in my ears, growing more and more shrill. Someone calls my name. Tyrant glances past my shoulder, seizes my wrist, and pulls me through the crowd, and the voice fades away behind us.
I glance over my shoulder as he drags me along. “Wait, I think I heard my name.”
But Tyrant doesn’t wait. He pulls me to the edge of the dance floor and then out through heavy velvet curtains and onto the terrace where it’s dark and the air is fresh and cool.
He pushes me against the terrace railing and traps me with his arms. “Forget about everyone else. Listen to me.” His expression and tone are suddenly urgent. “I’m tired of waiting for you to ask for it.”
“Ask for what?”
