Page 38 of Pride: Kneel Before None

Ignatius, of course.

Glancing at the clock, it told me he was early.

“Scowling causes wrinkles, darling,” he called out from downstairs. Definitely directed at me.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, grumbling a reminder to myself about why I even put up with his theatrics.

His chatter dulled into casual conversation, presumably already making a fuss over Eve.

Lowering myself into my chair, I relaxed marginally. But Val’s email still nagged at the back of my brain like a scab daring to be picked.

Unpredictable. Entropy. Armageddon.

The words circled my thoughts like an endless merry-go-round with a slew of paranormal possibilities instead of horses.

My hands gripped the armrests, forcing my body to lean back in my seat. Closing my eyes, I opened my mind’s eye, lowered my shields, and searched. It wasn’t a blind pursuit.

I had a target.

If seeing my Little Spade at the furthest reaches of my long-range precognition would loosen the vise on my lungs, so be it. Energy cost be damned—I had to see her.

It didn’t take long for sweat to bead at my temples, my jaw to ache from clenching too tightly, or my lungs to burn from breaths held for too long.

All of it was worth it when the vision flickered. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

This echo of a vision would not fade. It thrived within its chosen chamber.

CHAPTER 13

“That man is all brooding and hubris. Everyone knows that contours and cheekbones cannot be rushed,” Iggy muttered to himself as he rolled in a luggage cart full of suitcases and garment bags.

I watched as he got himself set up in the center of the living room, just behind the plush leather sofa. He spent the better part of five minutes setting up the makeup chair, angling it just right for the natural light that came in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Watching Ignatius in his element was like watching a master magician. He pulled objects out of nowhere, making movements with exaggerated flair, and by the time he completed his setup, it felt worthy of a round of applause and gold confetti.

In the blink of an eye, what had once been a page out of Bachelor Standard now looked like a portal into a starlet’s dressing room in Hollywood’s golden age of cinema.

Iggy wordlessly instructed me to take my seat by tapping the plastic end of a makeup brush against the backrest of the chair he’d set up for me. Only then did I realize this chair was mine—literally. My name stretched across the black fabric in sweeping, bold lettering, the artistic font impossible to miss, just like me.

e.v.e.

Queens do not forsake their thrones, right?

They absolutely do not. So, I took my seat, leaning back with one leg crossed casually over the other. Before I could open my mouth to speak, Iggy eased a flute of champagne into my hand.

Some of the tiny bubbles floated to the surface while others clung to the inside of the glass. At the very bottom, there appeared to be a spoonful of obsidian cherry preserves, giving the otherwise golden hue of the beverage a streak of deadly crimson.

Upstairs, the footsteps paced in Ace’s office. Six in one direction, seven in the other.

Seemed somebody was feeling unsettled.

“You know, he hasn’t even told me where we’re going,” I said, not withholding the bitter edge in my tone.

Ignatius ran his fingers through my tresses, his nails lengthening into dull claws as he summoned his glamour demon lineage into play. The drag of the blunt points massaged my scalp, drawing a pleased hum from me.

“Have you considered the possibility he wishes to surprise you? Some men consider it romantic.” Iggy’s tone was contemplative, giving serious weight to the reason behind the secrecy.

Silence hung between us.