Page 103 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

She scanned the room for her friends, but Opalina and Lilibeth were still conspicuously, and undoubtedly intentionally, gone.

His gaze was still fixed on her, a silent, stormy intensity. “I’ll wait.”

She retreated into the dressing room. After a futile minute of twisting and straining, her fingers couldn’t even reach the first tiny silk loop at the top of her spine. How long should she attempt this impossible contortion? She’d spend the night in this changing room before she managed to undo one button. Already, she was out of breath, her neck hot with frustration.

Cassia cracked the door open, just enough to call out, her voice tight with embarrassment. “. . . Ark?”

He was there in an instant. “Yes?”

“I—I can’t. The buttons are impossible.”

A moment of silence, then: “Would you like assistance?”

She shut her eyes tight and counted to ten. “. . . Yes, please.”

Without a word, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The small space shrank, filled with his presence and the scent of twilight air and rain clinging to him.

“Turn around,” he said, his voice lower than usual.

She complied, presenting her back to him, heart hammering against her ribs. The first touch of his fingers on the bare skin sent a jolt through her. She sucked in a sharp, silent breath as the prickle on the bond mark intensified.

His hands were methodical, his movements precise, but each release of a button felt like a slow, deliberate stroke. The air grew thick, charged with the soft sounds of their breathing and the whisper of silk sliding through its fastenings. With every inch of skin he exposed, she felt a corresponding flutter deep within her. They’d kissed, but this was the most intimate thing they had ever done—this silent, careful unveiling. She was so aware of his body heat behind her, of the focused intensity of his attention on the line of her spine.

Finally, the last button gave way. The dress loosened, its weight settling into her hands as she clutched it to her breasts. The cool air washed over her entire back, and she felt utterly, completely revealed.

She glanced over her shoulder, her voice a breathless thread of sound. “Thank you.”

He gave a tight, almost pained nod, his dark eyes lingering on the exposed line of her shoulders for a heartbeat too long before he turned and stepped out.

The moment the door clicked shut, Cassia let out a trembling breath. She leaned against the doorframe, then peeled off the borrowed gown and reached for her own clothes. Her fingers quivered as she fastened the buttons of her high-necked cream blouse and tucked it into her deep-green wool skirt, the simplicity of her clothing a fragile shield.

She found Ark standing by the window, hands in his pockets, studying the street. When he turned, the silence between them seemed rife with the memory of his hands on her bare skin, the soft give of buttons.

She looked up at him. “Walk me home?”

The words had slipped out—and she realized, with a startling clarity, that she didn’t want to take them back. She didn’t want the night to end. She felt safe with him. The space he occupied had become a place she sought.

His answer came immediately. He offered his arm, as if he’d been waiting for the invitation.

“I insist,” he said.

25

CASSIA

The snow had stopped. The streets of Little Mineola were hushed beneath the indigo sky. White flakes clung to the rooftop corners and the wrought iron railings, glittering faintly in the light of the streetlamps. They walked together, her hand tucked beneath his arm.

“I wanted to invite you to the fitting,” she said. “But after this morning, I knew today would be a busy day for you.” She glanced at him. “How did you find out?”

“Opalina sent a message and asked if I wanted to come.”

She nodded. If he was here now, then he must have gone to see Alderrath during the day. Nocturnes and Sanguines weren’t known for fisticuffs or rough brawls, but she found herself searching his profile anyway—his jaw, his knuckles—looking for bruises, for any sign something had gone wrong.

“And your meeting with Alderrath?” she finally asked, her voice dropping. “How did it go?”

He stopped and turned to her, his expression shifting into something gravely serious. The softness they’d shared moments ago vanished.

“Alderrath is having the new Certificate of Ownership spell-inked,” he said.