Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

The sound of the door clicking open jolted me out of sleep. My ears twitched before I even cracked my eyes open, catching the faint rustle of fabric and the soft tap of heels on the plane’s carpeted floor.

I blinked blearily, adjusting to the dim cabin lights, to find Satin standing there, fully dressed—and, holy hell, she looked like a goddess.

The black gown she wore hugged her in all the right places, flowing down her body in a way that was both elegant and devastatingly sensual. Her matching blindfold was tied behind her head in a bow this time, loose above her cascading blonde hair. It gave her an innocence the rest of her outfit denied.

“You’re already dressed?” I asked, my voice rough from sleep.

“I am,” she said, rounding me for the fridge again. “Would you like to eat?” she asked, pulling out a small box full of pastries. “I think there’s some vegetable crudites here.”

“No, I’m good.” I rubbed at my face and sat up, swinging my hooves to the floor. My kilt had bunched awkwardly in my sleep, and I adjusted it before standing, towering over her in the cramped cabin, before I could reach my duffle and pull out my overnight kit. “Anything special I should know about this gig? Or do I just have to look pretty and not frighten anyone?”

“The more frightening the better, honestly,” she replied smoothly, as I crammed myself into the bathroom to brush my teeth.

Her voice carried down the narrow space. “But… do you?” she asked me.

“What?” I asked, stepping out, water still dripping from the fur beneath my chin.

“Look pretty,” she said, licking some icing off her thumb. My thoughts stalled. I didn’t want to be a rock anymore—now I wanted to be well-whipped sugar-water.

“It’s okay,” she continued, smirking faintly. “You can lie to me.” She gestured lightly to her blindfold. “It’s not like I’ll ever know.”

I had no idea how to respond. Was she curious, or something more? Either way, seeing as MSA’s reputation was on the line, I figured I’d better keep my nose clean. “I’m not sure it matters.”

She gave me a tight smile in response. “Quite right. And in any case,” she went on, setting the pastry box aside, “let’s figure out our game plan for the evening.”

Satin explained as we were landing, that we were going to a Winter Gala at a private home with an exclusive art gallery, where all sorts of wealthy people would be hobnobbing.

I felt out of place already.

“And my job is?”

“To protect me, of course. I’m going to ask to hold a Fabergé egg.”

“And…they just allow that? For anybody?”

“They do if you’re me,” she said with a small laugh. “And while I’m touching it, I’m going to put a small microchip inside some of the detailing. I just need you to make sure that no one stops me. This will help,” she said, opening up her purse. She pulled out something that looked like a hearing aid, and gestured for me to lean forward.

I did, and she reached her hand out to touch me, it landed on my cheek. A shiver ran over my entire body at the contact, making all of my skin flinch, like I was shaking off a fly, and then as she smoothed her hand over and up, running against my fur in the wrong direction, rising past my eye, I felt my chain tugging.

I wanted to ask her what-the-fuck she was doing, but I absolutely did not want her to stop.

Her fingers found my ear and circled it, rubbing her thumb against the soft velvet inside, a place on my body which I’d never realized could be erogenous before, but I would’ve killed armies and moved mountains if it would’ve kept her hand there.

Then she put something in my ear, and I fought not to jerk away, as she played with my fur right after, presumably hiding whatever it was she’d just given me, before pulling back.

“What was that?” I asked, trying to ignore the presence of the gizmo at the same time as I tried to forget what it’d felt like when she’d touched me. My chain was as tight as a guitar string.

“A translation device. You won’t be able to speak Russian—it’s input only, not output. But you’ll understand what people are saying, once I turn it on,” she said, gesturing to a gold bangle around her wrist. “Just pretend that you can’t, all right?”

“Da,” I said, with my best attempt at a Russian accent.

“Please do not do that,” she groaned, and I gave a dark chuckle.

“Are you implying that I’m not international?” I asked lightly, before sobering. “But, actually—uh—just so you know—I’m only wearing a kilt right now.” Pants weren’t exactly satyr’s style.

“That’s fine. I want people to notice you. The more they’re looking at you, the less they’ll be looking at me,” she said, getting up to head into the back again.

I found that hard to believe.

Who would look at me, when you could look at her?

She returned in a floor-length fur mink coat, the kind that would have made her the most dramatic figure in any room. “Cousin of mine?” I asked as I stood, adjusting my kilt while the flight crew extended the jet’s staircase.

“It’s vintage.”

“Oh, so it’s a hand-me-down murder.”

She huffed, running her hands down both lapels with deliberate flair. “It was my mother’s. And, for the record, it’s older than you are.”

I gave her a lopsided smile she couldn’t see. “Well, as long as we’re getting things on the record—I’m not vegetarian.”

The air between us hung heavier than I expected, her hands pausing on the fur for just a beat too long.

“That’s… good to hear,” she said finally, her tone perfectly diplomatic. But I didn’t miss the way the corners of her lips twitched, like she was holding back a smile.