Chapter 26

”Further examination reveals fae may possess soul-shades in spectral colors beyond the perceptible range of the human eye…”

-Excerpt from the personal journal of Dr. Claude Foster, Director of Faeology at Mesmeric Labs

FANTASIA

Ireach up and accept the mystery man’s hand. He knows who I am—what I am—and something tells me running won’t do anything for me.

In the moody lighting, I can’t see what color radiates from his body, but based on his arrogant demeanor and the way he called Silver City his city, I’m willing to bet he’s an important man. Surely he wouldn’t do anything to me here.

We walk to the very center of the dance floor. People scurry out of our way.

The man draws me in closer, and for a moment, we stand there with our bodies unbearably close, just observing one another. A nervous laugh bubbles out of my mouth.

His head tilts to the side, and the corner of his lips quirks. “Something entertaining?”

“I can’t dance,” I choke out.

“Follow my lead,” he says.

Before I can protest, he pulls my arms up around his neck and plants his strong hands on my waist. Our bodies gently touch as we sway, and I’m not sure if I’m annoyed or grateful that the music has slowed to something that barely warrants movement.

Glancing around, I notice most of the dancers are moving similarly to us, albeit much more closely—more intimately—with their fronts fully flush against one another. One woman nearby rests her head on her dance partner’s shoulder.

Thankfully, the man makes no move to pull me closer.

“What do you want?” I whisper through the lump in my throat.

“The lights are nice, no?” he murmurs. His body goes still for a second, before a low, quiet chuckle escapes him. “The red is harsh—bold enough to make a statement. Powerful.”

He tilts his head down, giving me a knowing look. I try to ignore how beautiful his face is. How decadently sinfully his body moves against mine.

My cheeks heat. I hate my involuntary response to him.

“Yeah, I get it,” I mutter, scanning the room over his shoulder, hoping to see Archer.

The man’s body vibrates as he laughs again. Then he stops moving. One of his hands slides sensually up my spine until it grips the back of my neck beneath my hair. His fingers bite into my skin—not enough to hurt me but enough to send a searing bolt of danger through me.

“The red eats up all other colors—the predator of the color wheel. Perfectly concealing even the most vibrant of soul-shades.” Leaning forward until his lips brush over mine—not a kiss, more of a promise—he says, “Tell me, pretty butterfly—”

“Get the fuck away from her,” Archer says from behind me, his voice low and threatening.

Sweet relief floods my veins.

The strange man releases me. “Why, hello, Archer Acciai.”

Archer tugs me to him. His warm, firm body presses against my backside as he wraps an arm protectively around me. I shudder, relaxing into his touch.

“Arlo Osiander,” Archer spits. “Finally, I can put a face to the notorious name.”

“I’m impressed with your little show at the lab tonight.” The mystery man in the horned mask winks. “Didn’t think you had it in you.” Archer makes a deep grumbling sound. The man chuckles. “No worrying. We shall keep that our little secret.”

Then, not sparing Archer a glance, he stuffs his hands into his suit pockets and turns on his heel, gliding into the crowd.

Releasing me, Archer spins me toward him and cups my chin, bringing my gaze to him.

“Are you all right?” His eyes roam my body, as if he’s hunting for some obvious damage.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Tasia,” he says gently. “You’re shaking.”

He pulls me off the dance floor and into a private room beyond the curtains. Leading me to a chaise, he guides me to a seated position, then kneels in front of me. He looks like a fallen angel, with his dark mask and shining hair, his fierce scowl and tattoos. And even though I can’t see his aura in this lighting, I know it’s there, as golden as ever.

He’s the perfect mixture of light and dark. Of purity and danger.

The emotions his presence evokes in me are so intense that I turn my gaze to the floor.

“Look at me,” he says quietly.

Static runs through my veins, and I oblige, facing him. “Who was that?”

Archer opens his mouth, then shuts it, running a hand through his hair and messing up the perfectly styled waves.

“Arlo Osiander is just a rich bastard with a mysterious past. I’ve never actually met the guy, but I hate him more than anyone.”

“Why?” I ask.

“He’s up to something. Snatching up property around the city—specifically, outbidding me on every property I try to purchase. And I’m pretty sure he has half the Ministries in his pocket, considering I can’t get permits for any of the shelters I’m building downtown.” Archer grits his teeth. “It’s like the guy is out to get me. And worst of all? He’s good at hiding his tracks digitally. Pixel only just got a photo of the man recently.”

“He knew me,” I say. Was he using me in an attempt to get to Archer, since they have such a sordid rivalry going on?

Archer growls, glancing over his shoulder. “What did he say?”

“Nothing, really. You got there before he could say anything. Why did you interrupt, anyway? And don’t tell me it’s because you hate the guy. I very well could’ve gotten information on him.”

He cups my jaw. “Is seeing another man’s lips on yours not enough of a reason?”

I bite my lip to keep my mouth shut. My cheeks heat, and I’m glad he likely won’t notice my blush in this lighting. Arlo wasn’t kissing me, but I’m sure that’s what it looked like to Archer.

“You’re right,” I say. “That might ruin our cover. Can’t have someone else kissing your date.”

“Tasia,” he murmurs, stroking the bottom of my mask with his thumb. “It’s not some date I care about. It’s you.”

My breath hitches, and I search his expression, trying to decipher the intentions behind his declaration. Slowly, my lips lift into a smirk. “You’re jealous.”

“I don’t want anyone’s lips on yours,” he says. He slides his hand to the back of my head and pulls my face to his until our masks touch at the forehead. “Anyone else’s but mine,” he whispers, his warm breath fanning across my lips. Butterflies erupt in my stomach, and before I can formulate a response, he presses his mouth to mine.

His lips are soft but firm. They don’t linger long. When he starts to pull back, I reach for him, fisting my hands in his shirt and pulling him back to me.

This time when our lips meet, there’s less hesitation. Fire erupts beneath my skin, and it’s as if I’m floating and burning at the same time.

I encircle my legs around him. With ease, he reverses our positions so he’s on the couch and I’m straddling him. Our kisses grow fervent, and I moan into his mouth. Each second that passes, he hardens between us.

After a few intense minutes, the kisses slow, until we’re tenderly making out. When we pause for air, we’re both breathing hard.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says. His lips meet mine again, and I breathe in his smile. “Since the moment I met you.”

My heart stutters.

This is more than a hookup.

This is more than mere attraction.

I don’t know exactly what it is… It’s just more.

But…the memory of him turning me down when I laid myself bare for him is still a raw wound.

I pull back.

“Archer…” I sigh. “I’m not making a fool of myself again.”

“You’re never a fool,” he murmurs, tenderly stroking my back in lazy circles. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone before.”

“I feel the same,” I whisper with sincerity.

His body tenses, and then he relaxes. “Then it’s settled.”

“What’s settled?”

He pulls me to his chest and gives me a warm embrace. I’ve never known a comfort as warm and secure as Archer’s arms. Tears prick at my eyes, and I rapidly blink them back, not wanting to smudge my makeup. Allowing my body to relax, I hug Archer back, reveling in the feel of his arms around me.

“What’s settled?” I repeat.

Giving me a soft squeeze, he whispers, “You’re my date tonight.”

I pull back and chuckle. “With the way my lipstick is smeared all over your mouth, I doubt anyone would contest that.”

“No, Tasia, you’re my real date.” He pauses. “If you want to be.”

I nod. “I fucking want you, Archer. I don’t know how much clearer I can be.” Reaching up, I grab his hair in my fist, yanking his head back and forcing him to look at me this time. “More than just a date. More than just tonight. I want you.”

His eyes gleam with lust and mischief, and I lean forward, peppering kisses on his jaw and neck, leaving my mark. He groans, pressing his hips up so his hardness rubs against my core. My dress pools around us, with only my underwear and his pants between us. The friction teases me deliciously.

“Do you want me?” I whisper in his ear.

“So badly.” He groans.

“Tell me you want me. That you want this.” Gesturing to the space between us, I unzip his pants and pause, waiting for his confirmation.

When he says, “I want it,” I hurriedly work his boxers, gripping his thickness and pulling him free. “I want to feel all of you.”

Spurred on by his dirty words, I tug my underwear aside, lining him up with my entrance. I don’t want to waste time with foreplay. I’ve been craving this for so long that I’m ready for him just from making out—something that’s never happened to me before.

His fingers grip my hips. “Tasia, wait,” he mutters. He holds me in place, preventing me from sinking down on him. “I won’t fuck you.”

My heart drops. If he’s about to reject me again with some bullshit excuse about preserving our friendship—or worse, about me ruining him—I’m done.

“I’m clean,” I rush out. “And I’m on birth control.”

His lips curve up with humor. “Good, me too. But I mean I don’t fuck,” he repeats, his eyes searching my face. “It’s all or nothing with me. Be mine. Tell me you’re mine.”

“You sentimental asshole.” I chuckle, squirming over the cock he’s currently preventing me from riding. “Are you telling me you only make love or something?”

“I’m saying I won’t share you, Tasia. If we do this, you’re acknowledging that you’re mine and only mine. That you’re in this all the way with me.”

“What happened to you saying you’d ruin me?”

A smile crosses his lips. “I don’t need to fuck you to ruin you.”

“Come on then, Phantom, show me what you got. Or are you all talk?”

Fury blazes in his eyes. He grabs my hips tighter, and I wiggle, rubbing my slickness on his thick head, begging him to enter me. “Say the words, Tasia.”

“Fine.” I lean forward, nibbling his earlobe. When he grunts with pleasure, I move to his neck, biting the skin there just enough to elicit a sharp intake of breath from him. The asshole did say he liked biting, after all. “I’m yours, Archer Acciai. Only yours, and all yours.”

“Yes you are.” He pulls me down, sheathing his raw cock inside of me. I gasp, and a blazing warmth spreads through my veins as he fills me.

Gripping his shoulders, I begin to move, sliding up and down as he thrusts steadily beneath me.

He fits so perfectly, so snugly, and he’s hitting that place inside that causes my eyes to roll back.

“This is my pussy,” he says, moving one of his hands up to the back of my neck. “Only mine.”

“Yes,” I gasp in agreement. With the sensual red lighting, the near-anonymity of the masks, and the seductive music playing around us, the pleasure is enhanced. Another strong bolt of arousal shoots through me at the realization that anyone could walk in on us.

“What if…someone walks in…” I pant as I ride him.

His breath hitches, and his thrusts increase. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? If someone pulled that curtain aside and walked in to see you bouncing on me.”

His words send me over the cliff. I clench around him, finding release faster than I ever have in my life.

“Archer!” I cry, leaning forward and wrapping my arms around him. I go limp for a moment as I recover from the tsunami of pleasure.

“We’re not done yet, baby.”

In a swift movement, he picks me up, making me gasp in surprise. He turns me around and pulls me back down onto him, with my back to his chest, so I’m facing the curtain that leads to the ballroom. With a gratified huff, he lifts my skirts up to my waist, exposing the area where our skin meets. If anyone were to walk in, they’d see everything.

“We can give them a show,” Archer whispers in my ear.

Dirty, dirty man.

He holds tightly onto my hips, dictating the pace as I ride him. Our skin makes obscene sounds as we enjoy each other. My head falls back on his shoulder. His thrusts grow deeper, faster while he pounds into me from beneath.

“I thought you said you don’t fuck,” I say through the fog of pleasure.

“I don’t,” he says, his fingers reaching for my clit as his other hand reaches up and wraps around my throat, squeezing it just enough to hold me in place against him. “I claim.”

The beginning of another release flutters deep inside me. “Don’t stop,” I beg. “Please.”

“You feel that?” he whispers sensually in my ear as one of his hands does wicked things between my legs while the other tightens around my throat. “This isn’t sex. It isn’t fucking. It’s a promise. A promise to always worship every inch of you, to leave you breathless, trembling, and captivated.” I clench around him, but my heart squeezes too, as his words take this union from mere physical intimacy to something…more. “I’ll ruin you for every other man because I will devour you, Tasia. I’m claiming every part of you. The moment I entered you, I became a part of you, and you a part of me.”

And then I’m crying out his name again. His words, mixed with the way he grips me aggressively while somehow still tenderly cradling me against him, make my orgasm more intense than anything I’ve experienced before.

The things I would do for this man…

He gives me a minute to come down from the aftershocks, but before he can readjust us again and continue to take charge, I stand. When he slides out of me, I immediately mourn the loss of his flesh against mine. It’s like I’m missing a crucial piece of my essence.

I pull my lipstick from the inside pocket of my dress and apply a fresh coat, giving him a sly grin. “My turn.”

“I’m not done with you, baby.” His voice is stern, but he has no idea how demanding I can be, too.

“I said it’s my turn.” I drop to my knees between his legs. “Hold my hair.”

He arches a brow and leans back against the sofa. His hard, glistening cock stands at attention between us. Before he can ask for clarification, I seize his shaft and guide it to my mouth, swirling my tongue around the tip. “Hold my fucking hair. Don’t make me ask again.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, smirking as he lifts my hair away from my face. I keep eye contact while licking him gently, then sink my mouth down around his shaft. He exhales heavily, his body shuddering beneath me as I swallow him to the back of my throat. “That’s my girl,” he mutters.

I work him rapidly, until he’sthe one desperately moaning beneath me. “I’m gonna come,” he hisses. “Tasia.”

I hum in acknowledgement but continue my pace. It’s enough to send him careening into the abyss. “Yes,” he groans as his hot, thick release shoots down my throat. His hands stay tangled in my hair, and his body trembles.

After he’s gone still, I pull back with a pop, smirking at the mess I just made of him. My dark lipstick is smeared all over the base of his shaft.

“Let that be a reminder of whose cock this is,” I say, pointing to the territory I marked. “If I’m yours, then you, Archer Acciai, are mine.”

“My Gods, you beautiful, wicked woman.” He sits up and reaches desperately for me, pulling my lips to his in a messy kiss. When we break apart, he gives me a dark smile. “And if Arlo dares put his lips on yours again, make sure he tastes my cum on your tongue. It’ll be the last thing he tastes before I end him.”

With that, he releases me, tucking himself away.

When I stand, my legs tremble, and I fear I won’t be able to hold myself up. Archer is at my side in an instant, pushing my curls behind my shoulder and offering me an arm. I reach up, using my thumb to wipe away the lipstick staining his mouth, and he does the same to me.

“How do I look?” I ask.

“Like a dream,” he whispers. “If beauty were a language, you’d be its most eloquent expression.”

I blush, biting my lip as I glance down shyly. My Gods. “You sap! You are going to ruin me for every other man, aren’t you?”

He smirks, leading us toward the ballroom. “It’s a good thing it’s you and me versus the world, baby.”

We dance for a few songs before I excuse myself to pee. When I return to the ballroom, I spot Archer by the far wall, surrounded by a few important-looking men in suits. His gaze flicks in my direction, and his features relax. I send him a soft smile and a wave, at ease again with him nearby.

My legs are still jello, and the ghost of him inside me lingers. I’m oddly content—satiated.

Figuring he has work shit to do, I put up my hands in a “stay” gesture, then point in the direction of the lounge in the corner. He can come find me when he’s done.

Archer Acciai is mine.

The thought makes me giddy.

The only open sofa is a fancy high-backed couch with soft, plush material, but it’s just out of Archer’s sight. I fight the urge to plop down and instead gently perch on the edge and cross my legs.

Almost immediately, a presence invades my space. Alarm shoots down my spine as I glance up.

“Fantasia,” the mysterious man in the horned mask says.

“What do you want?” I stand, squaring my shoulders and jutting out my chin, showing the man I’m not afraid of him.

“Pretty, pretty butterfly. Who are you under that mask?”

“You already know, asshole.”

“No, Fantasia. I mean under the mask you wear so well every day.” He extends a hand, and his fingers graze the exposed skin on my jawline. My stomach tightens with fury, and I slap his hand away.

He leans in, undeterred, and whispers in my ear, “We all wear a mask, every moment of every day. Different masks for different situations, different people. When does yours come off? When you’re all alone in the dark of night? Or do you keep it on permanently, lying even to yourself about who you are?”

I jerk away from him.

Just then, a voice comes over the loudspeaker again, talking about Mesmeric Labs and the auction items for tonight’s event. I barely register it. My stomach tumbles, and I fear I might vomit.

Suppressing a growl, I say, “You bast—”

A spotlight comes on, illuminating the man before me. All eyes seem to shift in our direction.

No, his direction.

Scurrying backward, I quickly put a bit of space between us, not wanting to be anywhere near the large circle of light, where everyone is now focusing their attention.

The man’s expression morphs into something friendlier. He waves, glancing around.

I study him in the new lighting, trying to pinpoint what exactly seems off about him.

He’s not exactly familiar, but he also doesn’t look like a stranger. He appears to be maybe in his late twenties or early thirties. Even in his creepy metal mask, with his haughty demeanor, the man is extremely handsome. His eyes are black, I notice, as they swing toward me again. The exact opposite of Archer’s golden—

My spine goes stiff.

The man apparently notices, and his smile grows.

“What ever is the matter, dearest butterfly?” he whispers. It’s so quiet, I almost don’t hear it over the voice blaring from the loudspeaker.

“—the owner of Mesmeric Laboratories and the newest challenger for High Chancellor, Arlo Osiander!” the voice yells out.

The crowd roars, and the man before me bows, offering a few dramatic waves.

Before the significance of what I’m seeing can fully sink in, Archer reaches me. “Tasia, we need to go.” His voice is a low rumble. His chest rises and falls as if he’s been running.

I frown, glancing back at Arlo, who winks at me.

“What’s wrong?” I ask Archer.

As he opens his mouth to respond, the lights flicker on, a bright fluorescent replacing the red glow. The crowd groans collectively. The man on the loudspeaker apologizes—says something about technical difficulties. I blink a few times to let my eyes adjust. All around us, various colors waft around the many bodies.

My stomach turns into a ball of nausea, reminding me that I hate crowds for this very reason.

“We need to go,” Archer repeats, interlacing my fingers with his and pulling me away from Arlo and the majority of the crowd.

“Stop,” I say. “What’s going on?”

When he faces me again, he’s pale. “I smell death.”

A high-pitched wail rips from the crowd.