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I let my fingers trail up the carved railing, trying desperately to keep the awe from my face. Entering Misery’s End was like stepping through one of Ro’s mirrors and into a different world and time, though paintings of naked people, lost in the throes of passion, adorned the walls. Somehow that vision in dark alleyways sickened me, but here, they were perfectly placed, as if each tousle of a woman’s hair, each strain of masculine muscle told a beautiful, passionate story.
The theater, bathed in a palette of black and gold, seemed to pulse as I entered. Opulent chandeliers suspended above dripped with cascades of shimmering crystals, which cast scattered shards of light that danced playfully across the dimly lit space, hinting at a giant birdcage just to the right of the stage, though I couldn’t see much of it beyond the darkness.
“First time?”
I whipped around, surprised to find a polished man standing beside me, running his fingers through thick brown hair. I noticed the weapons before anything else. The kick-engaged blade embedded into his left boot, the stiff wrist indicating a hidden knife in his sleeve, the leather whip on his side, and the obvious emerald-encrusted dagger sitting comfortably in his belt.
The lower half of his face remained hidden beneath a mask, but he was neatly draped in a green tailored suit, the richness of the fabric accentuating his broad chest, coattails cascading gracefully behind him.
“It is,” I answered, looking back at the drapery, moving the wig so it covered more of my face.
“Don’t let the Maestro see you admiring his handy work. He loves to collect pretty girls. If you have a weakness, he’ll hunt you down and exploit it.”
I gripped the railing in front of me. “I have no weakness.”
The smoky tone of his deep voice coiled around me as he chuckled, cinnamon eyes glinting. “Everyone’s got a weakness, sweetheart. Some just don’t know what it is until it’s too late.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Pausing, I spun to face him, shocked to see the way he held eye contact with me. If only he knew I was Death’s weapon… Even now, a small tendril of magic wove around my heart, begging me to swipe his blade and plunge it into his heart. “What’s with the whip?”
He lifted a shoulder, never looking away. “Makes me look tougher.”
“You might want to reevaluate that. Maybe try a hammer or a hellhound or something.”
An onslaught of wrinkles formed around his charming eyes, giving away his hidden smile. “I’ll keep that in mind during the show.”
“You’re a performer?”
“I am many things,” he said, as if it were a promise to himself. “But tonight, I’ll be the final act on a new mission to leave you breathless. Gotta see if I can find a dog before then.”
I lifted a brow. “If you’re doing something sensual, maybe skip the dog.”
He smoothed a hand down his lapel, leaning toward me, that hint of a smile peeking through again. “Guess I’ll have to reevaluate the whole performance, then.”
“Might be for the best.”
A single sharp chord of music, a bow across tightly wound strings, echoed through the hall.
“That’s my cue. Happy gawking, first-timer.”
I glared. “I wasn’t gawking.”
He answered without looking back. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
A swell of pain burned its way through my veins. I’d denied the magic for longer than it would allow. The second the throbbing started, I nearly ran to get eyes on my victim, just to soothe the growing pain. I searched for a seat with a perfect view of my target. The king and his council sat in a special section high above everyone else, though Bram’s dark eyes stared at the stage in wonder.
Rather than moving down into the audience, I found another set of stairs, which were strangely unoccupied. The lights went out, and I took the opportunity to slip into a vacant box directly across from my target, with a perfect view of the stage to satiate my curiosity, while still tracking, still letting the magic thrum.
Barely dressed women with feathers for collars and jewels for undergarments traipsed through the section across from me, delivering drinks and flirting with the handsy king. Some bore red rings around their wrists, but most had blue. Each one was a magically binding debt to Lady Visha or the Maestro.
The sharp click of a cane colliding with the stage floor stole my focus. A foreign sense of anticipation swelled within me, matching the crescendo of murmurs and whispers in the growing audience that was pouring in. Time seemed to slow, as if the world held its breath, waiting for the Maestro to seduce them with his spectacle. Each of my muscles relaxed, one by one, the intoxicating thrill of the unknown baiting me. Drawing me in.
“Welcome,” the Maestro shouted, his voice carrying around the full theater in perfect pitch, “to a place where seduction and secrets intertwine, where dreams and desires find their stage and consume your senses to leave you trembling in ecstasy. Every movement, every touch will be carefully choreographed to awaken the depths of your darkest appetites.” Drexel Vanhoff commanded his silent audience, enthralling them with his smooth tone. He paced back and forth, promising a show unlike any other, and I fell deeper and deeper into the growl of his words. Until his gaze snapped to me. Until I knew, without a doubt, he saw me hidden in the shadows. Until a serpentine smile crept in, distorting the scar and lifting the curl in his red mustache. He seemed to speak only to me, his enchanting voice curling around my ear until the hair on my arms stood. “Tonight, my dear, I'll show you a world where pleasure and need intertwine, where submission and dominance create a symphony of lust.”
I could feel every inch of my skin. As if he’d somehow touched me with his words. I couldn’t stand it, yet I couldn’t look away. I forced thoughts of Bram Ellis into my mind, coaxing the magic forward to overpower whatever hold the Maestro seemed to have over me. The second the desire to kill forced my eyes to Bram, I sucked in a sharp breath and considered leaving the theater immediately.
Before I could talk myself into straying from the plan, the lights went out, thrusting the entire theater into pitch black. A minor piano chord played, the dramatic sound the only one heard as a spotlight sprung to life on the ceiling, pinpointing a single diamond. As the light grew, revealing two strings of jewels hanging from the ceiling, a feminine voice as pure as honey encompassed the room, stealing my breath. The light fell onto the singer, and my heart stopped. She hung from the ceiling on a diamond swing, her body bathed in a shimmer with only enough yellow rhinestones to cover her nipples. With her long legs crossed, I couldn’t tell if she was naked from the waist down or not.
The audience gasped, collectively moving to the edges of their seats as the woman sang her song, swinging back and forth in tune with the music now seeping from the orchestra pit directly in front of the stage.
