I change into Niamh’s ensemble—a gorgeous black lacy dress that almost perfectly matches Wrath’s shroud. It hugs my curves, flowing down to brush the floor. Lacy sleeves run down to my wrists. My hair is up in a half ponytail, the white ribbon Pisces gave back to me holding it in place. When I exit the changing room, Gwen hands me Niamh’s mask. It’s similar to the ones Eerie, Poison, and Mist wear, except it only covers my eyes and the bridge of my nose, allowing me to sing. The multiple straps look too complicated for me to attempt to put on myself without ruining my hair, so I clutch it, afraid to drop it.
Gwen flitters off somewhere else—a ton of stage manager tasks to take care of—and Benny is currently painting Pisces’ chest, something I should not be watching because my eyes can’t seem to break from where Benny’s hand is applying paint over Pisces’ pecs.
I swallow thickly, my eddying power reserve begging me to find release from Pisces again.
My gaze drifts down his chest, to where his pants are slung low on his hips. Benny has already painted there. But up close I can see the slight V that urges my eyes lower. The way his pants cling to him, it’s clear he’sbig.And the obvious thought that follows that is how much bigger he’d be if I ran my tongue over?—
“My mask is up here, darling.”
My eyes snap to the eye holes in Wrath’s mask, as a blush creeps over my skin.
He’s smirking at me and lifts his pointer finger, wagging it at me. Benny grins widely, looking between us.
“Well, that about does it,” Benny says, getting the last patches of skin on Wrath’s neck and collarbone, moving the pendant he always wears aside to paint underneath it. “I’ll do the scales later.” He excuses himself and goes to change into his outfit for the show, leaving Wrath and I there staring at each other.
“Do you need help with yours?” Wrath asks me, his voice growing deeper.
I nod. Wrath brings the paint over. “It’s better to do the paint first, then the mask.”
He covers two fingers with paint and lifts them to my cheek. It’s a bit cool to the touch, but if he notices my shudder, he doesn’t react. He swipes it along one cheek and then the other, and expertly blends the paint out over my face. His fingers run along my jawline, the touch sending warmth down my body. Ican feel the callouses on his fingers that guitar strings have given him over the years.
He taps my bottom lip once. “Niamh usually wears a dark red lip color.” I nod. I’ll add some after.
He moves the paint down my neck, lifting the collar of my dress to make sure the paint doesn’t have a gap.
“Hands,” he orders softly. I place one in his and he paints it up to my wrist. He does the same to the other.
And all too soon, he’s done.
He releases my hands and steps back, looking me over.
I catch my breath. “Well, will I pass as Niamh?” I ask shakily. Stars, his hands felt good.
He smiles and shakes his head. “She’s a bit taller than you. I’m sure some of our more serious fans will spot the difference.” He strokes his jaw in thought for a moment and tugs my ribbon free, letting my hair cascade in waves down my back. “Hold out your arm,” he commands, and I obey. He wraps the white ribbon around my wrist.
Wrath takes my fingers in his hand as if he’s about to plant a kiss on my knuckles. But he just holds my hand. I can’t tell where he’s looking.
“Are you nervous?” he asks.
I half smile. “Not anymore. With the learning potion it almost feels as if I’ve done this before.”
“Good.” He smiles at me and drops my hand. “Is Grim going to watch?”
“Yeah, he’s hanging out backstage still,” I say. “We’re not together,” I add for some reason. Not that it’s any of his business.
“Does he know that?”
“Of course. He knows that, um— Well, maybe eventually I’ll find my bondmate, so…”
Wrath’s mouth ticks to the side, almost a frown. “Right.”
I hate that he’s upset about that. I reach out, gripping the front of his black robe. The material is soft and light. I want to say something but words escape me. I can hear his breath grow heavier.
He steps closer, pushing me against the counter.
I look up into his mask, trying to see through the gaps in the skeleton fingers, even though the material underneath is too opaque. My gaze travels south, to his lips. They’re painted with the same blue-black paint, but I can still see how he pulls in his bottom lip, as if he’s trying not to say anything.
He fails. “Bliss.” It’s a murmur, barely audible, but I step forward, coming up on to my tiptoes.
