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"Yes," she bites back.
Despite the harshness of her tone, I can feel the tremble in her muscles as I press my body firmly against hers. Is it a sign of her fear or her unwanted desire?
Darkness settles over me as I conclude it is of course fear. It can never be anything else.
"Be good, and you will be rewarded," I tell her. "Misbehave, and I will make you beg for mercy."
She turns her face away from me, and I release her only to settle my palm over my mark on the nape of her neck, guiding her inside the compound and down the corridor to the ballroom. Two men in suits open the doors for us, ushering us inside the space reserved for the biggest events of the year. Rich shades of crimson and black adorn the walls, and to my satisfaction, the grand chandeliers cast only a soft glow over the floor, in keeping with the mystery of the evening. The seductive notes of jazz float from the speakers, luring us into the center of the room.
Within moments, a waiter appears, offering us each a glass of champagne. Ivy reaches out for one, only to have it commandeered by my fingers with a dark look cast her way.
I swirl the glass in my hand, sniffing the alcohol before I drain it in two swallows. Once it is returned to the tray and the server disappears, Ivy peers up at me with a cold smile.
"There's no need to refuse me a drink," she says sweetly. "It seems you have not done your job and produced a child in me. Perhaps, I was wrong about your potency after all."
My fingertips dig into her arm as I glare down at her. I was already aware of her unwanted visitor this morning. Antonia informed me with a whispered voice before she shuffled away and left me to stew in my irritation. But Ivy is being purposely spiteful, and I will not have that. I am considering my reproach when another masked man appears. He is well dressed in a formal suit, and his presence here means he is a Sovereign Son. But I don't recognize who he could be until he speaks in a low greeting.
"Santiago." He dips his head in a nod. "Would you mind having a word?"
I am surprised to find it is Angelo lurking beneath the mask, still clearly in disguise. I did not expect to see him again, particularly in New Orleans, as I assumed he would be back in Seattle dealing with his own revenge plans.
I nod and look at my wife before my eyes find my sister across the room.
"Go join Mercedes," I tell her. "She can introduce you to a few people while I have a word."
"I'm going to the bathroom." She tilts her chin up at me defiantly. "And then I will join your sister. But I don't need her introductions. I'm perfectly capable of conducting myself."
I lean down to growl in her ear, gripping her arm in warning. "Then you can start by watching how you speak to me. Don't fool yourself into believing I won't punish you in public. In fact, I would take great pleasure in doing so for all my brethren to witness. Don't test me, Ivy."
She yanks herself away and gathers a handful of the fabric of her dress, treating us to a view of her exposed back as she stalks away and disappears into the crowd.
32
Ivy
As soon as I am out of his line of vision, I take a flute of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray. I half expect someone to stop me. My husband has eyes and ears everywhere. But no one does, and I turn to glance casually over my shoulder as I bring the crystal to my lips and sip.
I don’t actually like champagne per se, but I want the slightly heady feeling I know the bubbles will bring. I don’t plan on getting drunk. I know what that will do to me. But tonight, I need just this little bit.
All around me, men and women float about the rooms of The Society’s main house in the center of the French Quarter talking, laughing, drinking. Some wear elaborate masks, others simple ones. The women’s gowns are beautiful, each one more so than the last. I see them looking at me, too, both the men and the women. Do they know who I am?
I touch the back of my neck with my left hand, his ring heavy on my finger. Those are the only things that would give me away. The tattoo and his ring.
I glance at my hand. It’s not as recognizable as his. Not like the monstrosity some of the men around me wear. The Sovereign Sons and the rings bearing their crests, their link to IVI. Like a status symbol of the elite. It’s disgusting.
