“Lara will understand that it was an accident,” Emmaline said, more to herself than to them. “Corgis are practical. There would be no value in turning me in.”
She tried to believe it, to let the logic of it settle her nerves, but the gnawing doubt still lurked beneath the surface.
“Exactly!” Margo pulled her into a fierce hug. “Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”
Emmaline let herself lean into it, let herself believe it, just for now, just for tonight at least.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
“Madame? You’re needed downstairs.” The voice was unfamiliar, but the undercurrent of urgency was clear.
Ursula breathed out through her nose. “What now?”
There was a pause, then, “A representative from the Council of Alignments just arrived. They’re asking for you by name.”
Margo’s brows lifted, the tension from their earlier conversation momentarily forgotten in favor of intrigue.
Ursula’s lips quirked. “Well, well.” She stood, adjusting the fit of her leather jacket, then glanced back at Emmaline. “I suppose that means it’s time to make an entrance.”
Emmaline straightened, letting the tension drain from her limbs, grateful for the shift in focus. Ursula, ever the dramatist, could never turn down an opportunity to make an entrance. And for once, Emmaline welcomed the distraction. The rest of it could wait.
Right now, she was going to dance.
Lifting her chin, she turned toward the door with a new energy buzzing through her muscles. But it wasn’t just the music pulsing beneath her feet, its steady rhythm calling her to the dance floor. Nor was it the exhilaration of being free, or finally putting Caelith behind her.
It was anticipation, swirling low and heated, threading through her veins with the edge of something undeniable. Because if Deyric was coming tonight, he was probably already down there, waiting for her—
And she was ready to see exactly how far he would dare to go.
Chapter sixteen
ThedescentintoBloodMoon Club was a plunge into shadow and light, the air thick with pepper and cinnamon, sweat, and magic. It enveloped Emmaline, intoxicating, almost suffocating, but beneath it all, a different rhythm thrummed. Would he be here?
As they stepped onto the upper landing, the crowd below shifted—no, parted—as soon as Ursula’s towering form came into view. Ellyllon and fae of all types melted from their path, slipping into the crowd’s periphery with murmurs of deference mingled with fear. Some bowed their heads, others whispered low acknowledgments. One or two even dared a reverent “Mistress” before vanishing into the sea of bodies.
“Mistress?” Margo giggled in Emmaline’s ear.
“If only they knew her like we did. If they knew she was secretly afraid of—ow!!”
A sharp pinch landed on Emmaline’s backside.
“That’s enough out of you.” Ursula swept past them, nudging Emmaline’s hip in playful retaliation. She barely slowed her stride, all commanding presence and danger as she cast a glance over her shoulder. “Duty calls. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. At least until I get back.”
Emmaline laughed, rubbing her, no doubt, bruised skin as Ursula strode off, the crowd folding around her like shadows swallowing the moon.
“Come on.” She caught Margo by the elbow, guiding her toward their usual spot, a curved, high-backed booth nestled in the club’s elevated VIP section. Unlike the gaudy, gold-drenched lounges of other supposedly high-class establishments, Ursula’s vibe was pure, calculated decadence. The seating was obsidian leather, its plush surface cool against the skin, while the low table in front of them was carved from dark quartz, its veins pulsing with purple magic that reacted to the patrons’ presence. The booth overlooked the dance floor, offering a perfect vantage point to observe the writhing pandemonium below.
Margo flopped onto the seat with a satisfied sigh, stretching out like a cat, before waving down a passing waitress.
“More of the Fion Dathliad!” she called, lifting her empty glass in a lazy flourish.
The waitress—barely clad in shimmering silk strips, her azure skin sparking under the club’s ambient light—paused just long enough to wink before twirling away. “You got it, Margo!” she called back, already disappearing into the press of bodies. Tiny, luminous scales dusted the curve of her shoulders, catching the shifting colors of the enchanted strobes floating above the dance floor.
“Ursula’s going to gut you.” Emmaline snorted. “That stuff is expensive.”
“Please.” Margo waved a dismissive hand. “I doubt it. But if she’s upset, I’ll cover it.”
“Of course you will.” Emmaline rolled her eyes. “It’s only a month of my salary.”
