Page 92 of Pretty Savage: Defy

Carr surveys the crowd and thanks them for their attention.

“I’ll address you again during the midnight toast,” he says once the commotion dies down. “It will be a special one, so make sure to have champagne in hand. In the meantime, please enjoy the masquerade ball we’ve prepared for you.”

“Midnight toast?” I ask.

Carrson rolls his eyes. “Another chance for my father to pontificate.”

“Come on, guys.” Sam catches my arm and pulls me to my feet. “Let’s dance,” she says, already snapping her fingers and bobbing her head.

We retrieve our masks from the table. Abbie’s is shaped like a cat’s face, with oval openings around her eyes, a triangular nose, and black whiskers curling over both cheeks.

I laugh when she puts it on. In return, she raises one hand beside her face, curls her fingers into claws, and hisses.

Mine is covered in red lace and sequins that match my dress. It conceals the skin around my eyes and almost nothing else. Carrson’s is plain black, making the lower half of his face appear more severe.

“You look like Zorro,” I tell him.

“Who?”

“Of course you don’t know who Zorro is.”

He adjusts the mask. “Is that an insult?”

“Not at all. He’s a masked hero, protecting the weak.”

The mask can’t hide the incredulous look he gives me at the word hero. He’s told me before that he sees a villain when he looks in the mirror. I still can’t make that reflection match the man who’s been protecting me since the day we met.

He turns when Sam calls his name. I use the distraction to angle my body away from the table and pull down the edge of my neckline to check the brand. Sweat has thinned the makeup over one arm of the cross. A faint pink line shows through, but only because I know where to look. I press the fabric back into place before Carrson looks my way again.

By the time dinner ends, the ballroom has been transformed into a nightclub. The chandeliers are dimmed, spinning lights sweep along the floor, and a DJ stands behind a booth with headphones covering his ears.

“I thought this was going to be old-fashioned,” I call to Carrson, raising my voice so he can hear me over the techno beat that booms from speakers hidden in the ceiling. “Like we’d be doing a waltz or the minuet.”

“What can I say?” He raises his hands to the ceiling and lets his hips sway. “The Order knows how to party.”

I laugh and wrap both hands around the back of his neck. The beat of the music moves through his body into mine. The first time we’d danced together, I’d told him I didn’t know how. I still don’t, but Carrson makes dancing easy. He finds the rhythm, and I let him guide me into it. Maybe because this is the one place where following him doesn’t feel like surrendering.

Sam and all our friends dance around us, so that we’re one mass of moving bodies, but all my focus is on Carrson. He pulls me closer, our hips brushing, and we lose ourselves in the song. One song turns into several. Somewhere along the way, I stop counting how many people are watching us. Then I stop caring.

My feet ache inside my heels, strands of hair have escaped around my face, and Carrson’s tie has disappeared. Abbie steals him for a song. Sam pulls me into a circle with Cicley. People I met earlier wave me over or call my name as I pass. Every time Carrson and I are separated, we find each other again.

When the DJ shifts into a slower song, Carrson draws me close, pushing the bodice of my dress into the burn, but I would rather hurt against him than step away. The bass eases enough that we no longer have to shout. Carrson bends his head toward mine.

“I don’t want you to think I doubted you, because I didn’t.”

I laugh. “A sentence that starts like that always has a but in it.”

He gives me a rueful grin. “But you’ve been incredible tonight. You walked into a room full of people waiting to judge you, and now most of them want to be your friend.” His hand moves along my back, holding me against him. “I knew you could handle this, and yet I’m impressed by how you made it happen.”

Warmth spreads through my chest, sweeter because he noticed. Not only the crown and the dress or how well I performed for his people. He saw how hard I worked at it.

I almost tell him about Gillian and her friends. About the Death Trials, Devil’s Dust, and three women discussing my murder behind the house.

But the instant I tell him, this version of Carrson will vanish. His body will go rigid. His thoughts will turn to punishment and blood, and whatever happiness has broken through him tonight will be over.

I have his arms around me. His smile belongs only to me. For a few more minutes, I want the man who is happy to hold me, not the one willing to kill for me.

“Thanks,” I tell him. “For the compliment and for noticing. I—”