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I paused on the steps, two things hitting me at once: all the power I would have as Victor Wilson’s wife, and that Rafael said if we get married.
“Want the quick tour before you see your room?” Lucien asked.
Shaking off my thoughts, I said, “Sure.”
Lucien and I broke off at the top of the stairs, heading in the direction of a black door. The hallway we were in was a long one. Five doors on each side, giving no clue to what lay behind them. The final sixth room was open and Wilder ducked in with my bags, Cato and Rafael going in with him. At the opposite end of the hall was a boarded-over window.
Lucien pushed open the back door, waving me in. I didn’t ask whose room this was.
Bloodred damask wallpaper wrapped around the space, providing the only color breaking up the black on black on black. Black-framed mirrors. Black wardrobe. Black bed. Black rug, and resting on top of it, a shiny black coffin.
I stepped in, a low whistle leaking out at his commitment to the life and style. Everything in here was screamingly expensive. It was hard to call something kitschy when it was twice the national average salary.
“I like what you’ve done with the place.”
“You assume this is my room. You believe you have me all figured out, do you not, Lady Luna?”
I almost smiled. Almost. I was done with those for a while. “Sorry, my mistake. Whose room is this?”
“Ah, well. As it happens, this one is mine. But my point still stands.”
Another tugging smile drew on my lips. I fought it off.
“You shouldn’t have started with this room. The others can’t top it.”
“Don’t be so sure.” His handprint burned another mark on my dress. “There’s something I want to show you.” Lucien led me out of his room to the door opposite. “I’ve had decades’ worth of living and too much time on my hands. Any style of fighting you can think of, I’ve mastered.”
Lucien let me go in first. My toes sank into the padded floor, enjoying the coolness of the plastic spreading through my heels. Wall-to-wall mats met my attention, and the attention of all the Lunas bouncing off the mirrors. They turned the room into a dojo.
“If you ever want to benefit from my experience, it’d be an honor to teach you. I can turn you into a lethal weapon, my dear. No fangs, stun guns, or pepper stray required.”
I swept the place, a clear vision filling my mind of forcing Owen Thasher to his knees and punching his teeth in.
I smiled. “Oh, Lucien, you really do say all the right things.”
Flicking off the lights, Lucien led me to the room beside him.
“Actually,” I began, resting a hand on his wrist. “Can we pick up the tour later? I woke up at three a.m. this morning to clear out my dorm before anyone got up. All I want to do right now is crash.”
“Of course. After you.”
I drew ahead of him, anticipation quickening my steps. Wilder said they did my room up for me. This entire place was a quirky artist’s paradise. I couldn’t wait to see what they did in there.
Rounding the corner, my excitement crashed into the rocks and sank beneath the shoals.
White walls, white dresser, white-painted wooden bed with a gray comforter, and not much else. This was the plainest room in the Americas.
Rafael reclined in the white leather armchair pushed against the wall. You’d think it was positioned to face a television, except the only thing across from it was paint and plaster. Cato stretched out on my bed and Wilder leaned against the dresser.
“Not much to look at,” Rafael acknowledged, “but you can do it up however you want. The Gallery used to be a frat house, so we each took two rooms to do with them what we want.” He gestured around. “None of us needed three, so this has been sitting here empty.”
“Thank you for doing this, guys. I’ve felt safer since I heard the security system rearm itself.”
Wilder inclined his head. “Best security system not on the market. The government wishes they could get their hands on it.”
“How did you get your hands on it?” I asked.
Wilder’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Why?”
“Kind of a natural question in response to a statement like that.”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“You say a lot of things that need questioning.”
Scoffing, he slipped one of my bags off his shoulder, unzipped it, and unceremoniously dumped out the contents.
“What are you doing?!”
“Checking for trackers and listening devices.” Wilder riffled through my underwear without a break in conversation. “Triad-owned garment shops sew them right into the lining,” Wilder said. A knife appearing in his hand out of nowhere. He picked up a dress. “I’ll have to destroy half of these to check. You’ll be reimbursed.”
