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“They’ll probably never look at you the same.”
“Good.”
She nodded. “Okay, then. Good. Let’s do this.”
We headed for the terrace where the party had been set up. Braziers roared to keep everyone warm, which was good because, despite the chill in the weather, most people were a sexy version of something.
I saw Apollo talking to Tyson and made a beeline for him. People noticed me as I walked past. I didn’t care about the whispers or the cat calls, encouraging or not. I was living with a little freedom, and I loved it.
Apollo’s eyes finally fell on me and there went that jaw drop again. His eyes nearly bugging out of his head. I’d never seen him have that reaction to me before. He always looked at me with warmth and affection, but never that. Never actual – possible – desire.
For a moment, the feeling was mutual. He looked brilliant in his ripped shirt and tight royal blue trousers. A gorgeous Prince Adam he did make.
“Harlow Vanguard,” he said appreciatively, taking my hand and making me spin for him.
“I…might have made a couple of changes…” I said with a smile.
He pulled me close. “I’m glad.”
“Yeah?” I asked.
He nudged my nose with his. “Yeah.”
As clichéd as Beauty and the Beast was, it wasn’t something we’d done before. And I’d certainly never turned up in front of a party full of our school mates in a bright yellow dress with a tiny but full skirt with a cinched waist, and the material skimming over my breasts. Florence and I had even got some brown hair chalk to temporarily colour my curls appropriately.
Apollo drew me close to his body as he looked Florence over. “Some sort of faerie…?” he guessed and she smiled.
“Persephone. Queen of the Underworld.”
Apollo grinned. “Of course. I’d expect nothing less.”
Florence flitted around the party, but Apollo kept me with him. Always a hand on me, lingering. His lips near my ear. Telling me how beautiful I looked. I felt it. For once in my life, I felt as beautiful as people told me I was. Because I knew Apollo and he didn’t just tell me I looked good to be polite. He was more likely to do the opposite. But it was more than that, there was beauty in the small amount of freedom I’d made for myself.
The party was in full swing. Apollo was talking with other Saints, but the Angels were nowhere in sight.
Suddenly, a thunderous noise crept up and overtook the music coming from the speakers. The whole party turned around, looking this way and that, trying to work out where the noise was coming from.
Finally, four motorcycles could be seen coming across the lawn.
“Your mum’s going to be pissed,” I said to Apollo and he just grinned.
“She’ll get over it.”
“Did you know they were doing this?”
He shook his head. “No, but trust my Angels to make an entrance.”
Marco must have got his hands on a smoke machine because fog surrounded the riders as they pulled up to the side of the party, making them look eerie and mysterious. The engines shut off and the four men dismounted as one unit, to walk towards everyone. Their forms emerged from the fog and we could all take them in properly.
“Well, fuck me sideways,” Florence muttered as she looked them over, and I was tempted to agree with her.
The four Angels were none other than the Four Horsemen. Each one in little more than heavy boots, a pair of tight jeans and a piece or two of armour, leaving their torsos naked and on full display to be ogled and worshipped by the lesser beings among them.
Gage was Famine. His jeans were pale brown and he alone wore no armour. His face and body had been painted like he weighed half as much as he did, little more than skin and bone. His hair hung drab around his face. But he still looked good.
Fender was Plague. His jeans and armour were neon green. He wore shoulder and forearm armour in a shiny bright green with a brace of rats dangling from his belt. His whole body shimmered a ghostly, pearlescent green-white.
Marco was Death. He still wore the black jeans, but gone was the tee. His armour clung to one shoulder, and he wore leather wraps around his forearms. His face was painted in a bewitching skull design, and great black wings sprouted from his back. The way he carried himself, you knew he was proud of their costumes.
