Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
The music shifted, slowing for a moment, and she feared the song had ended. She wasn’t ready for their dance to end, didn’t want to see who would claim her next. But the tempo built again, and he matched the rhythm perfectly.
Somehow, impossibly, she matched him.
“You’re a quick learner.”
“You’re a good leader.”
His laugh was soft, almost surprised, as if he hadn’t expected to enjoy this. Honestly, she hadn’t either.
And just as she had the thought, the song ended.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
His hand remained on her waist. His fingers stayed interlaced with hers.
The ballroom shifted as tributes were shuffled into the arms of others, but he had yet to let her go. For a split second, everything else fell away. Distant and unimportant.
“Don’t forget your safe word,” he said, maintaining hold of her hand even as another man appeared at her elbow. He held her hand until she was pulled away, her fingers threading through his, hidden gaze locked with hers.
The next dance swept her in the opposite direction the moment the tempo shifted, spinning her across the floor. When she turned again, he was gone, and the spell was shattered.
After that, she never saw him among the dancers again.
Daisy was passed from one partner to another, spinning through the crowd like a leaf in a storm. The faces blurred in a sea of masks and hands, as voices demanded compliance and whispered sinful things. Some were crude. Some were polite. All of them were hungry. Except for one.
When a man with blond hair and a golden mask shaped as a stag gripped her tightly, she feared she’d found another Hadrian.
“Peter Pangbourne,” he introduced with an amused grin. “And you are absolutely delicious.”
He was younger than the others, closer to her own age, she’d guess. There was an easy confidence about him that bordered on arrogance. His touch was entitled, but there was no malice beneath his polished surface.
“Relax, darling,” he laughed when she stumbled. “Dancing’s like flying.”
“I don’t like flying.”
“You’re thinking too much. Focus on happy thoughts.”
Her thoughts had abandoned her, replaced strictly with observations.
Peter treated the dance like a game, like everything was a game, and she was simply the latest entertainment. He spun her and laughed, amused by his own behavior and more detached than anyone in the room.
At the end of the song, he released her into the arms of someone else without a single goodbye.
Daisy had been passed around so much in such a short time, it was dizzying. The room began to tilt, but the music played on.
Another partner. Another dance. Another set of hands learning the shape of her.
The champagne, the spinning, and the sheer overwhelming strangeness of it all had caught up to her. The ballroom became a funhouse, every wide-eyed tribute a reflection of her own stunned expression. Hunters watched them from every angle, observing as if she and the others were nothing more than exhibits at a zoo.
When the music shifted again, slower this time, more deliberate, a new partner took her hand. Her body was tired, and her feet ached for a rest. Her new masked partner pulled her close with immediate possession. His grip was controlled and patient as Daisy awkwardly fell into step.
Rhythm was a personality trait, and every man danced differently. She was improving. Learning how to parallel their steps without getting her toes trampled and getting better at anticipating their next move by actually listening to the music. She focused on her footwork and the tempo, gliding with far more confidence than she’d had at the start of the ball—until he spoke.
“It’s nice to see you again…Daisy.”
Her head shot up, but his face was hidden by a white mask. “How…”
Her words faded away as he looked down at her with unmistakable eyes. Cold. Familiar. Assessing eyes.
“Dr. Tannhäuser.” She stumbled, her heel catching on the hem of her gown, and his arm tightened around her back, holding her upright with invasive familiarity.
“Careful now,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. “Wouldn’t want you to fall. We have such a long night ahead.”
Daisy’s blood turned to ice. She tried to pull back, to put distance between them, but his grip only tightened.
His tongue clicked against his teeth in a soft, chiding rhythm. “No, no, no,” he whispered, the words slithering down her spine like a living snake, cold and wet. “That privilege is gone now, little doe. You signed the contract. You took the money. And now...” He traced the backs of his fingers down her cheek, close enough that she could smell the antiseptic beneath his cologne. “Now, you’re fair game.”
The music swelled around them. The hunt had already begun. This dance, this mockery of culture dressed up in performative sophistication, it was all a ruse. A power play, prettied up to look like Cinderella’s ball. But they weren’t princesses, and these men certainly weren’t princes of any sort. They were hunters who came to conquer and claim.