Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“You’re incredible,” I murmur against her mouth before kissing her with all the heat and admiration I’ve been holding back.
She responds immediately, her hands fisting in my shirt as she pulls me closer with desperate hunger. The kiss tastes like victory, and when she breaks away to look at me, her eyes are dark with the same arousal that’s coursing through my veins.
“Bedroom,” she whispers, her voice breathless with want. “Now.”
I don’t need to be asked twice.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Saylor
A knock on my door at 9 p.m. reveals a garment bag hanging on the handle with a note attached.
For tonight. The fae prefer their mortals dressed appropriately. - B
I unzip the bag and stare at what’s inside.
“Holy shit,” I whisper to my empty room.
The centerpiece is a black corset dress crafted by someone who not only understands but worships the female form. The bodice is made of black silk with intricate silver embroidery that catches light when I move. The corset laces up the front with silver ribbon, pulling everything into a perfect hourglass silhouette. The skirt is layers of black tulle and silk that flow to just above my knees, short enough to show off the thigh-high stockings with delicate lace tops.
The boots are black leather and lace up to mid-thigh, with silver buckles and a higher heel than I usually wear. They’re clearly expensive, custom-made to fit perfectly, and designed to look both elegant and slightly dangerous.
But it’s the wings that make this costume look like it came from one of my dreams.
They’re massive black feathered wings that span at least six feet when fully extended. Each feather looks real, ranging from deep black to hints of iridescent purple and blue that only show when light hits them just right. The wings attach to a harness hidden beneath the corset, positioned so they look like they grow naturally from my shoulder blades. When I move, they respond slightly, creating the illusion that they’re actually part of me.
The accessories complete the transformation. A delicate silver circlet that looks like twisted thorns, dark eye makeup that makes my eyes look huge and mysterious, and silver jewelry that catches the light. My hair falls in loose waves over my shoulders, contrasting perfectly with the black feathers.
I slip everything on, and when I look in the mirror, I see a dark angel, something powerful and hauntingly nightmarish. Something that might grant your prayers or might drag you into beautiful darkness, depending on her mood.
Twenty minutes later, I’m making my way downstairs, the wings creating a dramatic silhouette against the walls.
Blue stands at the bottom of the staircase, and the sight of him stops me completely.
The plague doctor costume is flawless and absolutely terrifying. The long black leather coat reaches almost to his ankles, fitted to emphasize his broad shoulders and lean build. The leather is aged and weathered, making it look authentic rather than theatrical. Black leather gloves extend past his wrists, and his pants are tucked into tall black boots that look like they could kick down doors without showing a scuff.
But it’s the mask that makes my breath catch. The plague doctor’s beak is longer than I expected, crafted from dark leather that’s been treated to look centuries old. Dark glass lenses hide his eyes completely, giving him an inhuman appearance that makes my skin crawl in the best possible way. The beak extends far enough that it completely changes the shape of his face, making him look like some hybrid between man and bird of prey.
A black leather hat sits low on his head, and when he turns slightly, I catch the outline of his axe handle beneath the back of his coat. The weapon is positioned along his spine, completely hidden by the flowing leather but obviously accessible if needed.
He looks like Death’s personal surgeon. Like something that would haunt plague-ravaged cities and collect souls for processing.
“You look . . .” He stops, tilting his head to study me. “Terrifying.”
I laugh. “You look like you stepped out of a medieval nightmare.”
“And you look like a death angel.” There’s something satisfied in his observation, like he’s pleased with how we turned out. “We match.” He offers me his arm, then pauses. “I should have mentioned—everyone dresses up for the Dryad’s Dance.”
“I figured that out from the costume.” I gesture at my wings. “But why? Is it just tradition?”
“Folklore. The story goes that during the Dryad’s Dance, when the barrier between realms grows thin, the fae use the opening to lure humans back to their world.” Blue’s voice takes on the tone of someone reciting an old tale. “But if there are no humans to be found—only other creatures, other magical beings—then there’s no one for them to trick.”
“So everyone pretends to be something else to avoid being kidnapped by fairies.”
“Exactly. Hide in plain sight.”