The actual day of the dance, she waltzes into our room with a flushed face and an undisguisable air of triumph.
“What is it?” I ask her.
“Nothing.” She grins. “Nothing at all.”
I have a pretty good guess what’s going on, but I don’t press. Sabrina loves her secrets.
Meanwhile, I’m trying to decide how to dazzle tonight. I don’t just want to look “pretty good for Nix.” I want Ares to have the hottest woman in the room on his arm.
I spend an extraordinary amount of time primping, before cracking and begging Sabrina for help. She puts the finishing touches on my face, stepping back to admire the effect.
“Nobody cleans up better than you,” she says. “You look hot as fuck.”
“Likewise, obviously,” I tell her. “But you already know that.”
“I do,” she says, giving me a wink.
She’s definitely outdone herself. She slips out the door looking so sultry that I figure I better start aiming for second place.
Ares meets me at the base of the Solar, wearing a tux so sharp and well-fitted that I think he must have borrowed it from Leo. The deep navy fabric gleams like water at night. It makes his eyes look darker than usual, deeper than the ocean in that handsome, sun-kissed face.
My gown is a rich, dark green. The soft, stretchy material fits me like a second skin. Ares’ hands glide over my body as he puts his arm around my waist.
“I’ve never seen you in a dress before,” he says.
“I’m trying something new.”
“I can’t stop staring,” he says. “I’m not even gonna try.”
He walks with his arm around me all the way to the Grand Hall, nestled between the two vast glass and iron greenhouses. I notice as I always do how well our pace matches—as if we were made to do this.
Gold — Kiiara
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The Grand Hall is sweltering, the roaring fire in the massive hearth not needed in this unusually warm December. Everyone is drinking the punch twice as quickly as they should, leading to a hectic level of revelry for so early in the evening.
The music is pounding, students crowding onto the dance floor, recklessly swapping partners, and dancing without fear of collision.
Ares has his own wicked gleam in his eye. He throws off his jacket, dragging me out to dance, pressing his blazing body tight against mine. Heat radiates through the thin material of his dress shirt, and his broad chest strains against the buttons. His skin looks very tan against the white. He’s had his hair freshly cut down in the village, shearing off some of the sun streaks, showing the soft, dark fade beneath.
The space is packed with students, everyone pressing in so close that heated bodies slide against my back and arms while Ares grinds against me.
I see a whirl of faces, though it’s too loud and cramped to actually speak to anyone. I can’t even point it out to Ares when I spot Cara Wilk dressed in a diaphanous off-the-shoulder gown, pressed up against the wall while Hedeon leans in close to murmur something in her ear.
Anna Wilk is dancing with Leo, until she grabs his hand and pulls him away somewhere—from the look in her eye, I’m guessing somewhere a lot more private than the Grand Hall.
Cat Romero sits on Dean’s lap close to the fire. He’s feeding her bites of Christmas cookies taken from the overloaded buffet table against the far wall. She takes each bite from his hand, her tongue slipping out to lick his fingers.
The professors who are supposed to be chaperoning the party seem to have been sucked into the same irresistible mood of bacchanalia. Professor Lyons, the Arsenic Witch, is dancing with Professors Knox and Howell simultaneously. The Chancellor is sharing his flask with Professor Thorn, who looks striking in her backless silk gown.
The Chancellor isn’t the only one who snuck in extra liquor—I see Estas Lomachenko passing a bottle back and forth between his Odessa friends and Bodashka Kushnir’s Bratva buddies.
Somebody definitely augmented up the punch—maybe several people. The cup Ares brings me tastes like pure sugar and liquor. I gulp it down anyway, feeling an immediate swoop of elation as it goes straight to my head.
Ares seizes me and kisses me, sucking the liquor off my lips.
“I love the way that tastes in your mouth,” he growls.
We’re dancing again, and this time I can’t look at anything but him. He’s magnetic, unleashed in a way I’ve never seen before. He’s looking at me the way he used to when we first met, his eyes burning over every inch of me, an intensity in his stare that almost frightens me. I don’t see his usual restraint—I see the other Ares. The one who appears only rarely . . . when he begins to lose control.
I want to know that person.
I get us a second cup of punch, watching Ares swallow it down in one gulp. He crumples the empty cup in his hand, his eyes fixed on mine.
He’s reckless tonight.
We both want to see where this goes.
He pulls me back into his arms, his large hands tight against my lower back, sliding down to grip my ass. He gropes me, not giving a fuck who sees.
At that moment, Sabrina Gallo enters the dance with Ilsa Markov.
Bang Bang — GRAE
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They stand in the doorway, the two dark-haired sirens amplifying each other’s beauty.
I’ve never seen two such sexual women side by side. Like twin stars, they bring the whole room into their orbit.
Ilsa Markov is tall and cap-shouldered, her chin upraised in haughty satisfaction as she surveys the room. The V of her scarlet dress runs all the way down to her navel, the slit all the way up her thigh.
Sabrina Gallo wears black—on the bits of her body covered by her dress. The gown is a marvel of engineering, clinging to her curves in only the most anatomically-requisite positions, before swooping away to reveal startling slices glowing, golden skin.
The two girls stand arm-in-arm, the air between them crackling with overlapping sensuality.
They walk directly to the dance floor, Sabrina slipping her arms around Ilsa’s neck. Bodies entwined, they dance slowly, sensually, their hands sliding over each other’s curves, their eyes locked.
It’s intensely fucking sexy. I’m staring, heat rising in my cheeks.
Ares’ torso is pressed against my back, his hands on my hips. He bends his head to murmur in my ear, “You like that?”
I lick my lips, eyes still on Sabrina and Ilsa.
“Sure,” I say. “Who wouldn’t.”
He growls, “Why don’t you join them?”
My stomach gives a long, slow lurch. My eyes are locked on the girls, their bodies lithe and graceful as they twine around each other. Their breasts press together through the thin material of their dresses. Ilsa’s nipples are hard, visible through the scarlet satin.
Something flares inside of me. Call it the devil on my shoulder, giving me a push.
I walk straight toward the girls.
Ilsa catches sight of me first, stepping back slightly with an appraising look up and down my body. Sabrina turns, the corner of her mouth quirking up in a wicked smile.
The girls envelop me like an oyster, circling around me like a pearl.