The elevator ride down from the penthouse was made of silence and tension. The kind that prickled against the skin and curled like smoke in the lungs. Elira stood tall in her red slit dress, her dagger secure against her thigh, while Azriel leaned casually against the mirrored wall, his black suit tailored like armor and eyes gleaming beneath the mask.
The masks they wore were elegant and dangerous. Hers was lace with crimson trim. His was obsidian leather with silver accents, covering half his face and making him look even more like the devil he was.
"You keep staring," she said coolly, not looking at him.
"You wore red. I'm impressed."
"I wore it because it fits the mission. Don't flatter yourself."
He chuckled lowly. "So cold, sunshine. It's almost cute."
She didn't answer. Just stared at the numbers on the elevator panel.
Then, under his breath, he added, "You're more dangerous in that dress than half the men we're about to face."
She glanced at him. "You keep talking like that and I might forget which side I'm on."
His eyes gleamed. "Who said there are sides anymore?"
She scoffed. "You're the side I bleed. That's all I need to know."
Azriel's smile didn't reach his eyes.
The elevator chimed.
Outside, the night was thick with fog and electricity. Azriel's black SUV was already waiting downstairs, idling like a beast ready to be unleashed. He opened the door for her without a word. She stepped in without thanking him.
The drive to the underground venue was silent, but heavy with tension. Her fingers tapped against her thigh. His hand gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary.
As they neared the cathedral, Azriel broke the silence. "You ready to lie with a smile?"
She tilted her head. "I've been lying since I was twelve. I think I can manage a dance."
They arrived at the masquerade party precisely at eight.
It was held in an old cathedral, converted for the night into something dripping in gothic opulence. Chandeliers flickered overhead. Masks. Velvet. Smoke. Sin. Every corner of the grand hall whispered secrets and danger.
Elira stepped inside first, her heels clicking against marble like gunshots.
And everyone turned.
She didn't flinch. Just tilted her chin higher. Azriel followed a beat later, presence magnetic. Dangerous. Familiar.
People whispered. Some bowed. Others stared. But one woman — tall, wrapped in silver, wearing a mask shaped like a raven — broke away from the crowd and made a direct line toward him.
"Azriel," she purred. Her voice like liquid silk. "I didn't expect to see you here."
He smiled faintly. "Lucienne. I imagine you didn't."
Elira stood beside him, a step behind. Watching. Listening. Every hair on her neck standing.
Lucienne's eyes skimmed over Elira before turning back to Azriel. "Didn't know you liked company these days."
"I don't," he said. "She's special."
Elira arched a brow beneath her mask.
Lucienne's lips curled. "Of course she is."
As the woman sauntered away, Elira leaned in, voice like venom.
"How many more admirers do you have? Should I make a list?"
"Would it turn you on if I did?"
"Try me and find out how fast I can slit your throat."
"Feisty. I like it."
"Die."
They were given champagne. A cover. A dance was called for.
Azriel extended his hand.
She hesitated.
Then placed hers in his.
On the dance floor, his hand pressed to the small of her back. Her other hand on his shoulder. The song was slow. Old. A haunting rhythm made for masks and secrets.
"You're enjoying this," she murmured.
He didn't deny it. "You keep your dagger on your left thigh. You move with precision. But you only blink when you're truly nervous."
"Watching me so closely, Azriel? I'm flattered."
"I don't watch. I study."
"Careful, you might learn something."
"I already have."
Their bodies moved as one, perfectly in sync. But nothing about this felt romantic. It was a war of restraint. Every brush of his fingers on her skin made her flinch inward. Every time she leaned close, she felt the heat of his breath on her throat like a brand.
"You lead well for someone who's used to giving orders," she said.
"You follow well for someone who threatens to stab me every ten minutes."
"Don't mistake cooperation for submission."
"Never."
The song changed again. Slower. Darker.
Azriel's arm wrapped tighter around her waist, drawing her in until their bodies were flush. Her breath hitched slightly, but she didn't pull away. His other hand clasped hers, guiding her through the rhythm.
Their legs tangled, steps matched perfectly. Her thigh brushed his every turn. Her lips hovered by his jaw.
"I thought you'd be a stiff dancer," she whispered.
"I thought you'd be better at keeping distance," he replied.
"Too bad this floor doesn't allow for personal space."
"Or maybe you like it like this."
"You think too highly of yourself."
"You think too little of what we could do together."
"You're playing a game you'll lose, Azriel."
"Sweetheart," he leaned closer, voice deadly soft. "I don't play games unless I've already rigged them."
Her mouth twitched. "You're insufferable."
"And you're irresistible."
Her eyes flared under the mask. But she didn't pull back.
And then —
A soft click in the sound system.
Then a whisper. A voice distorted, low, and taunting.
"Enjoying your last dance, sweetheart?"
The lights flickered once.
Elira's hand gripped his shoulder tighter. Azriel turned his head just slightly, eyes scanning the ballroom.
Up on the mezzanine, shadows moved. Figures in masks. Watching. Waiting.
His voice low and calm against her ear: "We're being watched."
"I know."
Another voice came over the system, different this time. Mechanical. Automated.
"All participants, please proceed to the next phase. Room Theta will open in sixty seconds."
"What the hell is Room Theta?" Elira murmured.
Azriel didn't answer. But his expression darkened.
The crowd began to shift. Slowly. Obediently. Guests moving toward a wide set of hidden doors revealed at the far end of the ballroom.
And above them all, from a stained-glass window, a single red spotlight blinked to life — and landed right on Elira.
Azriel stepped forward, blocking the light with his body.
But it was too late.
Everyone saw her.
And someone out there — whoever was watching — wanted her found.
Badly.