Page 123 of Red Masquerade

“And Marcel—he knows where you are.”

My stomach dropped. If Marcel knew, then the Sire did.

The gravity of it was clear in the grim expression on his face, even if he tried to hide it from me. It was the slight frown, the furrowing of his brows.

His mind was tumbling, jumping from one thought to the next, trying to anticipate their next move.

He was unsure. He didn’t know how to proceed.

And it made my breath falter. I had never seen him like this, never seen him in a check-mate, even when Lucas found out about us, forcing him to run. Even as a young man, a poor printer’s apprentice, he was so sure of himself. So sure of his wanting, of his feelings about me.

Marcel Brancato’s appearance was an omen. He was the harbinger.

I stood, the cooling water splashing against the rim of the tub, over the edge, spreading on the tile. Vince reached for a towel, wrapping it around my body. The air was frigid with the ghost of our visitor, with the untold future hovering nearby, waiting to unspool.

You’re running out of time.

And how much time did we have?

I set back my shoulders. Pulled the towel tight. “We should strategize. Talk with the others.” Veronica, especially. I knew hardly anything about the woman, but if our few interactions assured me of anything, it was that Veronica figured shit out.

His eyes flashed. “I—”

“Do not exclude me,” I said, letting the shallow fear I still felt harden my voice. “Do not shut me out. Hiding me from the problem is not going to protect me. It only makes me more vulnerable.” Today was proof of that.

His chest rose with a breath, and he leaned forward and kissed me. “As you wish.”

Forty-Two

“Ihave an idea.”

I had time to think. It was two days after Brancato’s appearance, and I had been mulling over what to do, how to go about this.

Why had he shown up now, and what did it have to do with our meeting weeks ago?

It couldn’t be a coincidence. I refused to believe it.

Not with the way he had looked at me, like he knew exactly what he was doing. I hadn’t caught it that night weeks ago, but I saw it two days ago, when he stared me down, dropping his human mask.

My skin crawled. I was right to listen to my instincts and walk away from him. Who knows where I would be if I had taken up his offerfor dinner?

Vince glanced up at me now, sat behind the files sprawled across the surface of his desk. It was just me and him in his study, the other three elsewhere in the house. He reclined in his seat, legs crossed, a pen to his lips. “Go on.”

“We should throw another party.”

I was on one of the couches, flipping through one of the many novels—this one with the pages cut—that sat in ornate bookshelves lining the walls. A fire crackled in the hearth, though with the changing weather, we wouldn’t need to light it much longer.

“Lure him in.”

Vince knew exactly who I meant. “No.” He shook his head.

“We know he’s coming back,” I tried to reason. “Or, if not him, someone else. Why not invite him?”

“I won’t allow him to step foot on these grounds again.”

I had thought about it over the past couple of days, putting things together in my mind.

And then came the realization that I had never planned for anything in my life—it had all been decided for me. My schooling, the serendipity of meeting Adam—then stumbling upon Vince; the decision of my betrothal to Wright. All happenstance, or someone else’s concern. Without Fate’s intervention, my days had played out the same way, with late nights, skipped breakfasts, and apologies to my mother, before it began all over again, waiting for an interruption of the monotony.