Page 46 of Redline Communion

“Too late.”

His thumb touches my jaw again, and this time I know exactly whose hand it is.

Alistair continues as though his son hasn’t just broken whatever rule made Rafe warn him.

“The face is known. The body is presented. What enters the house enters without concealment.”

“Nothing hidden. Nothing withheld,” the room answers.

Bullshit.

I almost say it.

Then Rafe reaches for his own mask.

Cassian turns toward him. “Rafael.”

“What?”

“You know what.”

“Yeah.”

He removes it anyway.

The first thing I notice is how angry he looks, and not at me, which would be simpler. His jaw is tight enough that I can see the muscle moving beneath the skin, and when he looks toward Alistair, something passes across his face that makes me wonder exactly how much of tonight he knew before he walked into this room.

Then he looks back at me, and that part I recognize.

Worry.

“Better?” he asks.

“A little.”

It’s true, which irritates me too.

Dominic steps forward carrying a shallow silver bowl.

Oil.

Of course.

Because apparently getting half-drugged and presented to a circle of masked relatives wasn’t ceremonial enough.

Cassian releases my hand and moves behind me, his fingers finding the fastenings at the back of my dress. He doesn’t ask, and neither does anybody else. One hook releases, then another, and cold air finds the strip of skin between my shoulder blades.

That is when I hear the first buckle.

I glance toward the wall and find one of the men nearest us removing his belt, not seductively but normally. Beside him, a woman slips her robe from one shoulder without missing the response to Dominic’s next line. Farther down, somebody removes a shoe and places it neatly beside the other before starting on their clothes.

Nobody announces anything.

Nobody looks surprised.

They simply know.

The realization runs colder through me than the air against my bare back. Everyone in this room arrived knowing what happened after the masks came off except me.