Page 110 of Commanding Flame and Shield
I nodded once, just once. Teeth chattering, skin stinging against the change in temperature, we all filed into the elevator.
* * *
August wore a suit of midnight black that shimmered deep blue in the right lighting, like a star-flecked sky. His tie was a rich merlot purple to compliment my dress. Tousled curls tucked behind his ears. A tentative grin spread across that handsome face as he saw me and accepted my outstretched hand. The gold gown he’d bought me fit as well as that black glove, clinging to each curve, the plunging neckline lined with a sheer skin toned fabric that shimmered a bit in the light. Just like the vision. He tucked my arm under his elbow, and the warmth of him through that beautiful suit came crashing into me, just as that familiar scent did.
“You are...breathtaking, Ally.”
I smiled in thanks, inclining my head towards him. “You look quite dashing yourself, Mr. Porter.”
Fae appeared at the top of the open stairs. Her scarlet chiffon gown rested around a plunging v neckline, bunching at her tiny waist before billowing away from her perfect little hourglass form. A slit came up to her mid-thigh, and I grinned, knowing she was still a walking armory, as I was, with the sheaths August had sewn into the slips under the flowing fabric. His attention to detail, the way he built our life into them, was amazing.
With three extra sets of eyes set to patrol and shield the exterior, I hoped that the evening would unravel the easier of the threads before us. Would give August a victory that didn’t bring our hearts near stopping. Fae leaned into the metal stair rail, gracefully hoisting her weight onto it so she could slide down the banister, full lips plumped into a smug smirk. Alec, in perfect timing, jumped to the bottom of the stairs, popping into the air before her with his hand out to grab her already outstretched fingers. She hopped off the rail with a sweeping motion, and Alec fanned his mate out for the room to admire, spinning her in a circle, then two. The red chiffon of her gown glimmering like stardust under the lights. He tucked her in tight to his side and placed gentle kisses along her cheekbone. She beamed, leaning into him. For a breath, arm in arm with August, I thought of what it would be like...to be human. To be normal. To be arm in arm with a handsome date, watching my best friends in their lighthearted preparation for a masquerade ball. To enjoy life without the weight of saving it all the time. I sighed.
August, sensing or hearing the movement, gave my silk clad fingers a little squeeze. My eyes flicked to his, and there was a light in those emeralds as he stared back at me, warmth seeming to roll off him.
Aren cleared his throat as he entered the room—as though we couldn’t sense his very essence as it radiated through our bones.
“Alright guys, lay it out one last time.” And so, we did, step by step, player by player, we recited that we intended this for reconnaissance, but if we had a chance to liberate Jones’ body, or bring him to mortal justice, we would. We each tied our masks into place. Each of us locked in the decisions that were ours to make, as August had suggested, and after a heartbeat, Aren looked to me.
FORTY-FOUR
THE GALA
AUGUST
“Alright Ally. Give me the numbers.” Aren crossed his arms, eyes locked on his calling.
Alvara stared right back at him, and her eyes glazed over. Those full lips parting as she drew in a long breath. She blinked, and when those shimmering purple lids lifted, she was focused again. Her eyes flicked from Aren, to Marcus, and then back again.
“Honestly? Fifty-fifty chance this all goes to shit. Fifty percent chance we’re in, eat awful, bougie chicken, dance, get our information, and leave undetected.”
“And the other fifty?” Alec drawled from her other side.
“Fifty percent chance we land in one of three…moreeventfulthreads that lead to combat, an exorcism, and the mortals believe there was a domestic terrorist attack on the ball.” She pressed a slender finger to her lips and widened her eyes, feigning innocence and indifference.
“Outcome?” Aren demanded.
She flashed that lethal grin, eyebrows lifting, light dancing in her eyes, “Always successful.”
Aren rumbled a laugh. “Alright. Any injuries or fatalities?”
“Two of the threads have minor injuries. Shit gets scary for a minute. No fatalities.”
“Worth the victory?”
“As long as nobody makes any dumbass, impulsive off-plan decisions…without a doubt.”
Does that mean that you’re the one injured, then?I snapped at her, images of the last group outing fresh in my mind. She elbowed me in the ribs. Hard. Wincing theatrically, I managed a low laugh.
Never a wound that takes more than a healing hand, a cup of tea and a nap. Get over it August. Would you be happier if it was you?
Yes, actually, much happier. Thank you.
Well. I guess you’ll be pleased. There are a few of those too.Cold. Calculated. Like a battle general assessing a soldier. She slipped her arm out from mine and strode over to Aren and Marcus. She flicked her gloves off and raised her hands—both Commanders clasped her offered forearm, and she showed them the threads in her mind. Too fast and unfocused for me to make out. Perhaps that was intentional, and perhaps it was just the speed at which she could share a true reading.
They both gave her a small bow of their head as she released them. Marcus straightened his suit jacket, and Aren crossed his arms again. It was then that Marcus’ eyes sought my own.
“A word, young Commander?” Marcus inclined his head to me, and Alvara scowled as her phantom hands recoiled from the wall he’d placed around his mind. As good as bricks and mortar. She wrinkled her nose in frustration. While I knew if she truly needed into his mind, she would be there, she turned her attention to Fae out of respect. I bowed my head in ascent.
