“Don’t be silly, pet,” he purrs, blowing me a kiss. “You’re safe with me.”
I don’t have time to reel over the utter nonsense of his statement before the car door opens and Gemini steps out first.
Turning back to face me, he leans down and offers his hand. “Now then,” he says, “enough of this dillydallying.” There’s a wild glint in his eyes. “Tonight, we feast.”
My mouth goes dry, but I straighten my shoulders and warily slide my hand into his, stepping out onto the gravel on shaky legs.
13
VEIL
Inside the Vorovsky estate, I’m left stunned.
I’m not sure what I expected. But certainly notthis.
Growing up in Corutio, I am no stranger to vice and what it looks like to fall victim to the god of excess. I’ve witnessed it, yes, but I’ve never experienced it personally. Too tucked away into the dark folds of the city margins to be affected.
Even the Feast of Fools—which the god clearly influenced—held little power over me. In the past weeks, I’ve had plenty of time to mull over why I was unaffected when the others appeared almost hypnotized. I wonder if it’s partly why I managed to survive the sacrifice.
When Gemini said we were to feast, I was naive to believe we were walking into arealfeast, similar to the one I had been forced to participate in on these very grounds.
But as the heir of the Foley family leads me by small tugs of the leash through the massive foyer, lofty halls, and countless stately rooms, my throat goes dry from themagnitudeof excess I’m forced to witness.
Maybe there had been a feast earlier today, but all I can see now are the spoils. And a level of inebriation that I don’t thinkI’ve ever encountered before in my twenty-five years on this mortal plane. This seems closer to madness, a festive hysteria blackening the gaze of every person we cross paths with.
And the indulgence—my gods—the uninhibited indulgence. From gurgling down alcohol straight from the bottles to naked, writhing bodies in every state of coitus.
Eyes black.
Thoughtless.
This might not be the product of the god of lust; however, excess is kin to such gratification. Eroticism perfumes the air and appears to spur these poor souls into a whirlwind of sexual frenzy.
My gaze flicks to Gemini, who is looking at me with a feral grin from over his shoulder, his coat long ago discarded to a nameless servant. I’m a ball of nerves, awaiting what’s to come, but try to keep my expression as smooth and hard as the marble around us.
Because of the see-through material of his shirt, I can now see the tattoo sprawling the span of Gemini’s back. A snake coiling around a hand. It’s the same symbol as the necklace he fastened around my neck. The one I’ve been forced to wear ever since he kidnapped me.
I’m unsure why it takes me seeing it on Gemini’s back to connect the dots, but it dawns on me that I’ve seen this symbol before, around the Foley neighborhood.
It must be his family sigil.
The medallion pressing against my chest seems to burn my skin with the realization. I’m not sure what’s worse—wearing his family sigil around my neck or the collar and leash. Both are claiming me. Tying me to the mortal extension of the god of trickery.
I feel tricked all right …
“Here we are,” Gemini finally declares with a pleased sigh as we enter a room the size of a small house.
He leads me by the leash through the room, weaving us between countless revelers. The lighting is ambient, cloaking the room in a warm, uniform glow. Most of the walls are painted a dark wine-red with images of still life projected across them—depicting a variety of fruits spilling over plates, meats from raw to fully cooked, bread ripped open and half eaten. It only heightens the powerful pulse of excess found in every small crevice of the estate.
The room is stuffed with black couches, burgundy divans, and large, gold-threaded cushions that can fit dozens.
Even with a prudish sweep of the room as we walk, I count at least seven groups of tangled bodies, dispersed around the lofty space.
No one in the room pays us any attention, but my anxiety spikes nonetheless.
What does Gemini expect of me tonight?
“Don’t be so glum, doll.” Gemini’s voice falls down an octave as he faces me, and goose bumps break out all over my body when he smooths his hand down my arm, his nose trailing up my neck. Sensing my apprehension, he answers the question plaguing my mind. “All I ask of you tonight is to sit down and look pretty,” he whispers into my ear before catching my earlobe between his teeth.
