Mixing drinks in one of his black bartending ensembles at the gilded mirror-bar, Rake André handed them to Amalia to whisk around, her bee-filaments woven into a lacy white gown tonight with a high collar. Madame Etienne Voulouer held court near the bar with the Blood Dragons and Quinn, her catlike grace gregarious in a golden ballgown as she made even the poised Master Vampire laugh tonight. Dressed in a scandalously dark maroon suit with a black shirt, tie, and pocket square plus gold accents, Quinn was the depths of desire as he glanced to Layla, lifting his martini at her trio’s arrival. The massively blond Blood Dragon King Huttr Erdhelm and his eldest son Halfdir boomed laughs at the Madame’s tale, dressed in buckled Viking leathers and shaggy white pelts, grinning as they saluted Layla also with their drinks.
Nearby, Rhennic stood in a more sober conversation with his cousin Rikyava and Luke, all three wearing frowns as they discussed the upcoming battle. Dressed in a fabulously sleek beaded lavender gown, Rikyava had on amethyst-encrusted sheaths at her hips for Forbidden Blades, making her look like a warrior-queen of Scandinavia with her long blonde hair braided in weaves down her back. Luke was similarly dashing in a dark emerald suit with a black tie and pocket square that fit his Crossfitter’s frame to a T.
But Rhennic was robustly decadent, smiting Layla hard as he excused himself, coming to greet her at the doors. Wearing a dark plum three-piece suit with white pinstripes and a canary tie and pocket square, golden highlights in Rhennic’s gladiator-cut blond hair and beard shone as he came to Layla, taking up her hands and kissing her as his lavender eyes beamed.
“Layla. You look beautiful.” He spoke before giving Adrian and Dusk a nod. “Adrian. Dusk.”
“Rhennic.” Adrian spoke back warmly, though he was watching the Storm Dragon Regent intently tonight. “How are things?”
“Better.” Rhennic spoke honestly, though his smile was tight and his eyes flashed with lightning now. “After our rout at Chambord, my remaining Storm Dragon generals and I are sending out for more Royals with battle experience from all the clans. We’ll have more top-notch Lightning-Strikers here by morning. Hopefully, it’ll be enough.”
“Good thinking.” Adrian spoke with a nod; and Layla shared his knowledge, that it was better to interact with Rhennic soldier-to-soldier right now than heart-to-heart. As they spoke, Reginald and Fury arrived, kissing cheeks as they greeted Dusk and Adrian, with Fury kissing Layla’s cheek instead of her lips. But with a smoldering golden heat in his grey-blue eyes, Reginald deftly liberated Layla from her other men.
Pulling her in for a deep kiss right in front of the others.
“Thank you for coming.” Reginald spoke as he released Layla from his kiss. “It wouldn’t be a party without you.”
“Thanks for inviting us. We like parties.” Layla flushed and stammered now, always undone by Reginald’s effortless alpha nature and sincerity. He chuckled as he brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek, then turned towards the others.
“Please, enjoy yourselves tonight.” Reginald spoke graciously as he gestured to the food and wine filling tables throughout his opulent suite. “This evening has no agenda except for indulgence, so we may all take a break from dire things. I would never have it said that the Red Letter Hotel Paris does not treat its guests with style and elegance, even when facing annihilation. So. Mingle, make merry, and ease your hearts tonight. And let the levity bolster us in the days to come.”
“Hear, hear.” Dusk spoke with a wink at Reginald, who nodded back.
Opening his hand, Reginald welcomed them to his soirée; and Layla stepped further into the grand entertaining room of Reginald’s suite, just as a string quartet of Guardsmen in crimson livery began playing near a gilded Siren fountain. As they entered the party, Adrian kissed Layla and excused himself to go speak with his Desert Dragon King. Resplendent in a turquoise royal robe with gold and white embroidery tonight, King Lethou Mathii stood in sober conversation with Heathren Merkami and Insinio Brandfort, along with Adrian’s aunt Rachida Rhakvir in a fiery green caftan gown and Adrian’s Battle Lord Emir Tousk in one of his sober black suits.
As Layla noted the Fallen Ephilohim, she blinked, however; Heathren was stunning in a modern white silk shirt and white slacks with his snakeskin accoutrements tonight, but Insinio was fantastic with his enormously muscled body clad in black jeans, black t-shirt, and a motorcycle jacket with black buckled boots. Layla stared at them, amazed not just by their attire, but also that Heathren looked decidedly better than earlier. Letting herself slip into trance as she stood with Rhennic and Dusk, Layla saw Insinio’s opal-silver wings still flowed around Heathren in the ether, though Heathren’s own wings were now unfurled in the ether also, pulsing strongly as Insinio poured healing into him. Even as Layla watched, Heathren heaved a sigh, standing taller as he continued his conversation with King Mathii. Layla saw King Mathii note it also, and as he glanced at Layla, he smiled.
As Rhennic excused himself now also, to speak with his father and half-brother, Dusk pulled Layla along to the bar. Chatting with Rake André as he worked, the short, red-scaled European Fumarole Clan First Valdo Chermour laughed boisterously, slapping the thighs of his dark burgundy suit as the bony woman in black lace next to him, the Fellisti Clan cat-matron Nastya Bimaou, made a viciously funny quip. As Layla and Dusk arrived, Valdo and Nastya turned, and Layla saw Nastya held one of her kitties, a black long-haired tom. Stepping in, Valdo embraced Dusk, slapping backs before taking up Layla’s hands and kissing them. Nastya moved in next, kissing cheeks as she handed her kitty over to Layla. Cuddling him, Layla was honored to have been entrusted with one of Nastya’s beloved kitties as the old Russian matron beamed.
Patting Layla’s cheek before accepting her cat back.
“As I was saying,” Valdo continued with a boisterous rumble, low as volcanoes erupting in the deeps, “this Hunter fellow doesn’t stand a chance against us! You have tremendous allies here, Rake, Dusk, and not just from the Dragon clans! Why, the Paris Hotel is just bursting with strong warriors – Red Giants, my Fumeroles, Nastya’s Fellisti, Vampires, and others. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen so many clans come together under one roof to fight!”
“Everyone values the Red Letter Hotel Paris, Valdo.” Rake spoke back reasonably as he handed Layla a custom Old Fashioned, then a Boulevardier to Dusk with a dashing wink. “They come to support it in its time of need. It’s why I remained behind.”
“Which you do at great personal risk, Rake,” Dusk interrupted now, though he paused to enjoy Rake’s drink; Layla’s own drink smoothing and elevating her as she sipped also. “You’re not supposed to use your magics for battle, as per your agreement with your clan and the Intercessoria.”
“I’m not supposed to use my magics tokill, Dusk.” Rake spoke with a glint in his jade-green eyes as he set his elbows on the sleek mahogany bar. “But driving Dragons unconscious with my power is technically not a problem.”
“Can you ride that line in battle?” Layla asked Rake curiously, sipping her drink again. “Knocking people out but not killing them in a fight?”
“We’ll see.” Rake spoke back as his breath-aura curled around her sweetly now, urging her not to worry. “I’ve been in battles before, Layla, but it’s been a long while. In any case, I wouldn’t leave the Paris Hotel. Like the Dreaming Canyon, this place is my home, and it’s my decision to defend it. In addition to all of you, whom I care about deeply.” As Rake nodded at Layla and Dusk, Amalia returned from handing out drinks, settling her tiny hands up on the bar as she gave a sigh.
“I just love parties! It’s so nice having everyone together!” Amalia buzzed in her little bee-voice, a golden shimmer moving through her gown as the lace filaments around her neck wove and re-wove. “By the way, Dusk, Layla, I have finished your outfits for solstice. If you have time tomorrow, please head down for a fitting so I can get them right.”
“Amalia, you didn’t need to remain behind just to make us armor…” Layla spoke with a smiling frown, worried about her friend’s safety.
“Nonsense!” Amalia buzzed brightly as she waved one hand. Not wearing her spectacles tonight, her hair was piled atop her head in an ornate up-do that flushed gold and white as she beamed at Layla. “You need to be protected when battle comes, and bee-venom armor is the best, neither coarse nor heavy for a fight! Not to mention it’s tremendous for a party.”
“So our outfits tonight really are as strong as graphene?” Layla asked as she looked down at her peacock dress. “And will be tomorrow night, also?”
“Nicegraphene,” Amalia spoke back with a wink. “Like tonight, you’ll hardly know your solstice garments are there, but they’ll withstand nearly any kind of initial attack. I know, Dragons shift quickly in a fight, and you’ll dump it soon. But it’ll help the rest of us, and may provide you a moment of protection as things get started. Plus, you’ll lookravishingat the dance.”
“Are we still having an actual party tomorrow night?” Layla turned to Dusk now.
“The real solstice party is necessary, Layla.” As if listening through the Bind, Reginald had migrated to the bar, kissing Layla decadently before he nodded to Dusk and slid his empty martini glass to Rake, slipping his arm around Layla’s waist. “We need a party, firstly, to keep up the ruse that we’re still operating onbusiness as usual, so Hunter thinks we’re an easy target. Secondly, we’re having a party as an excuse to the Intercessoria and his clan to keep Rake,” Reginald nodded at Rake now, “who can make drinks that will bolster our courage and unify our aims when the time comes. And thirdly, we need a party to remind us that we’re alive. For however long that lasts, our power is love and togetherness – and we should celebrate that while we have time.”
As Reginald held her close, receiving a dirty martini with three olives now from Rake and sipping it, Layla felt a deep wistfulness darken his ocean-bright energy. Though it was subtle, it was almost fatalistic; and Layla suddenly realized with a hard shock that Reginald didn’t expect to live through this battle. Frowning, she took his martini away, setting it on the bar as he blinked at her, stunned by her action. But she pulled him in, reaching up and cradling his austerely handsome face in her hands.
