bubbling champagne and silver plates of rich foods and desserts. They were, without a doubt, the most attractive collection of people Hunter had ever seen.
The elderly man escorting them stopped, bowed to Karen, and turned, leaving the small group to enter the enormous ballroom themselves. As Hunter stepped forward he noticed his guards didn’t follow. They were stopped at the edge of the wood floor, stiff as stone. He looked at Karen, puzzled, but she merely shrugged and said, “If you ran, where would you go?” Passing her arm through his, she pulled Hunter into the ballroom.
He kept close to Karen as they glided between varying groups of people dressed in outfits that would have cost him three-months rent. Hunter felt even more out of place than usual, his sweat-stained, ill-fitting robes scratching uncomfortably against his neck. Fortunately, no one was paying him much attention. Though a few greeted Karen with a brief wave or nod, the rest spared only a brief glance at Hunter before continuing their conversations and sipping delicately at tall, fluted glasses of golden champagne. Hunter was about to ask where they were headed— as if she’d tell me —when Karen stopped before a thick knot of men and women.
“Behave,” she whispered, then touched the shoulder of the man in front of her. He turned and gave Karen a cool glance. Then, eyes widening, he took another look at the auburn beauty and hurriedly stepped aside. Others rushed to follow, until Hunter and Karen were alone with a small, immaculately dressed man of dark complexion and shadowed eyes.
Hunter’s breath caught for a moment, transfixed by the man’s beauty. He had a delicate cast to his face, and smooth, graceful movements—almost feline. The man was five feet if he was an inch, but rather than appearing short he seemed simply proportionate . Smooth olive skin was complimented by a midnight blue tuxedo, and in the soft light of the ballroom he appeared almost to glow. Is this what people think when they see me? Hunter wondered. Before I do whatever it is that drives them away?
“Zadkiel,” the stranger’s voice was soft, but cut clearly through the room. “Your friend is scaring away our guests.”
The crowd had fully departed now, spinning off into smaller groups and leaving Hunter and Karen alone with the man and two strangers that accompanied him: a heavy-set woman who’s shoulders strained at her tight blue pantsuit, and a whip-thin boy who couldn’t be older than sixteen.
“Bath,” Karen bowed to the stranger, her voice low and respectful. “This is Hunter Friskin.”
Bath turned his attention from Karen and focused on Hunter for the first time. His face was small and compact with sharp aquiline cheekbones, and his chin raised regally as he surveyed Hunter. “This is the man you told me about?”
Karen nodded.
“I see,” Bath smiled slyly and ran his eyes slowly over Hunter’s body. “You didn’t tell me he was so big.”
Hunter—not wholly unused to this behavior—nodded pleasantly at Bath, then, remembering he was technically kidnapped, frowned. “Look, I don’t have any money, if that’s what you’re after,” he said. “And if it’s not, then can someone please tell me what the hell I’m doing here?”
Bath’s expression stayed the same slightly amused smile. After Hunter finished, he turned and walked toward the far wall. Hunter looked at Karen, but she was already following the diminishing figure. The adolescent string-bean and over-sized woman followed as well, and after a moment Hunter joined them, deciding it was best to play along. He stepped into line next to Karen as they pursued Bath a few dozen feet to the edge of the room. There, the olive-skinned man touched a section of the wall which fell away to reveal a brushed-steel plate with the imprint of a hand. Brushing his palm across the machine produced a high pitched chirp, followed by the outline of a door—invisible until the hinges swung
The elderly man escorting them stopped, bowed to Karen, and turned, leaving the small group to enter the enormous ballroom themselves. As Hunter stepped forward he noticed his guards didn’t follow. They were stopped at the edge of the wood floor, stiff as stone. He looked at Karen, puzzled, but she merely shrugged and said, “If you ran, where would you go?” Passing her arm through his, she pulled Hunter into the ballroom.
He kept close to Karen as they glided between varying groups of people dressed in outfits that would have cost him three-months rent. Hunter felt even more out of place than usual, his sweat-stained, ill-fitting robes scratching uncomfortably against his neck. Fortunately, no one was paying him much attention. Though a few greeted Karen with a brief wave or nod, the rest spared only a brief glance at Hunter before continuing their conversations and sipping delicately at tall, fluted glasses of golden champagne. Hunter was about to ask where they were headed— as if she’d tell me —when Karen stopped before a thick knot of men and women.
“Behave,” she whispered, then touched the shoulder of the man in front of her. He turned and gave Karen a cool glance. Then, eyes widening, he took another look at the auburn beauty and hurriedly stepped aside. Others rushed to follow, until Hunter and Karen were alone with a small, immaculately dressed man of dark complexion and shadowed eyes.
Hunter’s breath caught for a moment, transfixed by the man’s beauty. He had a delicate cast to his face, and smooth, graceful movements—almost feline. The man was five feet if he was an inch, but rather than appearing short he seemed simply proportionate . Smooth olive skin was complimented by a midnight blue tuxedo, and in the soft light of the ballroom he appeared almost to glow. Is this what people think when they see me? Hunter wondered. Before I do whatever it is that drives them away?
“Zadkiel,” the stranger’s voice was soft, but cut clearly through the room. “Your friend is scaring away our guests.”
The crowd had fully departed now, spinning off into smaller groups and leaving Hunter and Karen alone with the man and two strangers that accompanied him: a heavy-set woman who’s shoulders strained at her tight blue pantsuit, and a whip-thin boy who couldn’t be older than sixteen.
“Bath,” Karen bowed to the stranger, her voice low and respectful. “This is Hunter Friskin.”
Bath turned his attention from Karen and focused on Hunter for the first time. His face was small and compact with sharp aquiline cheekbones, and his chin raised regally as he surveyed Hunter. “This is the man you told me about?”
Karen nodded.
“I see,” Bath smiled slyly and ran his eyes slowly over Hunter’s body. “You didn’t tell me he was so big.”
Hunter—not wholly unused to this behavior—nodded pleasantly at Bath, then, remembering he was technically kidnapped, frowned. “Look, I don’t have any money, if that’s what you’re after,” he said. “And if it’s not, then can someone please tell me what the hell I’m doing here?”
Bath’s expression stayed the same slightly amused smile. After Hunter finished, he turned and walked toward the far wall. Hunter looked at Karen, but she was already following the diminishing figure. The adolescent string-bean and over-sized woman followed as well, and after a moment Hunter joined them, deciding it was best to play along. He stepped into line next to Karen as they pursued Bath a few dozen feet to the edge of the room. There, the olive-skinned man touched a section of the wall which fell away to reveal a brushed-steel plate with the imprint of a hand. Brushing his palm across the machine produced a high pitched chirp, followed by the outline of a door—invisible until the hinges swung
Similar Books
