Part I
The Offering
Prologue
Their authoritative presence is felt before anything else. My heart skips a beat and my blood runs cold. They’re here.
The voluminous cloaks cover their bodies entirely and their faces are mostly concealed by their hoods. Standing with their broad shoulders squared and hands tucked behind their backs, they emanate sheer masculinity and dominance.
His baritone voice whispers, and his breath burns hot against the shell of my ear. His tone is gentle, but there’s no doubt in my mind that his words are a command.
Gather and present yourself.
This is the offering …
Grace
I can’t stop staring at Lizzie. She’s killing it with the look she’s going for but the hot pink dress she’s wearing is so tight her boobs are nearly popping out. I can’t be too mad at her for that—if mine looked that good, I’d put them on display every chance I got. But the hem of her dress ends about an inch below her ass, and that’s being generous. It doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Not that I’m judging. I’m just worried other people will. If she bends over even the slightest, everyone’s going to see all her goods. At that image, I scrunch my nose and a thought hits me.
“Are you even wearing underwear?” I try to keep my tone neutral so I don’t sound like I’m being a prude, but I can’t help asking since she goes commando all the time. Although I can’t imagine her risking a wardrobe malfunction considering where we’re headed.
She pauses her contouring and shoots me a naughty grin, then rolls her eyes. “Yes.” The self-assurance falters in her expression but only for a moment, and I think I may have imagined it. Confidence is practically her middle name.
“Thank God.” I breathe out a sigh of relief and watch as she sprays something in her hair and smooths out the ends. Her hands tremble just slightly and this time I know I didn’t invent what I saw. “You look hot,” I say in an attempt to calm her nerves. It’s not the dress that’s gotten to her. It’s what we have to do the moment we leave that’s got her on edge. I know this is true, because it has me shaken too.
“You’re just saying that,” she says sweetly with a simper that doesn’t look at all innocent on her. “It’s the blond hair,” she adds as she twirls a lock around her finger. “They have more fun.”
With only a huff of a laugh in response, I shake my head and ignore the churning in my gut that’s been bothering me all day.
She’s really nailing the blond bombshell look. Honestly, she pulls off every color she’s ever dyed it. Even last summer when she went purple. It looked fantastic on her, like she was made to have violet hair; I would’ve looked like a complete dumbass.
Touching up my makeup one last time, I stare back at the mirror before smiling and spearing my fingers through my natural brunette hair, giving it more of a relaxed appearance. Lizzie may have the sexy and seductive look down pat, but I’ve got more of a traditional beauty thing going on. I like my subdued look. It keeps assholes away. Lizzie can handle them, comically so … I cannot. Smacking my lips, all done with my lip gloss, it’s time to decide on shoes.
I’m definitely wearing heels. It’s a must when I go out with Lizzie. She practically lives in them since she’s short, but so am I. It took me a little while to get used to wearing heels all the time, but now they’re like slippers. For tonight, though … getting all dressed up makes the nerves at the back of my neck prick.
“New jeans?” she asks as she eyes the designer pair I bought the other day. I’m grateful for the distraction. No more thinking about that. The idea of being taken by anyone at all—much less the men who will stand on that stage today—is only a nightmare. It’s not going to happen. Not a damn thing is going to happen this afternoon, and then we’re really going out. That’s the plan, and we’re sticking to it. I need to stop thinking about the worst things imaginable. Sometimes my mind goes to the darkest places, but not today. Not now. Sure as hell not when Lizzie needs me to be levelheaded.
“Yeah, they’re like the best pair I’ve ever owned.” They fit my petite curves better than the rest of the jeans in my closet. I’m rubbing it in a little, but Lizzie knows I’m only teasing. Stretching a little in them, I turn to check out my backside. My curves are on the larger side, but I love it. I’ve got wide hips and small breasts, whereas Lizzie’s got a full-on hourglass figure.