Roksana made a croaky sound and it took several breaths to make her heart stop constricting. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him standing in the kitchen of the vacant apartment, the broad muscles of his back flexed. Waiting.
If you want to be effective tonight, you can’t think of him.
Or the fact that despite everything, she missed him.
Roksana took a calming breath and re-focused.
Unlike her relationship with Elias, her rapport with Tucker was easy. With his jocular attitude and ability to lighten the mood, he was impossible not to get along with. In other words, he was Elias’s exact opposite, but the two were as close as brothers.
Hopefully she wouldn’t have to kill him.
Best to find out his angle before the game started.
Roksana pushed off the house she’d hunkered down behind and started toward the mansion. As soon as she stepped into the street light, Tucker’s pace stalled at the door. Of course, his super-sensitive hearing caught her footsteps, especially because she was making no effort to soften them. But he continued into the house, nonetheless, telling Roksana that Tucker was aware of her presence, but wouldn’t be acknowledging the fact that they knew each other. Even as a niggle of hurt worked its way through her chest, she was glad for the information. She preferred the illusion that they weren’t acquainted, actually.
Someone was letting her opponents into the house, but until she climbed the stone staircase, Roksana didn’t see who it was.
A flutter of wings and a gasp was all she glimpsed before the door was slammed shut.
“Vot eto pizdets,” she grumbled. Dammit.
Roksana stood dumbfounded for a moment, then raised her hand to rap on the door.
Six times. Pause. One more knock.
The door flew open, revealing a woman in a long, gold robe. Sparks of the same color rotated around her head in an endless marathon. Her eyes were huge and tilted at the corners, her cheekbones liberally rubbed with bronzer.
And she had wings.
The small appendages in question flapped so rapidly, there was no way they belonged to a costume. Even minus the wings, there was something decidedly otherworldy about this woman. Like maybe the fact that she appeared to be hovering an inch above the floor.
This was one of the fae she’d been taught about during her year of training. Those lessons had been brief, however, because the fae were so few in number. A dying race, her mother then called them. Their origins were entwined with Irish folklore and they’d once been deemed a powerful race of conquerors. Decades ago, they’d been driven back into the Faerie realm, leaving only their black sheep brethren behind.
Roksana had never met one in real life, though she didn’t let that show on her face. Instead, she reminded herself to be on guard. Fairies were known for their trickiness and abilities to read minds, control the actions of others and more.
Not today, Satan.
“You are here for the poker match?” the fairy asked in a melodic French accent.
Roksana put a pleasant expression on her face. “Yes.”
“Then you must be Roksana.” The wings fluttered faster. “You cannot wear that. You did not come here for a slumber party at your friend’s house.” Her impossibly large eyes widened further, flashing from brown to bronze. “Come, I have something you can borrow, but we need to move swiftly. We don’t want to keep the men waiting.”
“Speak for yourself.”
The fairy laughed and the stardust around her head whipped into a blur. “I am Cosette and I serve the man of the house. Come in, come in.” She clapped her hands twice, before gripping Roksana by the elbow and pulling her into the house, shutting the door behind them. “I’ll take your bag, if you please!”
Roksana tightened her grip on the strap. “I’ll hold on to it.”
Cosette’s smile became a baring of teeth. “I must insist,” she said brightly.
Without warning, the backpack was ripped away from Roksana’s shoulder and dropped unceremoniously on top of a gilded entry table. The fairy hadn’t moved once.
“I was so excited when I found out a woman was coming to the game,” said the fairy, as if she hadn’t just divested Roksana of her only protection with nothing more than her will.
Keep your guard up.
Cosette bustled her through a white marble foyer with no decoration save a plain woven rug, drawing her down a back hallway. Male voices drifted up from downstairs. Cigar smoke, tinkling ice cubes, chairs moving across the floor. She’d only caught the tail end of Tucker’s rusty chuckle when Cosette pulled her into a room. The interior was dark, and immediately Roksana braced for battle, but when the fairy flipped on the light, there was nothing but an army of garment racks packed with clothes.
“Clothes” really wasn’t the right word, though.
More like, inventions.
Feathers plumed, rhinestones winked and collars popped everywhere Roksana looked. In a sea of avant garde and couture, there wasn’t a basic bustier and leather pants to be seen.