I had not a single clue what perceived slight I’d committed against Camile, to warrant the threat.

But whatever, I wasn’t afraid of her. In fact, the worst thing I could possibly do was to show she and her spawns fear.

“Whenever you’re ready,” I said holding her gaze. “Now take your fucking hand off me.”

Camile dropped my elbow and I spared her not a second thought. I crossed the foyer to where Papa, Ash and Bash were standing around talking. The detachable train of my vintage tuxedo-satin dress, embellished with gold embroidery trailing behind me.

“Papa,” I greeted, stealing another glance at myself in the mirror behind the men.

I ran a hand down the front of my A-line dress, fussing with the black and gold lace appliques at the cinched waist. Butterflies stirred at the pit of my stomach. Aunt Morana’s earlier warning sprung to mind and I fussed even more with my appearance. Tugging at my three-quarter sleeves and shirt-style collar as I leaned in to inspect my lightly made-up face.

My skin was dewy and glowing, my hair straightened and pulled back into a bun. Really, nothing was out of place.

“You look beautiful.” Papa admired.

Heat rushed to my cheeks. “Thank you.”

“Pretty.” Bash winked at me.

I bit back on a smile. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

He flashed one of his lopsided grins that never failed to send my heart skipping a beat.

Papa took my hand, dragging my attention off Bash. “Here.” He presented me with a jewelry box.

“What’s this?”

“A gift.” He popped the gilded blue box open.

“Oh, wow.” My eyes widened at the full set. “This is...my goodness,” I breathed out, lost for words.

He nodded. “I’m glad you like it.”

Originally, my stylist had picked out a thin gold watch, a diamond chocker and matching earrings to go with the dress.

I stood facing the mirror, grinning like a girl who’d won the lottery as Papa replaced the constellation of diamond pearls at my ears with a pair of show-stopping chandelier earrings.

You should’ve seen this thing, whew, it boasted a sparkling mix of pear-shaped and round diamonds, their brilliance danced on my skin. With practiced ease he removed the choker next and placed about my neck a bold diamond pendant necklace.

The breath I was holding as he fastened the clasp, fell off my lips on a gasp. The necklace alone, would have been enough.

I was floating as he took my hand and added the matching bracelet to my free wrist then slipped a diamond and ruby ring, similar to the one on his pinky, onto my index finger. The ring cemented my place in the family, as everyone wore a version of it.

Stepping back, he waited for me to admire myself in the mirror. Cheesing, big time, I turned to face him, feeling like a princess.

“I love it. Thank you, Papa Knight.” I spun around, threw my arms around his neck as I reached up on my toes and kissed his cheek.

A smile brighter than the sun lit his face. It was the same smile he wore introducing me to the host, Avery Rush. Rush was a wiry male with sharp brown eyes and a ready smile. A charmer, this one and incidentally, not a member of the six families.

He wore a deep charcoal-grey suit and his short hair slicked back from his boyish face, gleamed like raven’s wings caught in moonlight. The bright pink silk scarf tied at his throat added a touch of colour to the look and spoke volumes about the man’s affable personality.

My spirit took to him instantly.

Eyes twinkling with mischief he took my offered hand and with a dip of his head pecked the back of it. “Charmed.”

“Likewise,” I replied with a little dip of the knee.

Check your girl out, being all demure and shit. When in Rome, do as the Roman’s do right?

Granted most everyone was waiting for me to show my ass. Here’s what they didn’t know, while admittedly I was crass and unsophisticated, I was also a damn chameleon. Give me an audience, and I’d be like a fish taking to water. I was born to be the main character, baby.

The Rush’s foyer wasn’t half as big or as modern as the one back at the mansion. The entire estate had an old, English country house feel. The front doors opened to a high, timber-beamed ceiling that stretched the length of the foyer. Light from a wrought-iron chandelier spilled over polished oak floors, catching the gleam of brass sconces and framed mirrors lining the walls.

The air was moderate, most likely temperature controlled, carrying a faint trace of wine and perfume. To my left, tall windows framed the night, their panes glinting like black glass. Beyond them, the reflection of lamps from the drive flickered faintly.

Pockets of guests gathered in small alcoves on the periphery of the entrance hall, murmuring in low voices, their laughter rising above the hush as names were announced. Others stood near the base of the sweeping staircase, their shadows long under the golden light.

Our entire family moved as one away from the entrance, nodding at the other guests as we ventured deeper into the house, drawn like the others to the pulse of music, the steady rhythm of strings and low brass drifting from the ballroom, each note spilling into the open foyer.

Papa Knight halted my steps with a touch of his hand to the small of my back, preventing me from following the rest of the family through the archway entering the ballroom.

Plucking two refreshments, a flute of champagne and a glass of deeply red wine from a passing waiter he handed the flute to me and the wine to his wife. She drifted along by his side as he led me across the hall.

I threw a glance over my shoulder. My stomach soured, seeing Calista on Bash’s arm. The two of them were popular and were quickly enveloped by a group of young people excited to see them.

Put off by the image of them together I faced forward only to find Camile staring at me. Damn it. The smile curling her thin fucking lips, added to the glint of triumph in her eyes, pissed me off. To calm down, I reminded myself I’d had that boy lapping at my pussy a night ago and I would have him doing the same and much more before this night was over.

I blew the bitch a kiss and trained my gaze straight ahead.

The receiving room opened wide, alive with sound and soft light. A troupe of pantomime performed near the far wall to a packed room. Their expressive story-telling a backdrop to the steady hum of conversation and soft music blending with the muted clink of glass and quiet laughter. Wait staff moved through the room in practiced silence, either clearing away empty flutes and wine glasses or offering trays of refreshments and bite-sized pastries.

“Hakon, who is this lovely creature?” asked the short East Asian woman with dark-moonshine eyes and a severe overbite, who came to stand beside us.

This must be the head of the Sato family, Iseul Sato. The gold claw pendant pinned to her chest, matched the one on Papa Knight’s lapel. It was the same representation for every other head.

“Iseul.” My father confirmed, acknowledging the pale woman with a raised brow. “I was under the impression you’d miss tonight’s festivities.”

“Mhm,” Iseul hummed meeting my gaze. “And miss the opportunity to meet the belle of the ball? Not a chance. Where have you been hiding her?”

We were literally standing eye to eye.  But Iseul might as well have been a giant. The woman carried herself like a celebrated general, exuding calm strength in a light blue floor-sweeping gown.

“He has two daughters.” Camile sneered, while managing to look down the bridge of her nose at the other woman.

“Ladies, let’s leave the politicking for another night. Iseul.” Bowing his head, Papa wished her a good night and turned from the room.

He led me away, both Camile and I hanging off his arms.

“I want in Hakan.” Iseul’s voice trailed after us. “Name your price, my Qian would be an asset and a fine match.”

We hardly made it two steps before we were intercepted, this time by a blonde couple. Anton and Katrina Belov looked more like siblings than man and wife. Their blue-moonshine eyes appraised me with open interest. The man wearing a purple brocade suit-jacket, and the familiar claw pin, spoke to Papa Knight in thick Russian. As much as I didn’t understand a single word he said, I had no doubt they were talking about me.

Bitch, you’d think I was royalty the way everyone fawned over me. Problem, Papa Knight kept me tucked under his wing all night. So as much as I wanted to sneak off with Bash, I couldn’t. And boy did the fucker look delicious in his fitted black suit worn over a deep red dress-shirt. It burned me deeply, forced to watch Calista parade him around, draped off his arm like they were an item.

Every now and then, I’d catch him stealing glimpses my way. I pretended not to notice.

The champagne was flowing, the music, a nice waltz, had me swaying as I people watched. An hour into the evening, there I was, standing next to Papa Knight admiring a wall of abstract painting.

His witch of a wife had wandered off the moment it was polite to do so. She hated my guts. The whole ride over, she stared at my neck, her faced crunched up in distaste, as if I’d stolen the necklace from her personal collection.

Normally, I’d have baited her. But like I said, Camile and her spawns were entertainment, nothing so significant that I’d let them ruin one of the most magical nights of my life.

Speaking of magical, Olida flitted through the party, wearing the hell out of her spaghetti-strap mini dress with a feathered hemline. For the occasion she’d chosen a red wig, cut short with a side-swept bang and lightly tapered ends to give it an airy feathered look. The style fit her thin face, softening the angles of her sharp features. As she wove through the crowd eyes followed and voices lowered in whispers.

I wasn’t sure what I was witnessing, just that it didn’t sit well with me. The need to protect her surged unexpected and without noticing I began to tap my foot, getting agitated. 

The girl was a sweetheart, the out of my new family who embraced me, when the others had taken as stance to keep their distance at first. She was overly chatty, at least with me, but I sensed she’d been sheltered her whole life. Papa was very protective of her, treated her more like his child than sibling. In a way I understood, she was decades younger than all of them.

There were a few times I’d glimpsed her spying on me from behind the heavy drapes dressing her balcony window while I walked the garden or swam. She always declined when I invited her, until one day, perhaps sensing she’d hurt my feelings rejecting my offer for the umpteenth time, she confided in me she had a condition that made her highly allergic to the sun.

A genetic condition that ran in the family, she’d explained, grateful I was so far immune to it.

Of course, I felt like shit for all the times I pestered her to go out with me. To make it up to her I’d often seek her out during the evenings, taking her along with me and Alana on our nightly walks.

Papa and I were standing by the arched entranced to the ballroom. “I’m going to go hang with Aunty Olida, for a bit.” I whispered in his ear.

She was halfway down the hall heading toward the foyer when she stopped abruptly, turned and looked in our direction. An expression I couldn’t place flitted over her face before it vanished.

A smile replaced the odd look as she raised a finger and signalled to one of the waiters floating around the entrance with platters heavy with finger foods and cocktails. She accepted one of the small plates and cut a path toward us.

“Hungry?” she asked once she was standing before me, raising the plate for me to take it.

I never go anywhere on an empty stomach. Besides mum would roll over in her grave if I’d left home without eating. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I was full, but I’d nibbled on fruits and pastries in the hours leading up to getting ready that I could go the rest of the night without eating and not feel the need to chew an arm off.

Nevertheless, I took the offering and thanked her. “You read my mind.” I lied eyeing the colourful plate.

I recognized nothing on it. Everything was…petite. Eating it would most likely open my appetite and leave me unsated.

As she waited, looking up at me with expectant eyes, I realized she wanted me to eat. Ah fuck, I didn’t want to.

“Do you want to dance?”

Her eyes widened.

Papa Knight and I had made our rounds throughout the various rooms. I got the sense, he wanted the families to see us, understand my importance to him. Turned out Papa was a big damn deal, and while my presence was fresh fodder for the gossip mill. For the most part, people just wanted to be seen with him, hear his opinion on one thing or another, or brag in hopes of gaining his approval. Damn, we barely had time to appreciate the art works on display, caught up in small talk.

Though we did sit for a good fifteen minutes to enjoy a minstrel act with the Hales. Anise and her husband Dimitrius were two of the most magnetic people I’ve ever met. They were from Jamaican and Nigerian ancestry, and both wore the claws. The entire family was statuesque, and regal in white. First son Tayo couldn’t keep his eyes off me. I would know because I’d been following him with my own eyes. Fucker walked like a lion, tall and proud, as if he had a big dick and it weighed a ton. He had a twin sister, and four younger brothers. All of them were disgustingly beautiful.

Fuck me.

The one place Papa and I hadn’t ventured was the ball room, which was why I suggested taking Olida for a spin on the dance floor.

Unfortunately, we never got that far into the evening. The front doors slammed open, and three hooded women dressed in fitted black cloaks walked through. Their faces were covered save for their glowing eyes.

Olida pushed me behind her with surprising ease. I didn’t even have time to be stunned by her actions.

A round of gasps spread through the hall as those close by turned to the entrance. Many of the guests scattered, scurrying to get away from the three women.

The sound of rushing feet filled the hall behind me. I didn’t look to see who they were, or why suddenly multiple gusts of wind, swept past.

Or rather than emptying, the entryway grew more crowded by the second. These men and women bearing the colours of the families flanked the foyer, soldiers ready to defend against the intruders.

The newcomers had my full attention. The woman in the middle with glowing green eyes and tallest of the three walked slightly ahead of the others, rotating her hands over each other—one clockwise, the other counter-clockwise. Between her palms, electrical-blue light sparked to life, growing until she held a grapefruit-sized ball of energy hovering on the air between her hands.

“The Trine,” someone whispered.

Those two words ignited a spark; images flooded my mind.

And from the depths of my subconscious the word ‘enemy’ floated up.

A shiver ran through me.