Bound. Jen Colly
side, they began to move, the captain two steps behind as they crossed the center of the circular room. The few remaining couples glanced their way and exchanged a murmured rumor or two.
“A masquerade,” Arianne said with a shudder, avoiding eye contact with those few remaining as they headed for the door. “And you wonder why I never come to first meal.”
Outside of the dining hall, wispy blue flowers climbed the wide, pink hallway. A short distance away, the hall ended abruptly at a double set of plush dark blue stairs and an elevator nestled between them. A low hanging, three-tier chandelier glowed, the fat raindrop-shaped crystals reflecting enough light to make any gown sparkle. It wasn’t merely the dining hall floor, but a place to make an entrance.
Cleopatra paused and took her friend’s hand, gave it a squeeze. “Tomorrow I had best find you eating again.”
“Or else?”
“Or else I’ll host a ball in your honor,” Cleopatra said, a wicked smile curling her lips.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“I’ll have Baron and Melisande play a duet for you,” she boasted, rather pleased by her mischievous threat.
Arianne threw her hands up in mock defeat as she turned toward the stairs. “You win.”
Cleopatra waved good-bye as she stepped past the Guardians who limited access to the elevator leading to the upper floors. She pressed the glowing number one and stepped back. The numbers ran backward here underground, or so she’d read. Above, in the tall buildings of the human cities, the first floor started on the ground and the numbers rose higher the farther you climbed toward the sky. Here, the deeper underground, the larger the level number.
The doors slid shut and she waited patiently for the short ride two floors above, her hands folded neatly before her. Sterling, home to half a dozen aristocrats, made up the entire first floor. This was one of the few elevators with access to the first and second floors. The second floor consisted of Arianne’s home, the council room, and a small private chapel.
A chill suddenly swept over her bare shoulders, sending her body into an involuntarily shimmy. Cleopatra took a step backward, studying the small space, suspicious of the draft. The suspended floor of the elevator jolted beneath her feet, and a man appeared out of thin air.
Disheveled black hair fell in wild waves down over his eyebrows, thick whiskers covered his chin and cheeks, darkened his face. His shadowed blue eyes honed in on her, and like a predator, he tracked each little movement she made. Again, Cleopatra backed away.
He came toward her with one long, slow step. Panic choked out her voice. The distance between them had been short to begin with, but now he could reach out and touch her.
She tried to move out of his reach, but as he took a second step, he stumbled, catching the handrail to stabilize his balance. The man fully blocked the elevator doors, controls, and any chance of escape.
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