Page 3 of The Monsters We Are
Hattie sniffed and swept her gaze over the room. “On a more important note, I don’t see any butlers in the buff.”
“Why would you?” asked Delilah. “It’s a run-up-to-Halloween party. People tend to wear scary outfits.”
“Butlers can be scary.”
“Not with their asses hanging out.”
“I’d happily be the judge of that.”
Delilah nudged her playfully. “You need to stop being such a perve. It’s not like you don’t get sex on the regular.”
A wicked grin curved Hattie’s mouth. “My George should be here soon. We agreed to try some roleplay again later. I’m going to be the poor helpless woman who’s hypnotized by a vampire who then drinks her blood and ravishes her. Should be interesting.”
“Well, I’m hoping to score tonight. It shouldn’t be too hard while I’m wearing this getup.” Delilah gestured at her Catwoman outfit. A private joke, really, since she could turn into a black cat of any size—including a monstrous beast with iron claws. “It does wonders for my figure.”
It did indeed. It had snatched the attention of many males. But then—with her curvy figure, flawless dark skin, and long legs—Delilah did that no matter what she was wearing.
“The dude at the bar has been eye-fucking you for about twenty minutes,” Xavier told the Latina.
Delilah glared at him. “And you’re only telling me this now? Why?”
Xavier shrugged. “I’m the Joker tonight. The Joker’s an asshole. Ergo . . .”
Anabel leaned into him. “The woman who’s dressed as Harley Quinn keeps looking at you.”
“She’s the new werewolf in town, right?” Delilah hummed, twirling one of her short, tight curls around her finger. “I’ve heard that werewolves are kind of wild in bed.”
Xavier’s eyes lit with interest. “Really? Well then, maybe I’ll go introduce myself in a little while.”
“As Xavier, or as whatever name you come up with at the time?” asked Anabel.
He lifted his shoulders. “Does it matter?”
“Itshould,” said the blonde. “But I don’t suppose you’ll ever quite get that.”
The song changed, and Hattie perked up. “What a classic. Back in the day, I would play this song at home over and over. Reggie got so sick of it he threatened to snap the record in half if I didn’t stop listening to it so much.”
Wynter tilted her head. “And who was Reggie?”
Hattie’s lips thinned. “Husband number three. Serial cheater. Highly temperamental. Threw a porcelain cup at me once.”
Wynter frowned. “What? Why?”
“He realized I’d poisoned the tea he just drank.”
“Huh,” said Anabel. “It’s not entirely surprising that he threw the cup, then.”
“No, I suppose not,” said Hattie.
Anabel jumped as a scream came from the speakers. “JesusChristmy heart can’t take this.”
Wynter felt her mouth twitch. The music might be loud, but it wasn’t always loud enough to muffle the sound effects of caskets creaking open, owls hooting, wolves howling, voices screaming, and the wind moaning. In general, Anabel possessed a nervous disposition, so the freaky sounds were easily getting her all worked up.
“Hey, Wyn, your man has arrived,” Delilah announced.
Wynter tracked the Latina’s gaze, and her stomach fluttered at the sight of the tall, lean figure of male perfection heading their way. Hooded eyes that were a striking lustrous black locked on her. A pleasant little shiver worked its way through her.
She vaguely registered that another Ancient, Azazel, was with him. Wynter only had eyes for Cain. His intense, unblinking, laser-focused stare made her think of a snake. So she hadn’t found it terribly surprising to learn that Ancients were in fact serpentine creatures—another thing that very few people knew. Sometimes, those eyes of his could look as empty as an open grave. Other times, they could be practically aflame with emotion.