the ivory-and-gold marble, she stood there, eyeing her reflection. Preparing herself. Bracing herself. And if she was giving herself another mental pep talk, so what?
This was so much more than she’d been prepared for. So much more. So much worse. So damned ugly . . . and the ugliness had seeped inside her, stained her. Changed her.
Ruined me—
“No.” Allowing herself to voice that one thing out loud, she closed her eyes and tried to view this objectively. If it was happening to somebody else . . . how would she feel if a friend was telling her this horrid, awful story?
She felt stained, yes. Changed, no doubt about it.
But she wasn’t ruined . . . unless she let that happen. And if she managed to do what she’d set out to do . . . stop this? Stop him? Then it was all worth it . . . every bit of pain, of shame, was worth it, to stop the death, the misery. To stop a monster.
She’d see this through.
Then she’d get away.
You have to get away.
Don’t let him take you away again . . .
The ghostly echo of the dream danced through her mind.
Odd that it was the very thing to give her strength. But it did. In her mind’s eye, she saw him. Joss . . . his name was Joss, and somehow, they mattered to each other. She’d get through this, because she had to find him. Had to understand what they were, who they had been . . . who they were meant to be.
She’d get through this because the scum that was Patrick Whitmore didn’t deserve to draw another breath.
Because those girls deserved freedom, and the dead deserved justice.
Resolved, she lifted her head and stared at her reflection. Pale green eyes glittered and color flooded her cheeks. She studied her reflection one more time. The makeup was understated. Elegant.
And wrong.
She needed to feel like herself. Not even time to start from scratch, but she could do something. Darken the eye shadow . . . yes, that helped. She removed the lip dye she’d chosen and went for a darker shade. The softer color she’d had on was definitely an Ella color, but it wasn’t for Dru. Dru wore lush, rich colors. Like this vibrant red. A bit more color on her cheeks.
Instead of the perfume she’d bought for Ella, she used her own. She’d kept some of that stuff from her real life handy, although she hadn’t let herself use it in months. So many months.
Straightening, she studied her reflection, and for the first time in all those months, she felt just a little bit more in control.
It would be coming to a head soon.
Very soon.
In the back of her mind, she felt a soft, warm brush . . . Joss’s presence.
She yearned to let him in, but not yet. Not right now. Couldn’t get rattled when she was due downstairs with Patrick.
The bloody party. She’d go to the bloody party. Mingle. Talk. Laugh and play the good little fiancée. And she’d find what she needed so she could end this.
One last lingering look in the mirror . . . her appearance was just a little off. The dress was right, she knew that. But the makeup, her demeanor . . . it was all Dru.
She was Dru. She’d come here to kick ass. She needed to remember that.
Turning away from the mirror, she moved to the door.
As she opened it, she could hear the soft play of music drifting upward. Her rooms were in the east wing, and as she moved through the house, the music grew louder, but not terribly so. Patrick wouldn’t want people to have to shout to be heard over the music, after all.
At the top of the stairs, she paused, eyeing the man waiting for her. He wore a tux, stretched across his shoulders, fitted to perfection. He wore it well, she knew. Kind of like the way a king cobra wore his skin, she supposed. But that was insulting to the cobra.
Patrick turned his head, smiling at her as she started down the stairs. There was a flicker in his eyes.
She accepted the hand he held out, smiling at him as she felt a rush of . . . disgruntlement. Even as she inwardly laughed, she kept a pleasant smile on her face. Pleasant, working hard to keep it from turning smug. She couldn’t break her cover now, but oh, how she wanted to.