himself. He’d hiked up her skirt. His hands were braced on her white thighs. He saw the masked faces around them, sensed their eagerness as they leaned forward, eyes glittering. Alex was looking down at him, gripping his shoulders, trying to shove him away. The cavern was gone. They were in the banquet room.
He fell backward, letting her skirt drop, his erection throbbing valiantly in his jeans before humiliation washed over him. What the hell had they done to him? And how?
“The mist,” he said, feeling like the worst kind of fool, his mind still spinning, his body buzzing with whatever he had inhaled. He’d walked straight through the blast of that fog machine and hadn’t thought twice about it.
Lan Caihe grinned. “You can’t blame a god for trying.”
Darlington used the wall to push to his feet, keeping clear of the mirror. He could still feel its hum vibrating through him. He wanted to rage at these people. Interfering with representatives of Lethe was strictly prohibited, a violation of every code of the societies, but he also just wanted to get clear of Manuscript before he humiliated himself further. Everywhere he looked he saw masked and painted faces.
“Come on,” said Alex, taking his arm and leading him up the stairs, forcing him to walk ahead of her.
He knew they should stay. See the night past the witching hour, make sure nothing got past the forbidden floors or interfered with the culling. He couldn’t. He needed to get free. Now.
The stairs seemed to go on forever, turning and turning until Darlington had no idea how long they’d been climbing. He wanted to look back to make sure that Alex was still there, but he’d read enough stories to know you never looked back on your way out of hell.
The upper floor of Manuscript felt like a wild blaze of color and light. He could smell the fruit fermenting in the punch, the yeasty tang of sweat. The air felt sticky and warm against his skin.
Alex shook his arm and pulled him along by his elbow. All he could do was stumble after. They burst into the cold night air as if they’d slid through a membrane. Darlington inhaled deeply, feeling his head clear a little. He heard voices and realized Alex was talking to Mike Awolowo, the Manuscript delegation president. Kate Masters was beside him. She was covered in flowering vines. They were going to consume her—no. She was just dressed as Poison Ivy, for God’s sake.
“Unacceptable,” Darlington said. His lips felt fuzzy.
Alex kept one hand on his arm. “I’ll handle it. Stay here.”
They’d made it down the street to the Hutch. Darlington leaned his head against the Mercedes. He should pay attention to what Alex was saying to Kate and Mike, but the metal felt cool and forgiving against his face.
Moments later they were getting into his car and he was mumbling the address for Black Elm.
Mike and Kate peered through the passenger window as the car drove off.
“They’re afraid you’re going to report them,” Alex said.
“Damn right I will. They’re going to eat a huge fine. A suspension.”
“I told him I’d handle the write-up.”
“You will not.”
“You can’t be objective about this.”
No, he couldn’t. In his head, he was kneeling again, face pressed to her thighs, desperate to get closer. The thought of it made him instantly hard again, and he was grateful for the dark.
“What do you want me to say in the report?” Alex asked.
“All of it,” Darlington muttered miserably.
“It isn’t a big deal,” she said.
It had been a big deal, though. He had felt … “desire” wasn’t even the right word for it. He could still feel her skin under his palms, the heat of her against his lips through the thin fabric of her panties. What the hell was wrong with him?
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was unforgivable.”
“You got wasted and acted a fool at a party. Relax.”
“If you don’t want to continue working with me—”
“Shut up, Darlington,” Alex said. “I’m not doing this job without you.”
She got him back to Black Elm and put him to bed. The house was ice-cold and he realized his teeth were chattering. Alex lay down beside him with the covers pulled tight between them, and his heart hurt for the wanting of someone.
“Mike said the drug should be out of your system in about twelve hours.”
Darlington lay in his narrow bed, writing and rewriting angry emails in his head to the Manuscript alumni and the Lethe board, losing the