Cosette glided between the rows of racks, humming to herself. “You have a fair complexion, so we should stay away from pastels. We don’t want to wash you out, darling.”
“Got any leather?”
“Why yes!” Cosette plucked a hangar off the rack and held it up.
A laugh puffed out of Roksana’s mouth. “Oh, I, um…I don’t have the right undergarments for something that short. Or low.” She tilted her head sideways, trying to discern whether the fairy was holding a belt or a minidress. “What does it cover exactly?”
“Darling, I am helping you. Why would you not want these men distracted?” Her smile dropped and red bled into her irises. “If you touch the man of the house, I will fly you to the top of the Kremlin and let go.”
Roksana believed her. “I’m not really in the market for a man.”
“Oh, but you never know what the night will bring…” She shimmied her shoulders suggestively and let out a feminine squeal. “Now strip and let me have some fun!”
Ten minutes later, Roksana regarded herself in the mirror with approval. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn her hair any way but down. The fairy had wound it in a high, tight bun on top of her head, but somehow made the sides looks loose and feminine. Some essential oils had been rubbed into her skin, leaving it glowing and fragrant. Deep magenta painted her lips, black eyeliner had been smudged artfully and a pair of blood-red heels elongated her legs in a practically indecent way. And her boobs.
They looked like sexy produce.
“You hid the bruises,” Roksana murmured. “I can’t believe it.”
Cosette preened. “The magic of makeup!” She took Roksana’s hand, swinging it back and forth gleefully on their way to the door. “Confidence matters. Now you have it in spades.” Out of the side of her mouth, she said, “Poker humor.”
“Poker?” Roksana muttered. “I don’t even know her.”
Glitter sprang from the fairy as she laughed, pinging on the white floor like sparks. They traversed the dark hallway, but Cosette stopped before they could reach the top of the staircase. “I like you, Roksana.” She pressed her lips together. “I wonder if you know what you’re going into?”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you’re walking into a basement full of…well, other. Two vampires, three fae. There is only one other human competing tonight.” Her fingers flickered at her throat. “Even if you won, is there a possibility of you walking out alive?”
“Hell yes.” Roksana winked back at Cosette on her way down the stairs. “Although a fight in this dress might be awkward since I’m not wearing panties.”
Her words were still hanging in the air, along with Cosette’s high-pitched giggle, when she stepped into the basement—and found five pairs of male eyebrows raised, nobody moving.
Roksana shrugged. “What? I need a convenient place to hide the cards.”
Their laughter held an edge of wariness, but she took the opportunity to quickly take stock of her opponents. Of course, Tucker was there, smiling broadly at her joke without making eye contact, his signature cigar stuck in the corner of his mouth. The two identical men she’d seen enter the house were already seated at a professional, green-felted poker table, on opposite ends, both of them holding a tumbler of bubbly white liquid.
A fourth man stepped into her vicinity, holding out his hand for a shake, and she immediately recognized him. A slayer who’d gone through training at the same time as she, though his lessons hadn’t been private, like hers. They’d never formally communicated, but she’d probably passed him on a daily basis on the way to meals or combat sessions. He was blonde, had a crooked nose and perceptive eyes.
Did Inessa send him to hedge her bets? In case Roksana couldn’t deliver?
“Rob.” The slayer’s eyes danced down to her legs, then back up. “Very nice to meet you.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Gross. Can we get started?”
Roksana stepped around her admirer—and came to a dead stop.
There, standing in the corner of the room, in low conversation with another man, was Elias. Elias was there. Leaning on a fully stocked bar, complete with bartender, his hands were loosely clasped in front of him, his head nodding as he listened to what the man said. His gaze drifted to Roksana and away, as if she were invisible.
“Poker face, kiddo,” Tucker said for her ears alone, on his way to a seat at the table.
Roksana’s mouth snapped shut and she attempted to force calm into her whizzing bloodstream, though her hand shook as she pulled back the antique chair and sat. Why hadn’t Elias told her he was coming tonight? Had he planned to compete all along, even while teaching her how to play poker? Both of those possibilities opened a giant crater up in the center of her chest. No honesty, no friendship. Just deceit.