Chapter 7: The Gala

The Davenant autumn gala fills the ballroom of the Drake every year, and every pack in Chicago sends someone to watch the Alpha dance.

This year I came on the arm of his rival.

I wore green.

It was a plain silk dress with a low back, and I had chosen it myself from the rack of a shop where nobody knew my name.

Orson had looked at it when I came out of the guest suite and had said nothing for several seconds.

"Is it wrong?" I asked.

"It is not wrong."

He offered his arm.

Our terms said someone had to be watching, and in the Drake ballroom three hundred people were.

I felt every eye land on us the moment we stepped off the stairs.

A woman by the champagne tower put her hand to her mouth.

Two of Broderick's men turned their heads together.

"Smile," Orson said, low. "You're enjoying yourself."

"I'm terrified."

"Then smile like it."

I smiled.

He walked me to the center of the floor, where the music was waiting, and he turned me into his arms.

I had danced at this gala for seven years.

Always at the edge, with one of Broderick's men sent over to be polite.

Broderick danced with whichever Luna's daughter would do him the most good.

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