Goldsin (The Chrysophilist Trilogy Book 1)
Goldsin: Chapter 23

Ping.

The numbers on the elevator screen gradually increase.

Valentine is standing by my side. Only the hum of the elevator accompanies us while we wait to reach the Harrows’ floor. The party starts at 11 p.m.—an unusual time for a party. A bit late, if you ask me, but it doesn’t seem to bother anyone else.

“Are you sure you want to go tonight?” Valentine peeks down at me out of the corner of his eye.

This is the second time he’s asked me in the span of minutes.

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” I sigh. “Victoria will be there, and Lucian wants Julian and me to entertain her.”

I fidget at the idea of having to entertain her and what that might imply now I know she could be interested in me.

“Has Julian told you what these parties are like?”

I brush my hands over the peony-pink satin dress, then I plaster a reassuring smile on my face. “No, but it’s not my first Inferno Consortium party. I think I can handle it.”

Valentine doesn’t seem convinced. What has gotten into him?

The doors of the elevator open, and he walks out in silence. Pulling something from his jacket, he places it on his face. It takes me a few peeps to spot the badger mask.

“Nice mask,” I snicker. Half of it is normal, while the other is a striking red, as if the badger’s skin has been skinned off. “Did you bring one for me too? I had no idea we needed them.”

“You should know. The Harrows host this party every two months.” His voice is muffled from the mask.

I try not to let his dark tone leave an uneasy trail down my body, but it’s useless. It’s as if the moment the mask slid onto his face, someone else overtook him.

“The Hunt is one of the Inferno Consortium’s favorite events. Not only for the leading families but also for the girls working at Lucian’s brothels.”

My brow furrows in confusion as I try to make sense of what he’s telling me. His steps are long and unwavering as I try to keep up with him.

“It’s their way to upgrade from an average sex worker to an escort, but it’s also a gift for the Inferno Consortium families, who enjoy selecting their preferred girl in a . . . primal way.”

The air between us grows dark with the implication of what awaits me tonight.

“Lucian . . . he likes variety. But the truth is, he changes the girls at his brothels because the Consortium members from New York need somewhere to keep the girls who didn’t get bought in the annual auction.”

I stumble at his words. The revelation slides out of his mouth with ease. I thought I knew enough about the Inferno Consortium, yet the deeper I dig into this sinister world, the more I want to run as far away from here as I can.

“Annual auction . . . Are the girls participating of their free will?”

It doesn’t even seem like he heard me. He continues to walk straight ahead, reaching for the two guards outside the door.

“Valentine!” I hurry my steps to keep pace with him.

The guard doesn’t even look up from the clipboard in his hand as Valentine walks past him and inside.

“You won’t need one,” he tosses over his shoulder, answering my previous question about the mask, so gently spoken I would have missed his words if I weren’t trailing behind him.

My brows deepen at his sudden cold attitude and the way he just dodged my question about the girls.

I’m intending to ask what’s going on when an arm springs out, blocking my path. Looking down at it, I gape at the guard who isn’t even blessing me with his attention.

“Name?” he hisses.

I freeze at the question. After twenty-five years of being known as the golden one, of having every pair of eyes on me, hearing this question doesn’t make me feel good like I thought it would.

The guard knows who I am. They all know me as Valentine’s daughter—their boss’s daughter—so why is he asking me my name . . . and why isn’t he looking me in the eye?

“Aurelia,” I reply, a bitter taste in my mouth. “Draven.”

He doesn’t react to the name. Nothing, not a blink of an eye or a slight glance in my direction. Instead he scans the clipboard with the tip of his pen before tapping on a specific spot. Then he grabs a pin and a white ribbon from the bowl next to him.

“Wear this around your neck.”

“Why do I need to⁠—?”

He waves a hand, dismissing me, before the guard next to him gives me a terse push, urging me inside.

I stumble in my heels, grabbing onto the wall for balance. I gape at how different the place looks. The Harrows’ penthouse has been stripped of its usual austere appearance. In its place is this mysterious, gloomy, pitch-black hole.

The floor-to-ceiling windows have been obscured. The only source of light comes from the dancing flames of the candles, which have been strategically placed to illuminate the adjoining pieces of art. Yet that’s not all they’re shining their light on.

The penthouse has been turned into something unrecognizable, as if stripped bare of all pretenses. The true Harrow family reflects off the polished surfaces, from the ominous portraits of Lucian now hanging on the corridor walls to the smell of cigar present in every corner of the house.

He isn’t locked in his studio anymore; he is now the sole presence in this home. Anyone walking through that door will feel his chilling eyes on them as they make their way to one of the living rooms. It’s an act of power. He’s showcasing his dominance, reminding everyone who the leader is.

Tying the ribbon around my neck, I make a bow with the extra material then delicately fix the pin to my dress without ruining it.

Glancing around me, I notice we’re in the same living room where I first spoke with Victoria, only now there is no white couch, just big rosebushes in black vases and long tables holding drinks at the far ends of the room, leaving a lot of space in the middle . . .

Now that I think about it, almost all the furniture is gone.

I search for Valentine but can’t seem to replace him. I thought he was going to be here somewhere waiting for me to enter.

A man with a badger mask walks past me, and I immediately call out to him.

“Valentine?”

The man turns, and when he does, I catch how his mask lacks the red half like Valentine’s.

“Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

Everyone seems to be wearing a mask. Well, mostly men. There are badger masks, but also piercing, deep red fox masks, and there are far more foxes in the room.

Chills erupt all over my body as I think back to what Valentine told me about this party. The Hunt. Are they wearing masks so we can’t identify them or to stoke the sick pleasure they feel from chasing down girls like predators?

Something feels off. Even Victoria’s party didn’t make me this uncomfortable . . . this uncertain. Like I just unknowingly walked into a party I don’t belong at.

I should replace Valentine or Julian right away. I don’t think walking around the place alone is a good idea.

I nibble on my lower lip as I glance around the room again. I don’t think I’ll be able to spot Julian in a sea of masked people . . .

At least it’s pretty obvious who I am. He’ll soon come for me.

I fill my fidgeting hands with a glass of sparkling wine and stroll aimlessly deeper inside. Everyone seems to be divided into groups of their designated mask. Heads turn my way, and I give a sweet smile at whoever hides behind them.

I’m sipping from my almost empty glass when a giggling reaches my ears. It doesn’t take long for me to replace the source. A group of girls, bare of masks, isn’t hard to miss. Maybe they could help me make sense of this weird night.

My glossy lips stretch to the side as I approach them with the friendliest smile. “Hey there.”

Their heads snap toward me.

“I’m Aurelia,” I greet them before gesturing toward our bare faces with a light chuckle. “Seems we’re the only ones without masks here, huh? Any idea why?”

One of them snorts, placing a hand over her mouth to prevent a laugh. The one closer to me steps forward, her chocolate eyes narrowing as they fall down my body and back up.

“You think you’re cute?” She crosses her arms over her bursting cleavage. “You may have that whole pure-girl act going on, but I can see how used and trashy you really are. No guy here will want you, and if you try to steal our men . . . well, I’ll personally make sure you pay for it.”

My lips part, words forming, but she flips her long hair and leaves. The others follow right behind her, and I watch them saunter away, at a loss for words.

I gulp down the remaining contents of my glass and hunt for some more. I’ll need a lot to drink if I want to survive the night.

It takes me a while to replace something else to drink. The tables only hold empty glasses by the time I reach them, and there may be a lot of staff members scurrying around the place, but they’re all dressed in black, with matching masks covering their faces, so under the dim lights they’re easy to miss as they blend in seamlessly with the surroundings.

Pulling out my phone, I scroll down my contacts list until Julian’s name appears. He still didn’t replace me, and staying alone in this place gives me the creeps.

Clicking on his name, I let it ring until it reaches voice mail, over and over again.

Why is he not answering his phone?

I dial again.

No answer.

My finger hovers over his name, but I refrain from clicking it again.

“Thank you all for being here.”

The voice booms through the room, its crudeness calling everyone to fall silent, the chatter and clinking of glasses stopping instantly. Everyone turns their attention toward the man wearing a gold fox mask, standing on a makeshift stage at the far end of the room, where the big windows showcasing the starlit city once were.

The stale smell of cigar intensifies, burning my nostrils, and my breathing shallows at the same moment as something clicks into place and I start to remember.

“I ran so fast. My hair was slapping at my face, and he was right behind me, his gold mask with black holes for eyes grating at my deepest, most carnal self.” My mother’s words flood my mind. “Catch me. Catch me and do with me what you will.”

The messy handwriting inked on the very first pages of her diary comes crashing down on me. I remember those were the only moments she seemed happy. Anytime I read those pages, it felt like her soul would appear in front of my eyes with the brightest of smiles as she recalled the time she left home and found herself here.

Oh, how I ache to tell her to never set foot in this house.

To run. Far, far away.

“Rule number one,” the man wearing the gold mask—Lucian—states. “No unmasking until the end of the night.”

Her words accompany his.

“The moment his teeth sank into me I knew I was losing myself. But gosh, how exhilarating it felt to finally have someone treat me with hands that dealt with need instead of politeness.”

“Rule number two. The rabbits can run for however long they please, but once they get captured, they need to fully submit.”

“He illustrated power. The kind I was used to, the kind I hated, but he didn’t treat me like they did at home. He seemed to see more than just my skin. He wanted to carve the depths of it.”

“Rule number three. Consent is taken, not given. Remember, foxes.” He smirks, and the crowd goes into a frenzy, cheering loudly. But my mother’s voice is louder.

“He broke the first rule, and call me romantic, but that did it for me. The mask was off, and he was breathtaking. With deep blue eyes and the palest of skin, like snow. I thought that was a sign. I love snow.”

My throat constricts, mouth as dry as a desert as my vision blurs.

“Rule number four. You are allowed to do whatever you want to your prey. As long as you let us know where you do so, so we can deep-clean afterward.”

“He was harsh. It hurt in the beginning, but then he gave me soft kisses all over my shoulders and my cheeks and the pain faded into intoxicating pleasure.”

“And rule number five.” Lucian stills, waits a second, then shouts, “Enjoy yourselves!” He claps his hands, signaling for the game to begin.

Now I understand why Valentine didn’t seem convinced about letting me join in tonight. Why didn’t he tell me my mother was once at a party just like this one? That she was one of the girls.

I shouldn’t have come. I can’t . . . I can’t just stay here and let whatever happened to my mother happen to me too. Screw Julian and Victoria.

For fuck’s sake, screw Lucian Harrow.

Laughter erupts, and I jump at the unexpected sound. A girl without a mask is giggling as a fox chases her through the corridor. He makes menacing noises that seem to fuel her giggles even more. Goose bumps cover my whole body at the view.

They’ve all lost their minds. I shake my head in disbelief as my body shakes with horror.

“Run,” a voice whispers in my ear from behind, and I all but scream.

Fuck these lunatics.

Turning around, I raise my hand, ready to slap the last remaining brain cell out of them, when the man wearing a fox mask dodges it with no effort. His hands are in his pockets while he stands still, unaffected.

“Run,” he repeats, “or you’ll be easy prey. You don’t want to be caught by the wrong fox.”

I don’t recognize his voice. Or his nonchalant demeanor.

He reaches for the pin before I can back away and brushes his thumb over it. “The royal rabbit. They’ve already staked their claim.”

“What do you mean?” My eyes bore into his. “Staked their claim? I’m not an object! No one can claim me!”

His laugh is velvet, a slimy caress to my tense nerves. It deepens my unease.

“Oh, but they already have.”

“Who are you?” My stomach churns.

“Does it matter?” The black holes where his eyes are lock with mine. “All that matters is that you need to hide—now.”

I stare at the shades of red in his mask, how they play with the scarce light of the candle. If I squint my eyes, the fox appears to be moving. Alive and vigilant.

“Do we know each other?” Attempting to catch a glimpse of him, I take a step around him. Waves of dark golden hair, almost like burned honey, frame the red mask as a few strands fall over it. I try to move a tad to the left. This way, the candlelight can cast more light over him, and I’ll be able to see more of him.

But he’s a fox. Intuitive, intelligent, and playful. And at my imperceptible movement, he blows on the candle.

Destroying the only way I had to learn more about him.

Leaving me between the claws of the shadows.

“Wait!” Urgency taints my voice, but it still comes just below a whisper.

“Hide in the Harrows’ walk-in closet,” he urges. “Behind Lady Harrow’s winter coats is a concave wall, where you can wait until the end of the party at exactly three in the morning.”

“How do you⁠—?”

“It’s where your mother hid.”

His words stab me like a thousand knives, leaving me stumbling on the spot. My vision blurs even more, hands tingling.

“Wha—?”

Screaming cuts me off mid-sentence.

A girl—the one who was holding in her laughter earlier—is caged between the arms of a fox, his mouth latched onto her neck as he rips the ribbon with his teeth. From where I’m standing, it looks like a fox biting into its prey, killing it.

He spits the ribbon onto the floor and goes back for more.

Then I see her thrust at his chest, her body trembling even more, until a piercing shriek splits the silence.

Panic blinds me as I see her throwing punches at him.

He doesn’t flinch. Instead he remains in the same spot, with his mouth on her neck.

I think I’m truly seeing a fox devour a rabbit.

She screams, and I recoil. Her voice wobbles as it turns into despair, wailing.

The more strangled sounds she makes, the more I’m ravaged with despair.

I can’t seem to move. I want to help. Push him away from her—from leaving another mark on her skin.

But I can’t move.

My heart is thundering, but I can’t move.

Her knees buckle until her body slumps into his arms. Obedient, compliant, now she’s lost her senses. The fox lifts her in his arms. Her head tips back, and I see the mark he left with his teeth. The crimson dripping down her fair skin. The consequences of my weakness. And a suppressed scream leaves my mouth.

I frantically look around me for someone to share my reaction. Instead I come face-to-face with Lucian still onstage, and I finally notice the two golden foxes behind him—how they stand unmoving. Observant.

The Harrow brothers are staring at me. Their father too.

Lucian remains still, and the fox on his left copies him, detached, with his hands in his suit pockets. Yet his stare is scorching-hot on my skin, making me want to peel every layer of it off me. His posture screams of control—the kind that has his hands fisting in his pockets. Like he wants to do something but can’t. Like he’s the opposite of in control.

Then my eyes move to the right, where the other fox stands tall, his hands visible with all his built-up emotion. Julian’s face may be covered, but I can picture the tautness of his brow and the way his lips are crooked in a sinister smile.

I know that’s him . . . but I’m even more certain the moment he tilts his head.

Ravenous.