Masquerade [Kuskovo Estate]

[Jaxen Marveet]

Cyrena Marveet

Cyrena found nothing wanting from Tarik’s replacement at the bar. He was far more couth, for one thing, but Cyrena was raised a woman amidst a veritable mountain of men, and that those men were Russian, well, her standards were hypocritical to say the least.

As the bartender prepared her drink, a vodka martini with a twist, she studied Kristian, and went so far as to shake his hand. Perhaps unexpectedly, her handshake was firm and she gave no facial indication that the squeeze of his grip bothered her. The miniature bow was met with amusement, which was exchanged for her own name. “Cyrena Marveet.” The sound was rather slithering and sinful as it passed her lips. She shared one thing in common with her youngest brother, Jaxen, and that was the ability to use her tongue.

As the bartender delivered the finished martini, Cyrena sipped from the rim aggressively. This was no demure woman delicate with her movements, but there was something held back, however. As if she was restrained the whole of her life from coming into the fullness of herself.

The imagery of Tarik’s head lopped from his shoulders was playfully incited. She was not the kind of woman who relished in violence, nor even the joke of it, so she opted to focus on the other aspect of his line. “Jealousy, hmm,” she purred. “I like that in a man.” She held his gaze directly, wondering at the face that was obscured behind the remainder of his mask. His accent was quite European, enough to match his name.

Ultimately, she tipped a shoulder in a shrug, crossing her legs as though to cross Tarik from her mind. “But in this case, I am happily rid of my brother.”

She waited a moment to gauge his reaction before adding, “So, whose guest are you, Kristian?”