Her eyes fixed on her mate, Alice said, “He’s one of the finest men I know, too.”
At last Gideon reached them. He presented her with a plate piled high with delicacies and petit fours. In his other hand he cradled two glasses of champagne. “Sorry,” he said to Bayne as Alice took one of the glasses from him. “I didn’t think I could juggle three glasses without dropping something.”
“S’all right,” said Bayne. “Champagne’s not my drink.”
Gideon gave Alice a swift kiss. “What were you two talking about while I was gone?”
She and the gryphon looked at each other. “Mating,” she said. “And how fast it can hit.”
“I blame it on the air,” said Gideon. He winked at her. “There’s an awful lot of Wyr mating pheromones floating around these days.”
“Well, you both look very happy, so good on you,” said Bayne, with a hearty clap to Gideon’s shoulders that threatened the plate of food. “As for me, I just might start wearing a gas mask.”
At that moment, the crowd parted and the procession of the gods started. They were led by the god Taliesin who was portrayed this year by a slender male. Taliesin was followed in short order by the other gods, each sumptuously costumed, and the crowd in the hall swept into a low bow as they passed.
Alice couldn’t help but shiver as Azrael, the god of death, drew near. Old legends told that a god attended every Masque. If there were ever a time when death might appear, she thought, it would be at this Masque.
The elegant, glittering figure passed by. She sucked in a breath and called herself silly. The last in the procession was the goddess of love, Inanna. The tall, striking woman moved with regal sinuousness, a wild mane of waist-length blonde hair flowing back from a feline mask. Her gown had seven embroidered lions pulling seven chariots. As Inanna drew level, the goddess turned to look at them, almost as if she had heard Bayne speak. Alice thought she caught a glimpse of something vast and amused gazing at the gryphon out of the mask’s eyeholes. Alice shook her head sharply, and the strange vision passed.
Then the orchestra struck the first notes, all the participants took their places, and the dance began.
About the Author
Thea Harrison resides in northern California. She wrote her first book, a romance, when she was nineteen and had sixteen romances published under the name Amanda Carpenter.
She took a break from writing to collect a couple of graduate degrees and a grown child. Her graduate degrees are in Philanthropic Studies and Library Information Science, but her first love has always been writing fiction. She's back with her paranormal Elder Races series. You can check out her website at: www.theaharrison.com, and also follow her on Twitter @TheaHarrison and on Facebook at www.facebook.com/TheaHarrison.