I hurry out the dance hall, keeping my eyes down to avoid eye contact with the campers coming in. The dance hall...with its bright lights and loud music...where dozens of demigods were having the time of their lives...where no one even bothered to ask me to dance.
I must have looked pathetic. I looked down on the shimmering dress I was wearing and nearly broke down right there and then. Sofia had stayed up all night to sow me this dress and it was gorgeous: made of silvery blue lace, with ballerina pleats fanning out from a rhinestone-studded belt. The tube neckline had an intricate bead work done so perfectly that it didn't overwhelm the whole thing. I had experimented with the straightening iron and nearly burned my hair in the process. I had bothered to try on make-up (mascara, blush and light lipstick) and had even dared to wear freakishly high heels despite my record of tripping in anything higher than slippers. And for what? For ten minutes of standing like a fool by the punch table, watching other girls get invited to the dance floor.
"I am a fool." I muttered angrily, wiping away the traitor tears that had started to fall.
"You sure look like one."
I had just decided that the Sadie Hawkins dance was getting boring as hell when I saw her: the ticket out of my problem.
She had come in the dance hall alone, which was quite surprising since she looked smoking hot. I watched her wander around, trying to guess who it is she got all dolled up for. Was it Jonathan Adams? That snotty good boy leader of our cabin that loves to put on the superhero act to get the ladies. I decided I would throw a fit if it was. Mr. Perfect was getting on my nerves.
Imagine my delight when I realized that not only was it not Mr. Perfect-Adams but she had come in dateless. Best part? She had drank one whole cup of the punch that I had just spiked with vodka before heading out. Oh, gods, this was going to be fun.
I followed her out until we got near enough the cabins. That's when she started to cry.
Oh gods, what a buzz kill. I thought grumpily. I do hate it when women start bawling.
"You sure look like one." I said sourly, walking right up to her. She jumped at the sound of my voice and turned sharply to look at me, eyes wide.
Gods, she was gorgeous. I thought, whistling lowly. Dark hair that fell down in a smooth curtain down her back, eyes that were rimmed with thick lashes (and tears) and rosy cheeks. She was tall too, with long legs and dainty feet. Why do I not know her? "Well, you're a new face." I say, smiling slowly.
Damn my luck, of all the guys to find me in the middle of the night it had to be Lucas St. Pierre. Lucas St .Pierre...smiling...creepily...at me.
"And judging from the stubble on your cheek, you're an old one." I reply frostily, crossing my arms to look fierce. In truth, I had suddenly became aware that I was wearing nothing but a sheer dress that left my arms and legs bare. "Lucas St. Pierre, right?"
He smiled and walked calmly closer, hands behind his back like he was taking a leisurely walk in the park. "You know me," he chuckled, delighted. "My reputation does precede me. I hope, what you've heard, it's not all bad?"
"A little bad. Mostly repulsive really." I answer. I have heard too many rumors about this guy. They don't call him the Devil's spawn for nothing. Oh. Gods. I was talking to the Devil's spawn. The devil's spawn! I should be running in the opposite direction!
Too late. I found myself nearly nose-to-nose with the guy. He ran a finger across my face and every hair on my body seemed to rise stiffly in response.
"Well, let's change that, darling, shall we?" he breathed.
[to be continued]