I down the champagne while Yael shakes hands with the pair, and all the while I stare at Wood. I force my breathing back to normal, my pulse to stop racing and I smile, my insides freezing and heart turning cold as ice at the sight of the huge ring on Octavia's hand. There is no fucking way I will let him win this. Not when I can't seem to get him out of my head, not when I still see his face while fucking someone else.
With a cold smile, I raise an eyebrow at Wood, taking another glass from a passing waiter instead of introducing myself. "We know each other," I say, sipping on Dom Pérignon, playing the perfect game of pretend, as if I'm not actually a volatile black hole inside the seemingly flawless exterior.
"Oh, you do?" Octavia asks, smiling up at Wood, whose jaw is clenched, though I don't think she notices.
Wood grins nonchalantly, finishing his glass. "Barely."
"Right, right, you two did that shoot together a couple of months ago," Roger exclaims, apparently only now realising who I am, eyes flitting between me and Wood, and I can already sense the wheels turning in his head. "It was quite something, there were rumours, of course, but there are always…"
"Right," I say, interrupting him, and I put my hand on his shoulder, successfully shutting him up. "Just rumours." I wink at Wood and feel the deep enjoyment that comes when he looks away, unable to hold my gaze. This, I am certain everyone notices.
Yael catches my eye and smirks, taking Roger's hand in her own. "Roger, you know how journalists love to create scandals," she says.
Roger laughs, shaking his head, "Don't remind me, I'm still fixing that mess from Liverpool, but I'm sure Octavia knows even better than I."
Octavia rolls her eyes, taking a sip of her drink, "I swear to Merlin, the press will be the death of my father, they've been speculating about the latest transfer from the Wimbourne Wasps and hounding him about it, as if the owner of Puddlemere hasn't got anything better to do than to feed their…"
Wood salutes me from behind her back, a devilish smirk playing on his face, but I keep myself under control, still pretending to listen to Octavia's rant with a neutral expression, occasionally humming my agreement at appropriate times, even though I would much rather wipe that smirk off his face. He's marrying the daughter of Puddlemere's owner and I can't help but bitterly think how typical that is. She's quite the catch. Why the fuck am I feeling like this?
Roger disentangles himself from Yael, slightly flushed but quick to compose himself. The man has an admirable amount of self-control because the design of Yael's dress means that she, like I, is definitely on full display. "I have to mingle, and well…," he looks meaningfully at Yael and me, which is our cue to start flirting and let people eye fuck us for the greater good.
Yael loops her arm through mine and, with one last look into Wood's eyes, I turn towards the rest of the guests with her, still feeling the burn of his glare at the back of my neck. I bare my teeth like a wolf, enjoying the angry whispering I hear from behind me. Octavia might have pretended not to notice anything while we were all together, but I certainly wasn't trying to be too subtle. And if there is something I am good at, it is sowing discord and creating chaos.
The Nymph Grove, though called by everyone as just The Nymph, a historical wizarding location, an old manor that used to belong to an extinct pureblood line with an old enchanted grove in the back situated in the wizarding part of Belgravia, is decorated in white and gold, enchanted trees shimmering with scented fairy lights, the high vaulted ceiling echoing the night sky, dimmed stars reflected in the conjured pond at the centre of this bewitched amalgam of forest and castle, and there is a small stream meandering between tables, encircling the stage where the band is playing.
I stroll through the large hall with Yael, our faces perfect masks of bland smiles and flirtatious looks, and my Veela heritage means that everyone looks. The guests are a motley collection of high-ranking Ministry officials, media moguls, popular celebrities, businessmen of dubious reputation, old money purebloods, Gringotts goblins, their rivals, the LeFay banking family, and, of course, Quidditch players with their team managers and owners. The backdrop is recognisable but yet again, I find myself distracted. There's no rush of excitement that I usually feel at these events, playing the people I meet, no satisfaction in knowing which buttons to push.
We stop next to a standing table and my eyes once again find Wood, staring at me from across the crowded space, the expression on his face unreadable.
"If you really want to make Wood jealous, he is the perfect choice," Yael murmurs, discreetly nodding towards a tall, muscular guy in a fitted suit at a table not far from us, surrounded by a group of businessmen. He catches me staring and smirks, a couple of loose strands of blonde hair falling into his eyes as he laughs at something one of the men says.
I grab another glass of champagne from one of the waiters, taking a sip before looking back at Yael. "And why's that?"
Yael raises her eyebrows and smiles wickedly. "You really need to start following Quidditch. That's Raphaël Perrault, the Keeper for Ballycastle Bats and the French National Team...and Wood's biggest rival. To say that they don't like each other would be an understatement."
"You're right, it seems I should follow Quidditch." I start walking towards Raphaël's table but Yael reaches out and catches me around the wrist.
"Freya, wait. Do you have… Why are you doing this?" she asks, an undercurrent of worry in her lilting voice.
I smile, baring my teeth, quieting the traitorous pang of hurt when I think about Wood and his fiancée, not wanting Yael to know how fucked up and twisted I get just thinking about him. It's fucking stupid.
"Because I can," I say instead. "And because I don't like to lose."
I leave her standing there, knowing she'll soon find her own fun and Roger will be grateful, but I have lost interest in being just a pretty face at this party from the moment I first saw Wood. I still feel his eyes on me as I make my way towards Raphaël, who is now completely ignoring his companions. Smiling, I don't miss how he can't seem to look away. Men are so fucking easy.
Some of the people around him leave the table and I take their place, sidling up to him and setting the glass of champagne on the table.
"I don't think we've met," Raphaël says in a faint French accent, his voice deep and husky.
I grin and take a drink from my glass before answering. "You'd remember if we had."
"I don't doubt that. I'm Raphaël," he smiles, shaking my hand, his blue eyes distractingly bright.
I lick my lips as his eyes flit between my face and my body, enjoying the attention. "Freya."
"And what do you do, Freya?" Raphaël murmurs, waving at a waiter who brings an entire bottle of Serpentgin. We're in Wood's line of vision and I feel my neck burning from his stare.
I put a hand on top of Raphaël's arm and smirk up at him. "I'm a model."
He flashes me a charming smile, though for all his good looks, I don't feel anything. "Makes sense. You are a Veela."
The desire to roll my eyes is strong, but I keep myself in check and look up at him behind half-closed eyes. "And you are observant." He smirks at that, moving closer to me and putting an arm around my waist.
"Let's cut to the chase," he whispers into my ear, leaning over me, "I've got one of the rooms on the upper floor. We can get out of here," he continues and all the while Wood is looking at us, his dark eyes boring into my own. Octavia is next to him, and I recognise Puddlemere's owner, her father, but Wood only has eyes for me. I grind back against Raphaël slightly and smirk over the rim of my glass.
The band starts playing a livelier song, the tune familiar, and it's the perfect opportunity.
"How about we dance first?" I ask and turn towards Raphaël, my back against the table. He grins and leans over my shoulder, planting a kiss at the crook of my neck before taking his glass behind me. He leans away and downs the Serpentgin, his eyes darker now, the deep blue flashing in the dim lights of the hall.
"Of course," he says, and he leads me towards the dance floor, straight past Wood's table and I know I've struck a match within him, his eyes flashing with jealousy. Wood watches us as Raphaël pulls me flush with his body and we dance in the haze of the faint mist that surrounds us, enticing our bodies to move together. Raphaël is a good dancer and when he puts his hand lower I let him, enjoying the sensation even when my eyes are locked with Wood's. I'm more enjoying the fact that he's watching us and the way his jaw is clenched than anything Raphaël is doing to me.
We dance for a while until I get bored and tired, another comedown closing in and I need something to keep me going, last night catching up with me fast, and I drag Raphaël back to his table. He doesn't seem to mind and I know he's expecting us to go up to his room.
Roger is at the table, and I raise my eyebrows at him as he looks me over. "Mr Perrault!" he exclaims, a wide smile on his face. "I see you're enjoying yourself."
I lean against the table, ignoring the rest of the people standing around it, not seeing their faces, my vision slightly blurry.
"Freya is keeping me in good company," Raphaël says and laughs. I roll my eyes while he's not paying attention and lean over to Roger.
"Yael mentioned you might have something for me," I whisper, hoping she wasn't wrong, otherwise I might pass out in the middle of The Nymph. Roger frowns but nods, discreetly putting a small vial filled with the silvery-white powder into my open palm. I sigh with relief, planning to excuse myself and go to the loo, but at that moment, my vision is filled with the towering presence of Oliver Wood. His fiancée is nowhere to be seen.
"Perrault," he says, and there's a twinge of annoyance in his voice.
Raphaël nods at Wood, smirking. "Wood. How's your shoulder?"
I see Wood tense up and clench his fists. "My shoulder is fine. How's your groin?"
"Now, now, gentlemen," Roger starts, filling up their glasses with Firewhisky. "All of this is just friendly competition, and we're all here for a good cause. How about we all have a drink?" Roger looks around, his eyes settling on me, and suddenly both Wood and Raphaël are looking at me as well.
I nod with a smile, my mind fuzzy, but they don't seem to notice. Roger pushes a glass towards me and raises his own. "To you," he says, and we all drink, the alcohol burning me from inside, warming me up and the coldness that started enveloping me is kept at bay for a moment.
There's a shuffle of people, a couple of goblins coming our way, straight for Raphaël and with them walks a man I hadn't hoped to see. I internally scream, desperately wanting to get away, but I'm surrounded and I have to keep up my facade. The goblins start talking to Raphaël and his manager who appeared seemingly out of nowhere, while the man looks me over with a critical eye.
"Roger, my good man, I wasn't aware you'd stooped so low to invite… Whores to your events. I might've reconsidered coming," he says, sipping on straight vodka with a calm face.
Both Wood and Roger tense up next to me, but I shake my head at them.
"Hello, father. Fancy seeing you here," I say in a cold voice. Roman Avery, the man who left us when I was six, and only occasionally appeared in our lives, him and my mother like two combustible fireballs when in each other's vicinity. He's also one rich bastard, owning half the properties in wizarding London.
He sneers at me, "You're no daughter of mine, Veela. Just an unnatural whore, like your fucking mother."
And even though I've heard those words numerous times in my life, they still fucking hurt like a thousand knives stabbing me in the heart.
Wood takes a step toward him and my father just laughs. "You should reconsider what you're about to do because I can destroy your career, Oliver Wood. And this... Thing is not worth it, believe me. Has she put you under her spell?"
"Mr Avery –" Roger trails off, at a loss on what to say, and he takes a step back when he realises that Wood is not backing down.
I grab Wood's hand before he can take a swing at my father, digging my nails into the hard skin of his forearm. "Don't," I say in a low voice and Wood turns to look at me, the expression on his face one of absolute fury. I let go of his arm, take my bag, and walk away without looking back at the group.
It takes an unnatural amount of self-control not to break into a run in the middle of the crowd, but due to all the years of learning how to survive in a world bent on breaking me just for being who I am, I manage to calmly walk through the enchanted forest trees, the semi-darkness now seeming sinister instead of magical. I reach the glass door that leads to the outside, to the ancient grove, and I push them open with a force that makes the glass rattle, gulping down the fresh air greedily.
I lean against the wall of The Nymph, the cold stone feeling comforting on my burning skin and I realise I'm still clutching the vial that Roger gave me. I bring it before my eyes, staring into the comforting abyss that the powder offers, the euphoria I know will follow, the numbness coming after, the outside world not having any meaning and there is no question in my mind when I uncork the vial with a smile.
"Don't," a gruff voice says, and I look up, my grip on the vial faltering. Wood is standing before me, rubbing his jaw. "Your father is a dick."
"I don't need you to defend me," I say, my words cutting like sharp steel through the night air.
Wood frowns, coming closer, and the scent of him is achingly familiar, my body involuntarily responding to the closeness, and I look away. "I'm not like him," he says, taking another step towards me, trapping me against the wall.
"Yeah, right. Didn't you say the same things?" I say. "Listen, Wood, you can just leave, I don't want your pity and I certainly –"
I don't finish the sentence because his hot lips are on mine, and the taste of him feels like coming home, my body instinctively arching into his. Wood bites lightly on my bottom lip and leans back slightly, our breaths mixing in the cold air, the flames spreading all over my body.
"You're engaged," I whisper but he doesn't say anything, his eyes full of sin as he kisses me again in the darkness, licking my neck, hands gripping my hips roughly, and he flips me over, pinning me up against the wall, pulling at my hair and bending my head back. I feel his cock straining against his trousers, rubbing against my ass, and his hand is already under my dress, tearing my knickers down, and when he touches me I'm already wet.
"Fuck, you're so hot," he murmurs against the bare skin of my back, fingers teasingly playing with my clit and I let out an undignified moan, hips bucking against his hand, begging for more, my hands clutching at the wall for support.
Wood groans, his thumb rubbing my clit, one finger inside me but it's not enough. He puts a hand around my neck, and the pressure sends a jolt of pleasure through me. I reach back, rubbing his cock through the hard fabric, fumbling with his belt and zipper until finally, I touch the soft skin, stroking him slowly, and he whispers a curse.
His fingers are rubbing faster and I feel myself on the brink of coming but I want him inside me, though Wood seems intent on teasing me and he stops, sucking on the skin just below my ear. I move against him. "Are you close?" he asks, even though he fucking knows, and I nod, my breaths coming out fast and shallow, my head feeling like explosions are happening inside my brain.
"Fuck, yes," I whisper and I can feel him smirking.
He lightly touches my clit again, his other hand playing with my nipples and I close my eyes, biting my lip. Wood bites down on my shoulder, his hips grinding against my ass. "I want you to beg," he says and I didn't think it was possible but I get even more turned on.
"Oliver, please… I need you inside me," I gasp out, reaching back again but he stops me, pinning my hands above my head with one hand, his body flush with mine. He pushes my dress up around my hips and I finally feel him rubbing his cock against my wet pussy, slowly, torturously. "Stop teasing me, please…" I whimper and he kisses my neck, pushing inside me and it's like I've taken the vial, pure euphoria coursing through my veins as he goes faster and harder, his grip on me tightening, leaving bruises on the pale skin as we come undone together, pulses racing, our moans drowned out in the music coming from The Nymph.
Wood holds me against the wall while we recover, both of us breathing hard, and I briefly wonder what would've happened if someone walked out and saw us. But we got lucky. I pull the dress down to cover myself and turn towards Wood, who just finished buckling his belt. He looks at me with a smile.
"What are you smiling for?" I ask, remembering Octavia, remembering the rest of this cursed evening, expecting him to disappear the moment we're finished. I should've just taken that stupid vial and avoided the pain I know will come. I look back at him and he's still smiling.
"You called me Oliver."
