Chapter 185 Damon
Chapter 185 Damon
Cassian nodded, understanding perfectly, while the stranger remained utterly lost.
"Can someone explain this to me, or am I supposed to guess?"
Blanche stared at him, finally discerning his true nature and aura.
"What I'd like explained is why an angel is in my mansion, looks exactly like my demon, and calls me Godmother."
Cassian took it upon himself to make the introductions.
"Ma'am, allow me to introduce Damon, the son of Phénix and the archangel Gabrielle. Your godson. He's from the future. Your godmother has a weakness for men in evening wear, which is going to be a problem considering she has a gala tonight. Especially since she's currently a teenager with hormones running wild. And, most importantly: Kiyan didn't say thank you."
Damon burst out laughing at the same time as Blanche. Cassian had adopted a ridiculously high-pitched voice.
The tension instantly evaporated.
"My teenage Godmother! I'm so happy I came to see this!" Damon exclaimed.
"Phénix... father?! And with an archangel on top of that?!" Blanche exclaimed at the same time.
They dissolved into contagious laughter beneath the delighted gazes of the smiling phoenixes.
"I wish I could be a little mouse and slip into your pocket so I could witness your beginnings... But alas, it's time for me to go," Damon replied.
"And I would absolutely love to see your father's face when I tell him he has a son!" Blanche continued.
"Unfortunately, that could change things. You can't tell him anything," Cassian concluded.
"Same goes for you," Blanche agreed. "Anyway, it's lovely to meet you, Damon."
She drank her third glass, finally mentally prepared to go to the gala—not because of the alcohol, which had no effect whatsoever, but because Damon had lifted her spirits—and sprang to her feet, determined to take a proper shower.
"Strange name for an angel, though..." she added.
"That's your fault! You're the one who called me that!" Damon retorted, rushing toward her to wrap her in a huge hug and plant a loud kiss on her cheek.
"Of course! I'm responsible for everything in this world!" Blanche grumbled, trying to hide her embarrassment.
Even though, deep down, she was delighted.
"Not just this world," added the half-Cambion, half-Nephilim abomination. "Give Uncle Kiyan a kiss from me."
He hugged her one last time, said goodbye to the siblings, and disappeared.
The worst part was that he had remained wrapped in nothing but a towel the entire time.
Blanche couldn't help thinking that, physically, he had absolutely nothing to envy his father for.
Three hours later, Blanche found herself facing the mirror again.
She stood there for several seconds without moving, almost unable to recognize her own reflection.
The young woman staring back at her had little left in common with the somewhat lost teenager she'd been only a few hours earlier. The preparations had erased the last traces of that impression of fragility without making her feel as though she were playing a part.
The white dress was largely responsible.
Heavy with pearls, it rested elegantly on her shoulders and followed the contours of her figure with remarkable fluidity. Countless pearls caught the light with every movement, sending tiny mother-of-pearl glimmers dancing across the fabric.
Cassie had worked wonders.
The dress had been designed to stay perfectly in place despite the lack of a bra, thanks to meticulous tailoring and invisible fastenings. Blanche therefore didn't need to constantly adjust it or worry about the slightest wrong movement.
She simply felt... dressed.
Elegant.
Almost like a stranger to herself.
Her hair, carefully styled, framed her face with a sophistication she wasn't used to wearing. The white of the dress brought out the red in her hair and gave her complexion an extra glow.
She then lowered her eyes to her shoes.
High white silk heels completed the outfit. Their refined silhouette might have seemed classic if their red soles hadn't added that subtle, daring touch of color.
Blanche shifted her foot slightly.
"I'm going to kill myself in these."
She took a few steps.
Her gait was still hesitant, but she managed to regain her balance.
That would have to be enough.
As for jewelry, she had ultimately decided against almost everything.
No necklace.
No extravagant earrings.
No bracelet designed to draw attention.
The dress was already elaborate enough.
She had simply chosen a small white pearl clutch from her enormous collection. Understated and delicate, it matched the rest of her outfit perfectly.
Blanche took it between her fingers and gave herself one last look.
There was just enough room inside for her phone and her grandfather's gift.
Her hair, carefully curled, was framed by two fishtail braids. She had been surprised when Cassie had handed the hairbrush over to her brother. The man was certainly full of surprises.
While Cassian styled her hair, his sister had given her makeup worthy of an artist. A thousand different products had been applied to her face, yet she couldn't feel a thing. Nothing pulled, nothing felt heavy. Her complexion had been subtly warmed and enhanced, all while she read—Blanche didn't have time to waste.
A dusty-pink lipstick, almost nude, a hint of pearlescent powder over her cheekbones and freckles. The only extravagance was a stylized black eyeliner and mascara that gave her doe eyes.
Blanche retrieved her phone, which hadn't left the pocket of her jacket, then sat down on the sofa to wait for Kiyan. She checked her messages.
Kysten was looking forward to tonight: he would have fifteen minutes off to dance with her. Wiwi was excited to take her back to his place. Erik wished her a broken leg. She preferred not to know whom he'd tortured to get her number.
Jax finally woke up, alerted by the relentless tapping of the keys.
"What the...?"
He sat upright and stared at Blanche as though he'd been struck by lightning.
"Good evening," she said without looking up from her keyboard.
She did, however, check her message one last time before sending it.
"Good evening?!"
The bodyguard sprang to his feet and glanced outside.
"Fucking asshole djinn!" he yelled.
Kiyan, who had heard him—as had all the neighbors, probably the entire block without the isolation spell—came down the stairs, examining the flashy rings on his fingers.
When he raised his head, reaching the bottom of the staircase, he stopped dead.
The change was so sudden that Blanche noticed it immediately.
One second earlier, he had merely seemed to be waiting.
The next, he wasn't moving at all.
His gaze had fallen on her.
He had lined his eyes with black pencil, making them even more intense and giving his face a darker elegance than usual.
But it wasn't his makeup that held Blanche's attention.
It was his expression.
Kiyan was looking at her as though he were seeing her for the first time.
Not as the kid he was used to watching over, training, and reprimanding. Not as the student he was supposed to correct, or the young woman he protected almost instinctively.
As a woman.
And that realization seemed to catch him completely off guard.