Chapter 20
Twenty
Pierce
“This is the stupidest idea,” I grumble under my breath as I drop onto the bench the other two are occupying with a groan.
They’ve chosen a spot on the very edge of the hall, but even here it’s too crowded.
There are plenty of people dancing in the middle of the room, but even more are packed around the outside, drinking at tables and chattering.
Everyone is shouting to be heard over the music, and it stinks of food, hay, and sweat.
It’s positively rural.
To add to my humiliation, my grandfather is right in the middle of the dance floor, twirling Halinor around like they’re sixteen instead of well past sixty.
I roll my eyes when he grins at me. I should’ve just gone back to my room, but he cornered me on the stairs, shoved a too-full glass of Italian Merlot into my hand, and dragged me in here. He thinks I should be ‘having fun’.
Dakari’s lip curls in a half-smile, like he finds my bad temper amusing. He’s the only one here without a drink, probably because he knew he was on watch. At least someone is being sensible.
He stands and stretches. “How was the watch?”
“Freezing cold and boring,” I reply. “Enjoy.”
For the last two hours, I’ve been listening to the noise from the hall grow steadily louder and louder from my spot on the wall outside. Now it’s his turn.
To his credit, he doesn’t seem to mind, just glances at the dance floor with one last soft look, then turns on his heel to leave.
Now it’s just me and the Ackland heir.
“Just be thankful Eddy stopped trying to make us all dance before you got here.” North shudders. “And that the fucking bagpipes have been put away.”
True. This whole disaster started as a traditional cèilidh—no doubt, my grandfather was over the moon about that—but now it’s devolved into raucous pop music that hurts my ears.
“Where are the others?” I ask.
“Lambert and Jasper are with Kyrith, dancing,” he says. “And her personal stalker is on your left, revising for his magister exams.”
I glance at the seemingly unoccupied table beside us, and there’s a gust of air like a sigh before Leo’s invisibility spell drops.
The Irishman is hunched over a glass of whisky, and there’s a half-empty bottle by his elbow.
“Revising my arse,” he grumbles. “It’s impossible to hear myself think.”
“Bullshit. You’ve just been busy staring at her like the rest of us.”
“Can ya blame me?”
“No. That dress is…something else.”
What are they talking about? I search the crowd again, sipping my wine.
I need to corner the Librarian at some point for a repeat of what happened on my piano.
The phantom taste of her on my lips the next day drove me insane.
But when I tried to find her to finish what we started, she was in the library getting railed against a bookshelf by North with his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.
I catch a flash of brown hair but dismiss it. Kyrith never leaves her hair down; it’s always braided or—
Fuck. It is her.
My head falls to one side, jaw dropping.
North snorts. “Told you so.”
The Librarian is liquid poetry, back-to-back with Edlynn as they writhe on the dance floor.
Her head is tilted back, lips gently parted, and those spectacular eyes are closed, like she’s in ecstasy.
Like the Goddess Hedone reached down and swiped away every single concern that normally weighs on her, and now all that’s left is fluid grace and eroticism.
“I don’t know whether to kill your sister or send her flowers,” Leo mutters. “That dress…”
The dress in question is thrusting her tits up and out like an offering. The ruffled skirt is shorter than anything she would normally wear, and the way the hem rises as she follows her friend’s moves, then drops low to the music is enough to make me raise a brow and take another sip of my wine.
North leans back. “Eddy’s always been good with that girly shit.”
“Why are they alone?” I demand, loosening my top button with one hand because somehow the room is now stifling. “I thought they were watching her.”
“We had to deal with Liam,” Jasper announces, sliding in on North’s other side. “Drunk fucker got handsy with them and asked if they’d make out so he could watch.”
“Does ‘Liam’ still have all his teeth?” North asks, knuckles white on his empty beer.
“Aye, but he’ll be singing soprano in the shower for a while.”
Lambert reappears, cheap beers cradled in both hands. He sets one in front of North and another in front of Jasper. “Apparently we’re no fun, so I guess we’ve got no choice but to moon over her from afar with the rest of you.”
“She’s drunk?” I guess, though I can’t really be sure.
“Absolutely shitfaced,” North agrees. “For the first time ever, apparently.”
“Dibs not dealing with a hungover boss,” Lambert calls.
“She’s a cute wee lightweight,” Jasper protests, sipping his own beer. “How bad can she really be?”
I raise both brows at that, wondering if he’s optimistic or just hit his head.
“Sober Kyrith whacks people around the head with books for fun,” North points out.
“Well, this is our last round,” Lambert announces. “So make it last. It doesn’t look like she wants to leave any time soon.”
At least they’re being somewhat sensible. Leo and Kyrith are the only two in our group who’ve drunk enough to actually be affected. Even beyond us, the gathering is more sober than usual. The McKinleys might be here for a good time, but no one has forgotten the threat outside.
My thoughts come to an abrupt halt as Kyrith’s fingers clutch the ruffles of her skirt, pulling the fabric up her legs, revealing another inch of skin.
She looks messy. Maybe that’s why I’m so captivated. The only other time I’ve seen her this wild and free was on my piano while I made her come so hard that even now, days later, her scent still lingers on the keys.
Someone passes in front of her, and the corner of my mouth tightens at the interruption. Soon, she’s swallowed by the crowd entirely. I stand, craning my body to try to find her again.
“What?” I demand when Jasper’s cocky smile lands on me. “Letting her out of our sight is irresponsible.”
“Enjoy getting put on your arse,” Leo mutters, draining his glass before pouring another.
“I think you’re the one most at risk of that,” I retort. “How are the ó Rinn runeforms going?”
His head falls to the table, and I smirk, certain that the barb has landed.
Then he mumbles, “Finished.”
I gape at him. “Finished?”
That’s not possible. There must have been dozens of them.
“I sent off the last one to my uncle this morning. Kyrith figured out there was a pattern to the degradation after the first three. She’s been beating herself up over how ‘simple’ it was.
” Leo stabs his fingers into his hair with a groan.
“It was so fecking complicated I still barely understand what she did but…it worked. Took her less than a week. ó Rinn is free.”
He says the last vacantly, staring at his drink like he’s wishing it were poison.
This will change everything. A significant branch of the ó Rinn family tree is freshly liberated from a curse that’s haunted them for generations. Without that ensorcellment, they’re no longer social exiles. No one will fear a friendship with them. All because of her.
They’ll still bear the scars for years to come, but I’m willing to bet their loyalty to Kyrith just became rock solid.
“That’s awesome!” Lambert crows, all smiles and sunshine and completely ignorant of the enormity of what Leo just told us. “Dude, you did it.”
Leo shakes his head, then shoves out from the bench. “I need some air.”
“What’s gotten into him?” North frowns at his retreating back. “You would’ve thought he’d be happy.”
I would’ve thought it was obvious. “That was his last excuse to be around her for any significant length of time.”
With that, I abandon the lot of them and walk around the room, searching for Kyrith. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Lambert leave the table as well, heading after his brother. Better him than me.
All thoughts of both of them disappear when I catch sight of the Librarian again. I don’t know who convinced her to leave her hair down, but right now the tips of it are flirting with the crease of her ass, begging me to sink my fingers into the mass of it and tug.
I lean against a pillar and settle in to watch as she loses herself to music that would ordinarily make me grind my teeth, yet somehow, right now…it isn’t scraping my eardrums like it normally would.
Eddy has disappeared, and Kyrith is dancing completely alone, her eyes closed in bliss. She wobbles on her heels, and my hand is half-raised to catch her before I force it back down.
I’m not here to interfere, just to make sure she’s safe.
Her eyes open, pale and luminous, and land directly on me.
Stars. I don’t think she’s ever truly smiled at me before. Not like this, all goofy and relaxed.
When she raises one arm and cocks her finger in my direction, she might as well have hijacked my body.
“You’re too pretty to be a wallflower,” she slurs, as I finally get within touching distance, and she all-but topples into my arms.
With a roll of my eyes and a shake of my head, I lead her away from the dance floor. “How much did you drink?”
She doesn’t answer. Her face is buried against my neck, and she sways against me, ignoring the tempo of the new song as she continues swaying to her own beat.
The music is loud, but her voice is louder as she says, “I don’t want to stop dancing, but I also really, really want to know what it feels like to fuck you.”
Several McKinleys are now grinning in our direction. “In the morning, you’re going to be mortified with yourself. And for the record, you’re not sober enough for that.”
She grumbles something that sounds a lot like, “Sobriety spells were invented for a reason.”
Yes, they were. However, unless she’s smuggling a scrap between the soft spills of her breasts, she’s out of luck.
Her ankle gives way completely, and I catch her before she can fall. In her clumsy attempts to right herself, she plants one blade-like stiletto directly onto my instep.
I hiss out a breath, eyes squeezing shut. “That’s it. You’re a danger to yourself and others.”
I scoop her up, carrying her bridal-style towards the door.
“Nope. No. Put me down!” Every inch of her that was wild and flirtatious before turns feral with indignation. “I want to dance.” She reaches for her hip, but there’s no holster there.
“You shouldn’t have left your grimoire behind,” I scold as I nod at the woman holding the door open for us.
“If Mathias comes for me, I’m dead with or without it,” she retorts. “I can barely use it.”
That quickly, her anger is gone. Drunk Kyrith is giving me whiplash. Sorrow coats her next words, and her eyes glimmer as she stares into my face.
“Do you think I’ll ever get the Arcanaeum back?”
“I’ll be dead before I see the alternative come to pass,” I promise without hesitation.
Her hand flies to her mouth, and I wince.
That was too honest.
At least she probably won’t remember it in the morning.
I nudge open the door with my hip, pausing when I realise I’ve somehow brought her back to my room again.
She struggles, a gleam lighting her eyes when she catches sight of my piano, but I bypass it, heading straight for the bed.
I dump her on the sheets, plucking one foot out of the air before she can try to escape.
She’s actually managed to snap the heel. No wonder she fell.
My fingers graze the skin above her knee as I search for the zip hidden there, and she shudders. Her legs fall open, and I take a deep breath, looking to the ceiling as I silently beg the stars for patience.
Of course, she’s not wearing underwear, and of course having her legs in that position has turned the already short skirt into little more than a belt.
“You’re playing with fire,” I warn, drawing the zipper down and moving quickly onto the other boot.
“You won’t burn me,” she mumbles. “Will you?”
I shake my head mutely as the leather drops to the floor. “Never.”
And it’s the truth. Somewhere, somehow, this remarkable woman has wormed her way beneath my skin, until the very idea of hurting her is abhorrent. I’d rather cut off my own hands.
Her legs slide closed, and I leave her for a second to fetch her grimoire from her room.
Despite her protests, she shouldn’t be without it.
The book is already almost as thick as mine, and I shake my head softly as I place it on the empty bedside table.
I’d offer to help her out of her dress, but she’s already dozing, so I draw my own grimoire and flick to a well-used page.
Transmutation magic isn’t my forte, but I know enough to change the stiff boned lace and tartan into fluffy pyjamas.
It’s a shame. I liked that dress.
I think I like her soft and cosy better, though.
My brows furrow at the long strands of brown hair splayed carelessly across my pillow. I love it loose, but if I don’t do something about that, she’ll wake up with it in a knotted mess.
With a sigh, I grab the brush from my dresser, wondering when I got so whipped.