CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Finlay beat the drums faster, the tempo of the song quickening as Cecelia eyed me nervously. She immediately stepped back from Jaron, hesitating only long enough to curtsey before me, then running off the dance floor. Hopefully she ran to Finlay—or just left the ball all together.
But I lost sight of her as Jaron grabbed both of my hands, tugging me against him. My stomach turned.
You know you like it.
I could still feel my back hitting the mattress, and the disgust that had crawled through my body ever since.
The feeling that left me unable to find or even desire intimacy with another man for two years.
The music swelled, too loud and boisterous, and my memories—my nightmares of Jaron—were ripping through me with violence from his every touch.
I lost my balance, barely able to handle our proximity. Then I missed the next step and tripped over my own Godsdamned dress, until I was falling forward into his arms.
Instinct took over at once, and I pushed him away, stumbling backward.
I wanted to push him even harder. I wanted to hurt him.
Wanted to give him another scar to match the one on his lip.
I could barely hold myself back. Because my true feelings about him were winning out against any prior training I had as a princess or a whore.
Jaron licked the scar on his lip. “Leaving me so soon?” he asked, pulling me back against him, his large hands firm against my hips. “After you deprived me of a dance partner?”
“I just missed a beat,” I said, shrugging my shoulders.
“Oh, come now,” he tightened his grip on me, “we all know you’re an expert dancer.”
“Expert? I think not. I must confess, the dance floors are not so crowded or wild in Spartva,” I said, straightening myself out. I reached for one of his hands, not wanting to take it, but preferring it where I could see it rather than on my waist.
“If you’re going to confess something to me, Princess, make it juicier than that.”
“And now I am regretting my choice to dance with you at all. I thought we could be civil.”
“You’ve been avoiding me.” One brow narrowed.
I scoffed. “I have no time to avoid anyone. I have been getting to know my betrothed.”
“Oh, yes, of course. I’ve seen the ways you get to know him.”
He spun me out, twirling me in a circle, before pulling me back in close and whispering into my ear. “But what I wonder about is why it is that when you see me with that one dancer, you want to interrupt. Why? Why her?"
“I only saw you,” I seethed. “And I hadn’t seen a friendly face for some time.”
“You thought my face was friendly?” He laughed, moving through the steps, wildly swinging my arms, and pushing me through the choreography.
“I was mistaken.”
“You sound angry, Princess. Now why would that be?”
I sent a little magic into my arms, my calves—not enough to change them as dramatically as I had when the chimera attacked. But enough to offer Olivay just a touch more muscle than she possessed. Enough to hold my ground.
Otherwise, Jaron was coming dangerously close to flinging me onto the floor with his movements. He wasn’t so much dancing with me as he was using me like a toy, pushing and dragging me around.
“Do you know her?” he asked. “The dancer.”
“Do you?” I shot back.
“No,” he said. “Not by name. You didn’t answer my question.”
“You are too demanding of me, my Lord. I feel you forget who I am, and who I am to wed.”
“And yet, you are not wed yet, Princess. Believe it or not, I care about my cousin, and I find it remarkably suspicious that you can’t answer such a simple question.” His eyes darkened.
“I don’t know her,” I said, my voice starting to shake.
“Of course, I don’t. Does that answer please you?
How would I know her? I’ve not been in your country long enough to know anyone beyond my kin, my ambassador, and those family members and friends closest to my betrothed.
Does the dancer fit into any of those categories?
” I shook my head, not even waiting for his response.
“You know,” he said, “I have often found that women lie, and the more loudly they protest, the more they’re trying to hide.”
“And when men lie?” I seethed.
Jaron only chuckled.
“I have answered your question fairly,” I said, “and I shall have to tell my prince of this conversation.”
He smirked. “Go ahead. I’m quite finished here. You’ve given me exactly what I wanted.”
I glared. But Jaron released my hands and spun away from me, grabbing hold of another girl to dance with as I took the hands of Lord Dovan.
What had Jaron gotten? What could I have possibly given him?
I’d been so thrown off, so horrified at his presence that I hadn’t fed from him. I hadn’t gotten anything from his touch, or his emotions. And that was when I realized my mistake.
Olivay would have never reacted as I had.
Never been bothered or cared. Not just over Cecelia, but over anything Jaron had said to goad me.
I’d messed up. Again. I’d become the prey to his predator.
Again. Gods. He’d been the one to force a rise out of me.
He’d been the one to force me to show emotion.
And the sudden burning of my scar was all the confirmation I needed.
I quickly moved through another round of the choreography, my heart racing at Jaron’s deception.
Then Finlay called out above the music. A signal he used to yell at the tavern that only meant one thing.
The song was ending. The tempo sped up and sped up again.
Dancers crashed into each other trying to maintain the beat, and in half the time it should have taken, I was spun away from my next partner and into the arms of my next. Brennan.
“There you are,” he said. “I was missing you.”
“I missed you,” I said, and I meant it. The safety I felt in his arms was real. Even if it would soon come to an end.
His face softened at my response, and yet he looked away. His gaze had grown distant, and that sense of guilt that he so often felt washed over him.
“Hey,” I said. “Where did you go?”
Shaking his head, he brought his attention back to me and smiled. “Preparing myself to finish this dance—I’ve never performed it at this speed.” He glanced around the room, his expression dubious. “Ready?”
“Ready!” I said, watching as he bit his lip, his expression now one of total concentration as he led me through the steps while trying to keep up with Finlay’s erratic pacing.
It took us both only seconds to learn that, in fact, we couldn’t keep up.
One quick spin into his arms and our noses bumped.
We burst into laughter, and he managed one final spin before he pulled me into his arms and held me close, abandoning the choreography completely as the song finally came to a close.
Everyone clapped and laughed good-naturedly at the musicians.
Thomas stepped forward and bowed low, rising to place his hand on his chest. He shook his head as if in apology for the frenetic dance we’d just done and began plucking at the strings of his mandolin. Carefully, slowly.
“Did I hurt you?” Brennan asked, still laughing.
I rubbed my nose and grinned. “No. Not much.”
“Not much is too much. I’m sorry.” His eyes blazed, his lids suddenly heavy. “Can I?” he asked.
I pressed my lips together. I needed to say no—Gods, I needed to—but I didn’t. I said yes instead.
And Brennan brought his face to mine and gently kissed the tip of my nose.
Any sensation of guilt he felt was gone, replaced by a strong and sudden desire. If his mind had wandered to Samara before, or any other woman he had known, there was no doubt that he was completely present with me now.
“Better?” he asked.
I nodded, my stomach fluttering. Our gazes remained locked.
A few of the dancers near us began to clap and cheer, and it seemed to break the spell between us. He pulled me against him, his arm firm against my back, his hand taking mine, our fingers threading easily together.
The low notes of the mandolin shifted into a slow song, and all the dancers on the floor returned to their original partners, swaying as they began the new choreography.
Brennan pressed his cheek to mine, the scent of him overwhelming me, as I could swear I felt his heart pounding against mine. Then we started to dance again.
I closed my eyes, inhaling him in, savoring his touch, and allowing myself one moment to just be there—to be with him.
I loved this song. It was one we played in Azeal.
I used to have to beg Thomas to play it.
As a rule, it worked poorly for my typical kind of performances at the tavern.
But tonight it was perfect, and I could truly take in the beauty of the music the way I used to.
I let my hips sway as my body moved freely, unhurriedly, matching the sensuality of the tune until I lost myself in the dancing.
Being held by Brennan. Only when the song ended was I reminded cruelly of who I was, where I was, and who was still watching me.
Jaron.
“I could use some fresh air,” Brennan said. But there was a question in his eyes. An invitation.
“May I join you?” I asked.
He took my hand in his, kissing my palm. Shivers ran through every limb of my body. “I thought you’d never ask. Come, we must earn leave from the king.”
We walked before King Tirian, finding Jaron already there.
“Ah, Cousin,” he said. “Perfect. Might I ask you some questions concerning the hunt?”
Brennan looked at me apologetically. “I’ll be just a moment.”
My pulse pounded. The hunt. The hunt for me, for the demonos. I took a step back, watching them carefully, but then a swarm of noblewomen encircled me, cutting me off from hearing their conversation.
I spent several minutes, anxiously attempting to keep up with the absolute absurdity of their discussion. It was mainly a critique of every woman’s dress at the ball, how she wore it, and if she had accessorized properly or not.
Just beyond them, I found Cecelia again, standing off to the side, looking shy, her hair over her face, covering the scar on her cheek.