Chapter 18 Marcus #2
“Perfect,” she squeals, bouncing on her toes as if she’s been waiting for this very cue.
Before I can react, she snatches my hand, and fire rips through my arm again as though she’s burned right through the glove.
Then the vampire’s there, dragging us both onto the dance floor.
Her laughter rings bright over the music, and all I can do is follow, pulse hammering with the sudden, dangerous thought that she belongs here far more than I do.
Once we get to the center of the dance floor, she drops both our hands. The vampire stands off to the side, his arms crossed over his chest, watching. I guess it’s showtime.
She swings her hips, pressing her body against mine.
I slide my hands to her waist as she backs into me, and the brush of her ass against my cock almost unravels me.
How can one brief brush almost make me come undone?
Her arms loop behind my neck, her gaze taunting over her shoulder, and it almost brings me to my knees.
She sways, trailing her hands down her own body.
For the first time in my life, I feel a sting of jealousy.
Not of a rival, but of her own hands, because I want it to be me.
She drags her fingers higher, wrapping them around my neck again, tugging me down.
I slide my palms down her sides, pulling her hard against me.
The hiss of breath escaping her lips tells me she feels exactly how hard I am.
My jaw clamps so tight it aches. Every muscle in me screams to grab her hand, guide it to where I’m already straining for her, to let instinct take the reins. The urge is a living thing clawing at my control.
I grit my teeth. Gentleman, I remind myself, the word biting like a curse. Gentleman… or coward. No worse. Gentleman or asshole. Because if I don’t hold the line right here, I’ll take what isn’t mine to claim. Right here on the dance floor, abolishing every one of my values.
The song ends, but my pulse doesn’t get the memo.
I’m panting, chest heaving, every nerve strung tight as a bowstring.
Esmerelda’s gaze locks on mine, dark and blazing, and it sears through me hotter than fire.
For a beat, the whole club fades—the pounding bass, the drunk laughter, even the heat of bodies pressing in around us. It’s just her.
Then her fingers thread into my hair, tugging, anchoring me to her. My breath rushes out of my mouth. And when her mouth slams against mine, the world stops. For a heartbeat, I’m stunned, frozen between disbelief and desire, but instinct barrels past hesitation.
My mouth parts on a groan I don’t recognize as mine, and her tongue tangles with mine.
Hot, demanding, relentless. Every brush sparks low in my gut, flooding me with a need so sharp it borders on pain.
My hands grip her sides, clutching her like if I let go she’ll vanish into thin air. Gods, it’s madness.
Hungry.
Reckless
Dangerous.
But for the first time in forever, it feels right. Perfect, even in its chaos.
We break apart, gasping, and Minerva shrieks.
“Your glamour is slipping!”
A shiver rips through me, and the glamour unravels like a loose thread.
Although I can’t see anything, I feel the flickers and fractures of the borrowed face I’ve worn all night until I start feeling like myself again.
And with it comes the unbearable weight of responsibility I was able to shrug off for a few hours. Even if we were “working”.
Esmerelda gasps as she notices me coming back. Her nails dig into my chest as if she can hold the illusion together by sheer will.
And just like that, we are no longer shadows in someone else’s skin. We are exposed.
“Shit,” I hiss, yanking my jacket up to cover our faces.
I nearly elbow her in the face as she stumbles over her latex gown.
Leonard notices, and in his hurry to get to us, barrels into a passing tray of cocktails, sending glasses flying while Minerva slips on a piece of my prosthetic chin that has fallen off.
We bolt for the exit, shoving through the crush of bodies, and I can feel my glamour unraveling with every step. Pieces of my fake face peel away like cheap plastic melting in the sun.
Something slides down my temple. My eyebrow. My damn eyebrow.
I make a wild grab for it, nearly elbowing Esmerelda in the process, but the slick bit of silicone squirms out of my fingers and plops onto the sticky floor.
“Shit,” I hiss, ducking as if maybe no one noticed. Of course, everyone noticed.
Leonard dives after it, scooping it up between two fingers with all the dignity of a man holding roadkill. “Wait!” he calls, half-laughing, half-panicked. “Your eyebrow!”
I don’t slow down. Can’t. Gods forbid I turn around to claim the thing like it’s a lost limb. So I just keep running, my face slipping apart, dignity shredded in pieces right along with it.
Someone splashes a drink as we shove through the crowd, my jacket draped over our heads like it’s pouring rain. We’re laughing in panic by the time we crash into the alley.
What the fuck just happened in there?
The moment we burst into the alley, the cool air slaps my overheated skin, then Minerva takes one look at me and doubles over from laughing so hard. She’s pointing at my face like she’s seen a ghost. “Oh my gods, that was so close. You should see your face, though.”
I swipe at my cheek, already dreading what she’s seeing. Esmerelda isn’t any help. Her lips twitch, eyes glinting as she points delicately to my cheek like someone about to tell me I’ve got spinach in my teeth. “Yeah… you have a little something…”
I press my fingers to the spot and feel it sliding, sticky and traitorous. My fake cheek slipping down over the edge of my jaw like a melting mask, the glue sticking to the hair sprouting on my face. Perfect. Just perfect.
“You’re one to talk,” I shoot back, gesturing to her face. She looks like a nightmare clown. Makeup sticking to the hair in a grotesque mask.
Instead of bristling, she smirks, wicked and sharp. “I think we should shift.”
“Good idea,” Leonard mutters, deadpan.
And then the world snaps sideways. In a rush of heat and bone-deep power, the four of us tear free of what’s left of our disguises, exploding into wolves.
My paws hit the ground hard, claws digging into the dirt, the club’s stink of liquor and sweat giving way to cool night air and the raw taste of freedom.
Exhilaration floods me, sharp on my tongue, burning through my veins.
For the first time all night, it feels like we can breathe.