Chapter 5
5
V oices hum from behind the double doors. My heart pounds against my ribs. It feels like it’s threatening to throw itself out of my chest.
Calm down, Blair. Calm down.
The doors open and light floods into the dim hallway. The ballroom is full of witches and wizards, werewolves and vampires.
They’re all looking at me.
A wizard doorman to my right clears his throat. “I present Miss Blair Thornrose.”
I step into the room, and the sea of people part, nodding and smiling as I make my way past them. I should dance. I really should. But my nerves are all bunched up, so I murmur a few hellos and rush past the men looking at me with anticipation to find my aunt, who is hiding in the corner.
“Well, this is going to be fun, isn’t it?” I say to her, turning toward the crowd. “We get to hide Nana, attempt to get me married and have a successful ball. Think we can do it?”
Ovie downs a glass of punch, which I’m pretty sure is straight alcohol, judging by the pinched and overly tense look on her face.
“I just hope we can get you married,” she replies tersely. “And that you don’t sabotage a relationship before it starts.”
I clear my throat, a sure sign of guilt. “What are you talking about?”
Ovie scoffs. “Blair Thornrose, I know you. You’ve been asked out by several men in the past few months, but you haven’t gone out with any of them.”
“Ovie”—I drop my voice so that no one can hear—“you know what I’m up against. When they find out about my power?—”
“They run.” She shoots me a cold glare. “I realize. But you haven’t even tried, Blair, and this family needs you to try.”
Time to change the subject. No, I don’t want to think about how Ovie is right. Yes, a wizard and maybe a werewolf have asked me out in the past six months, but what was the point? Once they found out about my curse, the relationship would end up dead on arrival.
“So, does anyone else know about Nana?” Seems like a perfect topic change.
“Addison,” my aunt says, watching the crowd.
I balk. “Addison? She never said anything.”
“Nana asked her not to. Probably so that she could stir up trouble without any of us knowing.”
“Oh, you mean with like the whole Storm Grayson thing.”
“Exactly.”
Nana stirring up trouble sounds just about right. In fact…I bet she’s the one who ordered those books for Devlin. She probably even asked Addison to have me deliver them.
Why, those two sneaks. Next time I see Addison, she’s going to hear about this—in a friendly, sisterly manner, of course.
Chelsea approaches, swinging a glass of punch. “So where’s Storm Grayson? Isn’t he coming? Oh, look, Nana’s trying to eat food.” Her eyes slide to Ovie. “I wish someone had bothered to tell me that my grandmother was back from the grave and has more attitude than every hornet in a hornet’s nest.”
I snort. “At least you didn’t get the talk about how you’re disappointing your family.”
My sister clicks her tongue. “Shame on you. The night’s still young. My talk could happen any minute now.”
A laugh bursts from my mouth. Ovie drops her voice to a tense whisper. “It looks like I’ll be spending my entire night hiding my mother. I’ll be back.”
Ovie storms off to the refreshment table, which is surprisingly empty, where she appears to talk sternly to Nana, doing a lot of discreet pointing, while Nana shrugs and looks around like she’s an innocent lamb. That makes Ovie’s face turn bright red as if she’s about to explode. My aunt taps her foot and gestures to the back door. My grandmother’s shoulders sag as she realizes she’s been busted and has to leave the ball.
They both exit and Chelsea laughs. “This might be the most excitement we’ve had in forever.”
“Just wait till Storm Grayson arrives. Every woman in this room will throw themselves at him.”
She sighs. “Hopefully he’ll only have eyes for you.”
I scoff. “I could be so lucky.”
The doors to the ballroom open, and my heart leaps to my throat. Maybe it’s Storm!
Then the announcement comes. “Devlin Ross.”
Against every bit of my better judgment and common sense, my gaze searches him out.
He steps inside wearing a black tuxedo, white tie and with a white scarf draped around his neck. Nestled on his head is a black top hat.
A top hat.
Of course. I’m surprised he doesn’t have a black walking stick to go with it. Maybe he’ll burst into “Putting on the Ritz” and start tap dancing.
Oh, that would be fun. I would pay to see that.
Devlin vanishes his scarf and hat while surveying the room.
Even from this distance, he looks ridiculously yummy with his dark golden hair combed back, his chiseled jawline looking all chiseled and those hazel eyes scouring the crowd for whomever he’s searching for.
Which hopefully isn’t me.
Just to be safe, I hide behind Chelsea.
“What are you doing?”
“Hiding.”
“Why? Oh, because you don’t want Mr. Hot and Sexy asking you to dance.”
“Nope. That’s not why. I just…want to hide.”
“Miss Blair, may I have this dance?”
I glance up and do a double take. Devlin, who had been on the other side of the room only seconds ago, now stands in front of me, smirking with that stupidly handsome face of his.
Chelsea moves out of the way, completely revealing my location. Traitor.
“May I?” he repeats.
I’m about to say no, to say hell no , I don’t dance with skeevy jerks, but just as I’m about to do that, the doors blast open like they’ve been hit with a tornadic wind.
Everyone in the room turns, because how often do doors blow open at a witch ball?
And there stands a man who must be six-two with silvery-white hair, cheekbones chainsawed from stone, dark eyes and a physique that could rival Devlin’s.
Yes, Devlin’s built, okay? I just don’t like to think about it very much.
“Storm Grayson,” the doorman announces.
The entire room goes silent. Everyone, and I mean everyone, is staring at him, wondering what he’ll do. Does he walk like a normal person? Laugh like one?
Storm’s gaze slashes across the room, searching, looking for something. Then that gaze lands on me, and a fiery inferno of heat works its way from my core and flares out across my entire body.
This man has come here for me, to meet me , and what better way to make an entrance, to get his attention, than to dance with another man?
Oh, I am evil, aren’t I?
I nod to Devlin, who rips his gaze from Storm and settles it back on me. The inventor is Devlin’s biggest rival, and it must be bothering him something fierce that the billionaire is here.
“Yes, it would be a pleasure to dance with you,” I force out in a sugary-sweet voice.
Devlin frowns because he knows that I’m never this nice. He shoots an annoyed glance to Storm.
“On the contrary,” he rumbles in his deep, masculine voice, “the pleasure’s all mine.”
He leads me to the center of the ballroom, and as soon as our hands touch, electricity snakes up my arm, sending a shiver licking down my backbone. I bite down the feeling and pull away slightly so that I’m only touching him where it’s necessary. Even the fingers of my left hand are barely brushing his shoulder.
The string quartet begins, playing something fun, lighthearted, quick-paced.
Basically a song that’ll have me sweating and smelling like an ogre in no time.
Devlin holds me gently, as if I’m made of porcelain. I get a whiff of his cologne, and I’m suddenly taken to the center of a forest, where the scents of pine and earth mingle in perfect harmony.
“You’re dancing with me because of Storm.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Devlin smiles. It would be an absolute lie to say that he doesn’t have the most dazzling smile that I’ve ever been blessed to see. He really does. It sucks you in and makes you feel like you’re falling off a cliff—one with spikes below that you impale yourself on.
That was just a reminder of how I feel in case you were unclear or forgot or suffered from amnesia because Devlin’s so attractive.
He cocks his chin. “At least you picked the most handsome man in the room to make Storm jealous. Good choice.”
“You—do you even know how conceited you sound?”
“The truth can’t be conceited,” he purrs.
“That’s even more conceited.” I shake my head in frustration. “You know, this is why you’ve never had a serious relationship.”
“Oh, I’ve had a serious relationship.”
And the way he looks at me makes goose bumps jump up on my skin and run away. His eyes are scorching, and suddenly his hand feels sweltering and sweat sprinkles across my back even though it’s cool in the ballroom.
The look in his eyes suggests that Devlin is begging me to ask him about the serious relationship, as if he’s hinting that what we had was serious.
No way. I’m not falling for it. Devlin is a player, a conceited, cocky player , and I’m too smart to be pulled into his whirlpool of death.
“Whatever,” I say, sounding more like a sulking child than a debutante who doesn’t have time for his games. “The words ‘serious relationship’ and ‘Devlin Ross’ don’t go together.”
“No,” he admits (surprisingly), “they do not.” He glances down at me (not that I’m looking) and frowns. “How am I supposed to lead if you’re barely touching me?”
“With mind control?”
He sighs. “I’m afraid that I don’t have your remarkable gift, and it is remarkable, as I once told you a long time ago.”
My eye twitches. Dancing with Devlin was a terrible idea. Horrible. Worst idea ever.
As if to prove it, he takes hold of my hand and squeezes. All the distance that I’ve put between our white-hot palms vanishes. I want to jump out of my skin, and at the same time I want to soak up his heat.
What is wrong with me?
“How many men have you danced with so far tonight?”
“One thousand,” I say tartly. “How’s your string of a gazillion girlfriends?”
He chuckles and glances down, which makes his thick lashes brush his cheeks. Or, at least that’s what it looks like. Disgusting that he can do that, isn’t it?
“I thought you’d know all about my love life from spying through my windows.”
“I don’t spy,” I nearly shout. Then I realize that folks are looking over, so I drop my voice. “I don’t spy on you,” I whisper hatefully. “I have better things to do.”
“Like?”
“Like, work at the bookshop.”
“No potion making?”
I frown. “No. I haven’t done that since high school.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I guess I just forgot about it.”
He spins me and the skirt of my dress swishes around me gracefully. “You forgot about your passion?”
“No,” I reply, annoyed. “I didn’t forget. I’ve just been busy.”
“Finding a husband?”
I huff out a frustrated breath. See what this man does? He annoys the bejesus out of me. “No, I haven’t been busy finding a husband.”
I just want to kill him.
“I had asked about your girlfriends, if you remember. You know—the many. The slimy. The STD filled.”
His eyes narrow. “Well, from the looks of how many men you were dancing with before I asked you, which was none , I’d say my nonexistent girlfriends are going about as good as your epic crusade to find a husband.”
I. Hate. Him. So. Much. “Shouldn’t you be tied up with a rope and blindfolded while getting robbed by your latest conquest?”
He chuckles. “Oh, Blair. You do know how to carry a friendly conversation.”
“Only with you. So. Why’d you come?”
He looks down and his golden-green gaze hits me like a spear straight in my heart. “I came to torture you, obviously.”
“I don’t need to be tortured by you. I was tortured enough in high school by your presence, don’t you think? Our breakup wasn’t exactly nice.”
He gives me a mock-startled look. “Wasn’t it? I thought we ended things all peaches and cream.”
“Hence why I hate you now.”
“And why you should keep on hating me.”
I want to explode. Every muscle in my body is wound tight. I’m half a second away from screaming. It takes every bit of restraint to whisper and not scream my next words at him.
“Then why are you here? You just said yourself that I should keep on hating you, yet every chance you get it seems like you want to dance with me, remind me of what you did. I don’t get it. What do you want?”
His hand squeezes mine, and I want to jerk away, but smiles! Storm might be watching! “Perhaps I want to call a truce.”
I laugh. Oh, that’s pure gold, right there. “A truce? You’ve had years to do that.”
“I’ve apologized.”
My jaw falls. “The only reason why you apologized is because I caught you. If I hadn’t caught you, you never would have said sorry. Ever. You are a playboy, Devlin, through and through. You absolutely destroyed me and had no problem watching it all play out. I hated you then, and I hate you now.”
I expect my bold words to shock some sense into him so that he’ll stop torturing himself and me by asking me to dance.
But instead he stares into the crowd and nods. “You have every right to hate me, Blair, and you should.”
That’s it. That’s all he says. He doesn’t say, Of course you hate me. Perhaps I should find a new dance partner. Nope, he doesn’t do anything normal like that. Devlin just keeps right on dancing.
“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I will always hate you, Devlin Ross,” I bite out. “You’ve proven yourself to be despicable, absolutely lacking in any morals.”
“Thank you.”
That’s even worse. Why doesn’t he fight back? There’s something horrible about telling someone off and they don’t argue. Instead they accept the tongue-lashing.
But Devlin looks almost sad for some reason. Doesn’t matter what it is. I don’t care.
I’m about to keep telling him off when Nana slips through the crowd.
No no no! Not again!
My eyes widen and Devlin follows my gaze. He squints. “Is that your nana?”
“No.”
His gaze swivels from her to me. “Yes, it is. Why’s she—” His eyes flair and he tips his head back, giving me an ample view of his thick neck and manly Adam’s apple. “Things are bad, aren’t they? None of y’all are married except Addison, and now your nana’s showed up.”
“You’ve got it all wrong.” As if I’m going to tell him the truth.
His eyes shine with mischief. “She’s looking for you.”
It’s true. Nana’s eyes are scraping over the crowd. I catch Chelsea’s gaze and jerk my head toward Nana. My sister spots her, and her face immediately goes pale. She slips through the witches and wizards and finds Ovie. The two of them quickly corral Nana and whisk her out the back door before anyone else can see her.
Whew.
Crisis averted.
“That’s bad luck, you know.”
“I know it’s bad luck,” I snap.
A slow, delicious smile curls his lips. “She’s come back because you’re not marrying off fast enough.”
“No comment.”
He tips his head back and laughs. It’s a rich, velvety sound, a skein of silk unraveling down a walkway. “So I’m right. Not that it bothers me.” He takes my hand and points it at his chest. “I, unlike most of the other magicals here, do not care for old wives’ tales. I don’t believe in bad luck.”
That might be the best thing I’ve heard all night. It tells you how terrible my night has been when the best thing comes out of the worst person’s mouth. At this point my standards are well below sea level.
He lowers his lashes as he peers down at my dress. That fringe of dark velvet makes his eyes look smudgy, with the corners just begging to be traced by my finger.
“You look…um, nice tonight.”
Wow. Devlin sure isn’t so great at the compliments. “Thank you.” I guess.
“You actually look nicer than that.”
“I’m not sure what that means.”
“It means saying you look nice is a small comparison to how beautiful you actually are.”
Now I’m tongue-tied. Before I can reply, the couple next to us gets so close that they bump into Devlin, and he brushes against me.
I should pull away, but the heat from his skin is so welcoming, it’s so wonderfully delicious in the chilly ballroom air that I stay exactly where I am.
He’s looking up into the room, and his jawline, no, his entire face looks like it was sculpted by a Greek artist. No, Michelangelo, for sure. That’s how gorgeous he is.
And he smells like heaven—like cedar and musk. It’s so intoxicating that I want to roll around on top of him and wipe his scent on my flesh.
His gaze snaps back down, and I glance away, annoyed that he caught me staring.
But his beauty doesn’t matter, because I still hate him.
“May I cut in?”
I jump back, surprised by the intrusion. It’s the first time I’m hearing his voice, and it sends a shudder pulsing down my spine.
To my right stands Storm Grayson, and he wants to dance with me.