Chapter 3 #3
It’s weird. But the more, the merrier, and I’m a little drunk and this party is getting better and better. Besides, who am I to question Stella?
I start throwing my arms in the air in wild patterns, determined to have fun.
This is my night.
I’ll gorge myself on chocolate until I feel like I’m going to be sick, and then I’ll dance until my feet cramp.
Tonight, I forbid myself to think about everything that’s out of my reach.
Someone grabs my hand and spins me.
It’s Julian. I go with it, because why not, and swing my hips in a circle. He has a wide grin on his face as he lays his hands on my waist. ‘Having fun, sugar?’
‘Cut it out with the sugar,’ I say. ‘It makes my teeth ache.’
He throws his head back and guffaws.
If Chrissy or the Healers see me like this, they’re going to give me a hard time, but I’ll worry about it tomorrow. This is too much fun.
‘I love dancing,’ I say, and Julian pulls me closer. Our hips move in time to the beat, and his hands roam up and down my back.
‘How fast can you spin in those shoes?’
‘Why don’t we find out?’ I say with a smirk.
‘Okay,’ he says, gripping my hand tight. ‘Ready?’
And then he starts turning me around. He’s strong, and I rise to the tips of my feet and spin and spin and spin in his grip and everything around me becomes blurry.
But then, he tilts his arm, his hold on me weakening – like he’s distracted – and my spin goes sideways. I don’t manage to stop in time, and I’m wobbling, unable to tell up from down, until I stop by crashing into what seems to be a solid wall of muscle.
A hand grips my waist, steadying me, and I throw my hands out in a desperate attempt to regain my balance. Why did Julian let me go like that, only to catch me right before I fell?
‘What are you doing, arsehole?’ I say, but then I look up.
My gaze trails over sheer muscle packed in a white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, and time seems to slow down as I meet the stormy green eyes that are peering into mine.
My ability to form coherent words disappears into a vacuum with a puff when I realise that it was Mace Hardfield who broke my fall. And he’s staring at me with a deepening frown.
Mace’s scent drifts towards me and his fingers clench on my waist. The heat of his touch radiates through my entire body and the room is spinning, and I’m not sure if it’s because Julian was turning me around and around.
My legs seem to give out and I lean in harder on Mace. He’s as solid as a rock.
The moment seems to stretch on forever. My heart kicks with erratic beats.
He’s nothing like the boy he used to be and he’s everything I remember.
His throat bobs and my breaths are coming in faster and faster.
‘Can you stand?’ he asks in a low, hoarse voice.
Does he think I’m too intoxicated to stand? ‘I’m not drunk,’ I say defensively. Too defensively, maybe. ‘And I’d appreciate it if you could take your hands off me.’
What? What am I even saying? Have I gone out of my mind?
He pulls back at the same time as I push off him, and the momentum sends me stumbling backwards. I’m barely able to catch myself, throwing my hands out.
‘You’re obviously not drunk,’ he says. ‘What was I thinking?’
‘I’m not,’ I say. ‘At most a little tipsy. Julian was spinning me and I lost my balance.’ I look over my shoulder, and of course Julian isn’t there anymore.
‘Sure,’ Mace says.
‘He was,’ I insist, and look him square in the eye.
Mace frowns. He has a stern air about him, bordering on grumpy. This is new. The man in front of me is a stranger and I have no idea how to talk to him.
His eyes widen, and alarm bells start blaring in my head. This is wrong?—
‘Get down!’ Mace shouts.
‘What?’
A powerful gust of wind throws us against each other, and then apart.
‘Get down!’ Mace calls again, and those alarm-bells get even louder.
I’m knocked against everyone around me. I can’t find my footing. I can’t possibly be that drunk.
‘We’re under attack!’ someone screams.
It wouldn’t be the first time. We’re constantly at war. This sort of thing happens.
I throw my hands up, but before I can activate a defensive shield, I’m barrelled to the ground, though something cushions my fall.
I blink, slowly realising that I’m on the floor, and Mace Hardfield is on top of me.
He slowly draws his hand that prevented the back of my head from bashing on the floor, until his forearms are framing me.
His chest is just inches from mine. I can still feel the heat radiating off him.
My hands are still raised, palms facing upwards, and I’ve managed to close a solid, half-shimmering defensive dome around us.
We’re in a pocket of stillness, while the forcefields in the ballroom are growing stronger and stronger. People are being thrown against the walls. Acrobats are tumbling from their towers. A couple holding hands are being slung towards the treats table, crashing into those amazing snacks.
I look at the chaos around me, and then to Mace. His eyes, a bone-melting intensity within them, find mine. I realise that the world might be coming down around me, but I mostly don’t care, because my focus is on the delicious feeling of Mace Hardfield, bracing on top of me.