I threw on my uniform and raced to work, making sure I put my suitcases in the car first. I wasn’t wasting any more minutes than necessary getting to my vacation.
The entire car ride was spent with me hyping myself up. I had to pass flutes of champagne, and then when the party died down, I was going to leave. No big deal. A delay, not a catastrophe.
Everyone would cover for me at that point. They were great like that. We had each other’s backs—well, except for management, which could suck it. I walked in just in time.
It was a fancy party, a masked ball of some sort, although not everyone was masked from what I could see. Invite-only. If I had been a guest, I’d have felt very much out of place. But as a server, it wasn’t so bad. No one tried to have conversations with me because, well, most of them saw me as less than an NPC for their game of life.
That wasn’t fair. I didn’t know for sure if these were all wealthy elite, although their clothing suggested they were.
The first half-hour wasn’t bad. I was on champagne duty, winding through people who were all snatching it like they’d never had any before, and then running back to the kitchen to reload. Easy peasy.
But then I saw him. I recognized him before he even turned around. It was King. He was here. I’d never forget that jawline, the way he leaned slightly to the side when he was pretending to be interested in a conversation but wasn’t really. We’d only had that one night together, but every detail of him was as fresh as it was that night.
What I wanted to do was run to him, throw my arms around him, tell him I missed him. But this was work, and for all I knew, the person he was talking to was his date. Too much time had passed for me to pretend, even to myself, that he was still mine.
So, as my heart pounded in my chest, I handed my tray to a server heading back to the kitchen and blurted out that I needed to go to the wine cellar. It was bullshit. There was plenty of wine upstairs. It wasn’t even wine time yet, but the wine cellar was one place I could go, pretend I had a task, and also not be disturbed. I needed to pull myself together. It was probably my imagination anyway. It wasn’t as if I could see his face.
I raced down there like my life depended on it, unsure if I could handle seeing him again. I’d left that day and never turned back. I had no choice, but there had to have been something I could have done, right? But past-me didn’t, and I was screwed, because apparently, the feelings from that last night never went away. I wondered if they ever would.
4
KINGSTON
I should have worn sunglasses or blinders.
Standing at the entrance to the glittering ballroom, I glanced at the groups of single shifters and classified each one. There was the confident, cool group sipping drinks and pretending they weren’t looking for a mate. Besides, at the appropriate time, their mate would come tothem.
Then there were the ones who feared they’d leave here with the same status as when they arrived: single and mateless. They were on the perimeter of the room, trying to arrange their features into a nonchalant expression and not succeeding.
Of course, there were occasional romantic moments, where an omega or alpha at one end of the room sensed their mate and they raced toward one another, mimicking the crescendo of an on-screen romance.
I grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and sidled around the side of the gigantic ballroom. As it was Christmas, the room was decorated in garlands of pine and holly, and the scent of cinnamon and oranges permeated the air. Candles litwith pixie magic—there’d be no melting or dripping allowed—twinkled in candelabras. I grimaced because I suspected they were making fun of me and my gloomy outlook.
I loved Christmas, but attaching it to a mating event had me wanting to bury every decoration or burn it.
People stared at me as I moseyed through the crowds, and I was pleased I’d worn a mask. Other shifters must’ve suspected it was me, but there’d be no confirmation because I wasn’t removing it until I was in the car.
I searched for CCTV, thinking Father might demand proof I was here, and I figured an hour would be enough time to prove there was no mate of mine in attendance.
“Kingston Basson.”
Damn. I’d been hoping to avoid the owner of that tingling voice, and now I couldn’t flee without appearing rude and ungrateful for the privilege of being invited.
“I was hoping to meet you.”
I turned, schooling my face from gloomy to pleasant. Bex, because this had to be her, was tiny, as were most pixies. From Father I’d learned she was older than him, and yet she appeared to be close to my age. Her dress reminded me of starlight and lightning woven together with fireflies. Her wings fluttered, but it was her grin that got my attention. Were pixies wicked? Because that was the message I got from her quirky smile.
My bear, who’d never met a pixie, warned me not to trust her.
I took her hand and kissed it.
“Are you enjoying the ball? Your father told me you were reluctant to come.” There was something in her eyes beyond the mischief she was renowned for.
Damn him. Did he also tell her to keep an eye on me? Or to put a spell on the door, meant only for me, so I couldn’t escape?
“It’s amazing. You’ve outdone yourself.”
“True.” She circled me, and I wondered if she was measuring my butt or thinking I needed to go to the gym. “I am so very good at this, but I’m disappointed.”
