“And what of your implications in asking me?”
Maeve scoffed. “I came to you honestly. I didn’t want to have to protect myself with Magic. I wanted us to come to an agreement.”
“You think your shield would stand a chance against my magic?”
Maeve’s eyes narrowed. “The one in my mind would.”
Mal couldn’t disagree. He was only able to slip into her thoughts, speak to her silently because she allowed it. Her mental shields were impenetrable if she wanted them to be. Her mind was a fortress of Magic that was unlike any other.
Maeve turned on her heel and headed for the fireplace in his penthouse. She didn’t bother asking if he’d be at the Christmas Party the following evening.
Maeve watched Mal from the bar at the Rosethorn’s Christmas Party. He was surrounded by the Bellator that worshiped him, and Abraxas at his left.
She frowned more every time he laughed.
“Lover’s spat?”
Maeve licked across her teeth and didn’t look over at the High Lord of Aterna as he leaned against the bar. “Have you ever considered minding your own business?”
“Unfortunately, it is absolutely my business what the second and third most powerful beings are doing.”
Maeve glared at him.
Reeve smiled as he said, savoring the insult, “You’re third.”
“How generous of you,” she muttered.
“You are in a fine form tonight it I must say so, kitten.”
Maeve slammed her crystal goblet into the bar sharply and she turned towards him. “Don’t call me that.”
Reeve eyes traced over her face and his head cocked to one side. “Then how will I provoke you?”
“I am certain you’ll find a way.”
Reeve’s mouth hung slightly open as he studied her from head to toe with royal ease. His playful expression faded as his eyes sparkled with flecks of fire.
“You are a magnificent creature,” he said slowly.
Maeve’s eyes widened at the change in his tone. She looked up at him. Panic flooded her mind, chilling her skin and kicking her heart into motion.
“Must be terrible though,” he said, his eyelids heavy and his voice raspy. “To fear compliments from another man.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said tensely.
“You think I can’t feel your magic? I don’t need to be in your mind to feel your anxious heartbeat. It’s practically screaming at me.” Reeve looked down at her chest, his voice low. “We Immortals have heightened senses you know. I smell your fear as it seeps from your pores.” His eyes lifted back to hers. “So pretend all you want, but I know that deep, deep down, buried beneath your delusion and pride, that you are afraid of him. . .deep deep down. And you should be.”
Maeve couldn’t speak. She settled for glaring at him.
“Hmm,” said Reeve. “All that magic flowing freely. It’s intoxicating.”
Her stomach dropped.
Reeve smirked at her, satisfied.
The prick.
Maeve slammed the rest of the sparkling water before her and wiped the corner of her mouth delicately with a finger as she slid off the bar stool, careful to remain close to him, but not to let their bodies touch.
