Piper walks at my side, chin lifted, curls wild, blue eyes flicking everywhere theyshouldn’t. She has no idea how many creatures would kill for that glow clinging to her throat. I lean down just enough for my breath to brush her cheek. “Remember what I told you.”
She mutters, “Don’t bow, don’t stare, don’t touch, don’t breathe. Got it.”
I stifle a laugh. “That is not what I said.”
“You said a lot of things very fast.”
I slide my hand to the small of her back—not to steer her. To keep idiots from getting close enough to smell her magic. “You’ll be fine.”
Her scowl says she does not believe me. Fair. She shouldn’t.
A servant stops in front of us, offering a chalice smoking with red mist. Piper reaches for it, and I snatch her wrist before she can touch the stem. “No.”
Her eyes widen. “I was being polite.”
“That is a binding oath. Drink that, and you belong to whoever poured it.”
She yanks her hand back so fast the servant flinches. “Why would ANYONE serve that at a party?!”
I murmur, “Because this is Hell, sweetheart. We don’t host cookie exchanges.”
A noble drifts toward us—tall, obsidian skin dusted with gold, eyes like molten brass.
Piper’s gaze flashes to hers. Full. Direct. Warm. In Hell, that’s practically an invitation.
A beat of silence ripples through the surrounding air. The noble smiles viciously. “How sweet.”
I step between them before Piper realizes she’s made a mistake. “Walk away.”
Her expression sharpens. “I wasn’t addressing you, Athalar.”
“I’m aware, and I don’t care. You can leave now.”
She tilts her head, assessing Piper like a rare gem she’d like to break.
“What are you, little witch? A gift? A promise?A—”
“Enough.” My voice cracks through the air like a blade.
The noble’s grin fades. She backs away with a lingering look at Piper—one I’ll burn out of her skull if she tries it again.
Piper whispers, eyes wide, “Was that—did I—”
“Yes.”
She winces. “Fantastic.”
Then, as if things couldn’t get any more dramatic. A familiar ripple of magic rolls through the ballroom—rich, old, edged in steel.
Draven.
My brother has always been a storm given shape. Dark hair, lighter eyes than mine—winter green instead of forest—and a beard shadow that makes half the Court reconsider their alliances.
He steps through the crowd with a predator’s confidence and a scholar’s precision. I smirk. He always did enjoy an entrance. His gaze locks on Piper first, pupils flaring. Then his eyes dart to me. “Slade,” he drawls, “you’re causing a scene.”
“I’mpreventing one.”
“Mmm,” he hums, circling Piper with his gaze the way a hawk circles something shiny. “This is her?”
