“I think you need to get me a drink. And I think we need to go somewhere private,” I whisper in his pointed ear, “so I can properly punish you.”
His eyes widen, and it seems as though I’ve genuinely caught him by surprise. His pupils grow, his eyes black.
“Your shields are thin, Rune,” he breathes into me.
“Can you hear me?” I’m uncertain if I’ve thought anything that could endanger this.
“Not … words,” he gasps, as if I’ve stroked him with my hand. He pulls from me a little, and I want his velvet suit pushed flush against me again, but then his hand is clenching mine tightly, and he walks backward through the crowd, his eyes unable to stop traveling the length of me in my thin, silken gown. He draws me along, and I no longer care if anyone watches. If they’re all scenting what we are and will be.
I just want what’s next.
Draven leads me into the kitchen, where some druid is mixing drinks behind a long island like a potion master. I set my mask down, as does he, the two of us lingering against the bar, leaning into each other. Some punch bowls look gelatinous, others hiss smoke, while more bubble and spark. The druid behind the counter has a haze in his eyes and hands Draven a tall glass of something purple and smoldering before he can order. Amoment later I’m palming a fizzing magenta concoction. I drink it greedily, too thirsty to go slowly.
Draven chuckles at my eagerness, then downs his in a few gulps.
He leans close. “Did you want to stay or—”
“RUNE!”
I jump out of my skin as my friends suddenly surround us. I’ve been so caught up in Draven’s body against mine I forgot they’d be here.
Ember glances to Draven twice before dipping into a curtsy. Amaya and Cleona gasp so loudly that I’m betting they started drinking some time ago, and they clumsily follow Ember’s lead. Felix and Wynter bow at the waist, but Kasper at the back rolls his eyes as he sips on some drink. Moody asshole. Draven’s mouth opens in a half smile, though I can tell he’s caught off guard. We somehow didn’t plan this part of the scheme through. If our lie doesn’t convince them, it’ll fail before it begins.
He waves off their formalities, arm slinking around my lower back, and smiles charmingly to each of them. “No need for that. You must all be Rune’s friends? She talks nonstop about her favorite study group.”
Ember and Amaya preen at that, and I realize stupidly I haven’t introduced any of them.
“You all know Prince Draven,” I supply, cheeks heating when I notice Wynter’s cool gaze on us. My jaw clenches, but Draven and I have our parts to play, and Wynter isn’t included in that. Except right now it doesn’t feel like an act.
Felix looks to Draven with shining eyes. “I watched you at flight training and you were amazing, Prince Raven … I mean Prince Dragon … Prince—”
“No need to hurt yourself,” Draven grins, but he looks genuinely bemused at the reverence. “I can teach you if you get wings during your Descent. You … must be Felix?”
“He knows my name.” Felix’s face pales and I bite back a grin, Ember and I exchanging half-mortified, half-amused looks as Felix’s toothy smile spreads. He sticks his hand out, human manners unforgotten. Cleona casts him an exasperated look—I’m sure it’s not proper for druids—but Draven doesn’t miss a beat, grasping it right back. Wynter’s expression relaxes a fraction, and Amaya smirks, eyes flowing over Draven in appraisal.
“I’m glad to know you.” Draven smoothly turns and his eyes alight on Ember, taking in her red hair as a confirmation of sorts. “Ember. Thank you for being such a great friend to Rune.” I look to him in surprise and Ember’s smile turns soft, like that touched her. “This color dress looks amazing with your hair.”
“Thank you. I’m supposed to be a kelpie.” Her dress is a gorgeous emerald, and combined with her red and copper hair, she is stunning. Ember swirls the skirts and expands with, “And it has pockets.”
“Why doesn’t mine have pockets?” I ask Draven. He grins, leaning into the nape of my neck to whisper something, but Kasper interrupts.
“I’m sure your new master will correct the oversight going forward.” He takes an angry swill of his drink, and our friends turn on him in matching expressions of outrage.
“What is your problem?” I demand. Kasper has never warmed to me, always remaining negative and standoffish, but this is new. I remember Draven saying how often Kasper steps up to his mat in sparring, and my eyes narrow at the spark of hatred in the silvery blond man’s eye. Wynter grips his arm, hissing something in his ear that sounds an awful lot likewould you shut up?
“What? Is he gonna have me locked up too if I’m not nice to you?” Kasper asks me. He turns with surprising venom to Draven, who merely blinks in cold distaste at being addressed. “Tell me, how long will Morgan be locked away in the Boiler?”
“The chittering ferret must be Kasper.” Draven’s gaze alights at the disturbed look on Kasper’s face, his feet shifty beneath him. Suddenly Draven feels too large for the space, his smirk spelling damnation, his wings spreading, one encircling me, warming my shoulders, a shield made of ligaments and feathers. “Why am I not surprised you’d take the side of a male who tried to disarm and force himself on my fated mate? You did, after all, see how he was acting toward her all evening and still turned your back on them, leaving them alone.”
“I didn’t know—”
“Yes, you did.” Draven’s correction strikes Kasper silent.
“That’s why Morgan’s in the Boiler?” Felix whispers innocently, eyes round, mouth sagging in horrified disbelief.
Wynter’s hand cups over his mouth as if he might be sick and he suddenly can’t take his eyes off mine.
I probably should’ve told the guys what happened, too … I just didn’t want to relive it again, and I’m surprised how much Draven has sorted out since.
