"Well," she said, her voice uncharacteristically unsteady. "That was..."
"A promising start," I finished, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Though perhaps not the ideal location for what should follow."
Her eyes widened slightly, then a slow smile spread across her face. Not her professional smile, but something far more dangerous and delightful.
"The Gala runs for two more hours," she pointed out.
"It does," I agreed. "Though I seem to recall the host's suite has a private entrance. And I have it on good authority that the event is running so flawlessly that the host's presence won't be missed for... some time."
Charlie glanced back at the ballroom doors, then to me again. Something had shifted between us. A decision made, a threshold crossed.
11
CHARLIE
The door to Malrik's private suite closed behind us with a soft click that somehow felt momentous. As if the final threshold had been crossed.
Maybe it had.
Moonlight streamed through tall windows, casting the room in silvery illumination that complemented the faint crimson glow emanating from my skin. The borrowed power. No, my power now. Hummed beneath the surface, no longer fighting to escape but eager to connect with its source.
With him.
Malrik moved with unhurried grace, lighting a few candles with casual gestures that sent flames dancing to life. The warm light cast his features in dramatic relief—the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the curve of his lips still bearing the imprint of our kiss on the terrace.
"Having second thoughts?" he asked, studying my face as I stood just inside the doorway.
"No," I said with a certainty that surprised me. "Just... processing. This isn't exactly what I expected when I agreed to coordinate your Gala."
A smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Event planning with unexpected benefits?"
"Something like that." I stepped further into the room, drawn to him as if by gravity.
The suite was exactly what I might have expected from him. Elegant without being ostentatious, with touches of antiquity that hinted at centuries of collection rather than decorative affectation. Ancient books lined one wall, a massive bed dominated another, and a balcony beyond glass doors revealed a view of the moonlit gardens below.
"Your power," he said, moving closer. "It's fully visible now."
I glanced down at my arms, where crimson lines traced along my veins, pulsing slightly with each heartbeat. "It's not even trying to hide anymore."
"It doesn't need to. Not here. Not with me." He reached out, fingers hovering just above my skin. "May I?"
I nodded, breath catching as his fingers traced the patterns on my arm. The contact sent a surge of warmth through me, the power recognizing its counterpart and responding with eager intensity.
"Does it feel different?" I asked. "The power, when you touch me?"
"Like nothing I've ever experienced," he admitted, his voice dropping to a lower register that sent a shiver through me."It's like touching a part of myself that's been transformed into something new. Familiar yet utterly unique."
His fingers continued their path up my arm, leaving trails of warmth in their wake. The power surged beneath his touch, rising to meet him, eager for connection.
"And for you?" he asked. "How does it feel?"
"Like finding something I never knew was missing," I said honestly.
The confession hung in the air between us, more intimate than any physical touch. My professional boundaries, my careful compartmentalization, my insistence that this was all just an unfortunate accident. All of it had crumbled under the weight of this connection we shared.
Malrik moved closer, bringing his hand up to cup my face. "Charlie Davenport," he said, my name somehow sounding like an invocation on his lips. "The most fascinating mortal I've ever encountered."
"Is that a compliment coming from someone who's most likely met every notable historical figure since the beginning of time?" I managed, though my voice was unsteady.
