His presence.
His words.
His command.
They don’t take their eyes from him, some bowing slightly, some staring with open mouths.
He doesn’t appear to see any of them as he strides towards me like a lion to its prey, a feral glint in his eye.
He’s close now, as close as he was the day of the fight, and I can already feel the warmth from his body.
“Angel.” He snakes his hand around my waist and lightly kisses the side of my cheek. Aware of the knife between my shoulder blades, I pull his hand from my body and hold it.
Dark eyes greet me, and I’m done for.
“You came,” he says.
“You asked me to.”
“Come.” Securing his hand around mine, he leads me through the crowd that’s still parted for him as if he’s royalty. I want to look around, to get a glimpse of the person who held me at gunpoint, but I’m surrounded by stares, held close to Valdemar’s side and too relieved at his arrival to be concerned with where he might be taking me and what might await me when we get there.
We head for the door at the corner of the hall, and I think we’re going to make it—until Jupiter steps into our path.
“What is she doing here?” He flicks his head to indicate me as Valdemar pulls me into his back, shielding me with his body.
“She’s here because I want her to be here,” Valdemar replies with a slight curl of his upper lip, not unlike a dog warning another to back off.
“Do you think that’s wise?” Jupiter snorts.
“It’s my house, Jupiter. My party. I’ll do what the fuck I want.”
A woman arrives beside Jupiter. Jacinta.
“At least fucking search her,” Jupiter snarls, eyeing me with such hatred that you would think I was the one who killed one of their flock.
“Don’t worry, Jupiter, I intend to do just that,” Valdemar replies as he pulls me through the door and away from their stares.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The glaring eyesare replaced with towering shelves housing row upon row of leatherbound books. Logs burn in the open fireplace, two wingback chairs sit opposite each other adjacent to the hearth, and a large desk is pushed under the window overlooking immaculate grounds.
Whether it’s the heat from the fire or the heat in the pit of my stomach, my skin burns as a loud click reverberates through the room.
He’s locked the door.
“I’m not complaining about your choice of dress; you look beautiful, angel.” Valdemar arrives behind me, his breath on the base of my neck as I feel his fingers pulling at the zip. It’s like in the dreams, yet this is real.Heis real. “But if you’re going to conceal a weapon, then you need to consider something a little less snug.”
Before I have a chance to react, he lowers the zip enough to pull the knife from between my shoulder blades.
Cold steel slithers over my neck as his warm hand holds me flush against his chest, my thighs clenching at the throb between my legs. Why does my body react this way? I thought it wasjust in the dreams where I had no control, but reality is just as compelling, if not more so.
“I would be disappointed if you hadn’t come prepared, angel.” Continuing to hold the knife at the base of my neck, he steps in front of me, his hand leaving my waist.
“Are you going to kill me?” I ask.
“No, angel. You’re safe here.” He holds the knife out.
I take it, eyeing him with uncertainty.
