And then, he’s going to drop dead.
I look down sharply, breaking the moment, my forehead nearly hitting his chin. My breath comes in short, ragged bursts.
“I know you want that too,” he murmurs against my hair. “I can read it on you.”
Of course he can.Enhanced senses. He can probably smell my arousal, hear the way my pulse spikes every time he touches me. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me, and he has no idea that what I want could destroy him.
“This isn’t a good idea.” I pull back, putting inches between us that feel like miles. “I need a drink.”
I slip from his arms and cut across the dance floor, weaving between couples until I reach a waiter with a tray of champagne. I grab a glass and down half of it in one swallow then position myself near a marble column, far enough from Vanguard that his enhanced hearing shouldn’t pick up a whisper.
I twist my earring to full receive.
“Bayo,” I breathe, barely moving my lips. Even if Vanguard can hear me, he won’t really know what I’m saying.
“Don’t go anywhere alone with him.” Bayo’s voice is tight, urgent. “Mia, whatever you’re feeling?—”
I see Vanguard approaching through the crowd, that predatory focus in his eyes, and I twist the earring back before Bayo can finish, wishing my heart would stop thundering against my chest like a herd of wild horses.
Vanguard reaches me, and, without a word, he takes my champagne glass and sets it on a passing tray then captures my hand in his.
“Come with me.” His thumb traces circles on my palm, sending shivers up my arm. “I think we both need some fresh air.”
Don’t go anywhere alone with him.
“Vanguard—”
“Nate,” he corrects, and the sound of his real name makes my chest ache. “Tonight, I’m just Nate.”
He’s already pulling me toward the edge of the room, toward a set of French doors that lead onto a stone balcony. I should resist, should make an excuse, claim I need the loo, disappearinto the crowd. Every bit of my training screams at me to break contact and run.
But I don’t. Because beneath all my layers, all the real and all the fake, I’m just a desperate, hungry, terribly lonely girl who’s been forever denied what it means to be human.
Outside, the chill is bracing, yet not enough to slap some sense into me. The balcony overlooks a private courtyard, empty except for manicured hedges and a fountain that’s been turned off for the season. Beyond it, Manhattan glitters as always.
Vanguard—Nate—leads me to the railing then turns to face me. The wind ruffles his dark hair, and in the moonlight, he looks less like a superhero or a movie star and more like a man. Just a man. One who’s looking at me like I’m the answer to a question he’s been asking his whole life.
“Try not to scream,” he says.
“What—”
His arms wrap around me, one at my waist, one at my shoulders, and suddenly, the ground isn’t there anymore.
My stomach drops. The balcony falls away beneath us—ten feet, twenty, fifty—and I’m clutching him like my life depends on it, because oh my fucking God, it does. The city shrinks below us, the Met becoming a dollhouse, Central Park a dark rectangle studded with lamplights, and we’re rising, rising, the wind whipping my hair free from its careful knot and tearing pins away into the void.
I do scream. Just a little.
“I’ve got you,” he says against my ear, and his arms tighten, pulling me flush against him. “I’ve always got you.”
We’re flying.Flying.Not in a hover car, not in a plane, but actually bloody flying, with nothing beneath my feet but a thousand feet of empty air and nothing keeping me alive except the man holding me against his chest.
It’s terrifying. It’s exhilarating. It’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever experienced.
The city spreads out below us like a reverse night sky, avenues stretching in constellations, buildings dotted like stars, the Hudson and East Rivers dark galaxies hemming it all in. I can see the Statue of Liberty in the distance, tiny and green, her torch a pinprick of gold. The wind is cold and sharp and smells like nothing at all, just clean air and the utter freedom of the skies.
And I’m crying. I don’t know when I started, but tears are streaming down my cheeks, stolen by the wind before they can fall, which is a blessing. My tears might be lethal to the one carrying me thousands of feet in the air. It’s just too much—the height, the speed, the feel of his body against mine, the impossible reality of what’s happening. I’ve spent so long keeping everyone at arm’s length, ever since my first kiss ended in death, and now, I’m a thousand feet above Manhattan, in the arms of a man I’m supposed to be investigating, the man who has so much power, he could destroy anything he wanted.
I’ve never felt more alive.
