“Where is Fiona?” I ask Amara.
She shrugs. “Sorry. Don’t know. She and Marguerite might have gone to the calm room.”
In that case, perhaps they need time alone. Khesan moves like he’s going to find her, but I grab his arm to stop him.
“She will return when she’s ready,” I assure him.
We resume dancing, and now he is watching me, too. We dance closer, as if some force beyond my control is pulling us together, and I can’t help thinking how good his waist looks bare, how much I appreciate the way his large pectorals fill out his shirt. I have not found many other male Arshurians attractive before, but Khesan is a fearsome opponent in that arena.
It is hard not to imagine that Fiona will choose him. He is good to look at and soft toward her. He cleans and cooks, and I know he would make a fine husband.
“Shathar?” asks Khesan, stepping closer to me in the throng. “You look concerned.”
I shake my head. “It’s nothing.”
But now we are even closer together, and the scent of mate is getting stronger. Khesan sets a hand on my shoulder and strokes it with surprising tenderness.
“I’m sure she is fine,” he says, misinterpreting my expression.
But that is not what I worry about. I worry about how this will end, the pain that I’ll endure when I’m sent home to Arshur.
I shrug him off, feeling sorry for myself. But Khesan remains close, tilting his head to peer into my face.
“Something else bothers you,” he remarks over the pounding of the music.
“It is fine.” I breathe out and then in through my nose to calm my heart. I ought to enjoy this moment as much as I can, because who knows how long it will last.
“Turn around,” says Khesan in a bossy voice. Taken off guard, I do as I’m told, showing him my back. Clawed hands find my shoulders, and Khesan’s strong fingers dig into the muscle there. His touch is warm, firm, and yet somehow soft. My whole body sags as he presses down with his thumbs, working the tension out of me. He does this for what feels like many, many minutes, simply showing me kindness.
Then Khesan leans down so his mouth is very close to my ear. “Feel any better?”
“Yes,” I breathe, my whole body feeling much, much hotter than a moment ago. “I do.”
His hands smooth down my back and then he releases me. Immediately, I miss his touch. But now we are dancing much closer together, both of us moving feverishly in time with the music, and for just this night, I can forget how it all ends.
This time, Khesan’s hand lands on me—on my hip, above the tie of my neon green chaps. He doesn’t move it, though, and I wish I knew what it meant.
Then Fiona rejoins us, but she is alone.
“Where is Marguerite?” I ask, peering around.
“Resting. She’ll join us soon. After the show, would you two mind if we went to her house? She’s going to have an afterparty.”
I am not sure what this “afterparty” is, but I can glean the intention. We both nod in agreement and welcome Fiona into our dance circle. Soon, Amara and Roth’kar enter our dancing circle, along with Amara’s friend Kendall.
The frantic pump of the music takes over, and I crave nothing but to touch. I wrap my arms around Fiona and hold her close as we dance, and she giggles as my erection rubs against her butt. When we part, Khesan spins her around, and she squeals with wild delight. It is a pleasure to watch them twirl and then hold each other close. For a moment, it’s as if we are all inside the same circle of joy.
Midnight comes, which is when the New Year begins, and everyone cheers as the musician on stage counts down the seconds.
“We’re supposed to kiss at midnight,” Fiona tells us, so when we reach one second left, I pull her against me and smash our lips together. She squeaks with pleasure. When I release her, Khesan does the same, whirling her into his arms to kiss her with all the love in his body. It’s obvious how much he cares for her, the same as I do.
The party winds down after that, until it’s nearly two in the morning, but I am still very much awake and buzzing with energy.
“Afterparty time,” Fiona singsongs.
She calls for a car to pick us up, and when we step out of the hot warehouse and into the fresh air, I exhale with relief. It’s cold out, but a good kind of cold. Still, Fiona’s human skin is sensitive, so Khesan and I stand around her to keep the wind off her while we wait with the rest of our party.
Soon, we are on the way, driving through the city and then the neighborhoods beyond it. The van stops at what appears to be Marguerite’s house, and Fiona grabs Khesan’s and my hands as she hops out and leads us to the front door.
