Electra
Malachi’s here.
He’s back.
I’m about to press away from the bar when I spot a platinum-haired woman at his side. And not just any woman—Ines. One of my least favorite people, and I have a lot of least favorite people.
My teeth slide that she tagged along. But what was I expecting? Not only is she an Atlantean, but Malachi and Ines have been traveling together for the better part of the year. They probably just hopped off the same private jet and rolled up to the venue in the same?—
Malachi grips Ines’s hip.
My chest aches with a sudden, fragile coldness that forces a series of quick swallows.
“Miss Serran? Electra?” Cillian’s voice snaps me out of my daze, reminding me that I have witnesses to my heartbreak.
Even though I don’t acknowledge him, fire swarms my heart and punches my cheeks.
After glaring at Malachi’s hand for another solid minute, I bounce my gaze around the room until I lock eyes on Calanthe.She either doesn’t feel my stare or she does and chooses to ignore me.
Ines leans over to murmur something into Malachi’s ear. He tips his head to make her job easier before whispering something back.
Jealousy doesn’t only prick my chest; it gores me. I swear to Gaea that if their lips connect, I will…
I will…
A chest cloaked in black and ringed by a necklace shears off my line of sight. “Are you okay?”
I’m lightyears past okay. I’m fucking seething. “Can you stop crowding me?”
“Is that him?” he murmurs.
My gaze veers off Malachi and climbs to Cillian’s. “Him?”
“Calanthe mentioned I shouldn’t get my hopes up because your heart was set on another guy.”
“And yet you still came tonight.” My searing murmur zaps the air between us. “Were you hoping I’d take one look at you and swoon?”
Cillian drops his stare to his sneakers and tunnels his fingers through his brownish mop. “I was hoping you’d dance with me and…I guess…yeah, swoon.”
His candor takes me by such surprise that I bark out a laugh.
A flush streaks the tips of his ears and catches on his pale cheeks. Though the burgundy glass candelabra poised above our heads spits out only subdued light, I don’t miss how the blush usurps his neck and mottles his jaw.
Guilt makes me contemplate being nice and explaining that it’s not him. That no man will ever stand a chance against Malachi, but Cillian doesn’t need to know this. By tomorrow, he and I will be back to being two ships passing each other in the dark.
“Look, you’re not my type,” I say to put the gym coach’s desire to bed once and for all.
Could I have tufted my verdict with a touch of kindness? Probably. But being a bitch is bound to make him feel like he dodged a bullet. Which will work in everyone’s favor.
Instead of marching away, though, the clearly intrepid human lifts his gaze back to mine.
A gaze that smacks of resolve. “I can help you.”
“Help me?” Could I sound more stupefied?
“Win him over,” he adds quietly.
I dart a glance down the bar for an eavesdropper wearing a mermaid dress. Thankfully, Jeneva’s gone.
