My eardrums buzz, as though the fire is spreading.
Holy fucking fuck.
I wolf down another chip and then another. A glass of milk finally appears. Cillian seizes it and carries it to my mouth. I gulp it down, and although it doesn’t douse the fire, it does soften its blaze.
I think I hear Cillian yell at Jeneva and the latter answer: “Hey, I warned her it was strong.”
“How is that drink legal?” I croak.
Cillian brackets my face with his palms, forcing my eyes to his. “Are you all right?”
He looks wild, as though Jeneva were some ill-intentioned Holy Hunter who just made an actual attempt on my life.
I swallow, but my throat feels like melted plastic, so my saliva just pools in my mouth. “Remind me never to order anything edible or drinkable containing the word Reaper.”
Cillian drags his thumbs over my cheekbones.
My chest feels warm…and not because of my awful drink, but because no one—outside my family and Calanthe—has ever looked so concerned about my wellbeing.
“I’m fine,” I rasp.
His gray eyes don’t merely skim over my expression; they till. I wrap my fingers around his wrists, intent on putting an end to his intensity before he can spot all the things I’d prefer to keep hidden. For now.
“I’m fine,” I repeat, pressing to loosen his grip.
Although his hands slide away, his attention doesn’t.
“Fine, I see it,” Jeneva says, licking the salt rim of her glass before taking a sip.
“What do you see?” I ask, as Cillian loads up a chip and offers it to me, insisting I eat it to repair the damage caused by my drink.
“That you’re hot for each other.” She wrinkles her nose. “I was honestly hoping it was one-sided—or no-sided at all. Cillian, please tell me you have some single friends for me.”
My insides swelter again, but not because of any ghost pepper this time.
“There is this one trainer at my gym…”
As he tells Jeneva about Carlos, I study the veiny hand he’s set on my thigh.
Why do I suddenly want to know how many bodies it’s stroked?
Why does the idea of his fingers roaming over another woman’s skin burn my ribs like my sip of margarita?
I can’t possibly be falling for the human stranger with the glasses and protruding ears.
No. It’s because my life is in shambles, and he’s as far removed as a person can be.
“Electra, are you sure you’re okay?” He squeezes my thigh, and it feels…
“What a small world! Callie’s here.” Jeneva waves her over. Under her breath, she adds. “Is it me, or does she look a little pissed?”
“Electra Serran.” Calanthe bites out each letter of my name.
Oh, she isn’t a little pissed off. She’s full-on mad. “We’ve been searching all over the fucking continent for you! I even alerted airport police.”
“Continent? That feels slightly extreme. Where is it that you thought I was headed?” The evenness of my pitch adds another slash of red to her already flushed cheeks.
“Thanks for messaging me, Cillian.” She taps out a message on her phone, then stows it in the pocket of her sequined bomber. “Jeneva, Cillian, can you please go to the bar and stay there until I call you back? I’d get comfortable if I were you.”
