“I don’t really know.” Aethan frowned and drank some of his water, watching his mate chat excitedly to Darci. “Echo doesn’t appear to want these things…”
“You do realize if you hadn’t decided on a wedding, Darci wouldn’t have been exposed to your kin?” Týr asked.
Blaéz frowned. “Indeed. But it would have happened at another time, another place. It was inevitable, considering Finnén’s animosity toward me. I’m just glad it’s finally over. I wish I could have avoided her getting caught in the middle and being hurt, but I would have still given her this.” He glanced at Darci surrounded by her friends, and his heart bumped hard in his chest. “Hell, I’d give her the fucking stars if it were at all possible just to see her smile…”
Probably sensing his stare, Darci glanced his way, and the smile he loved curved her mouth. Unable to resist the pull of his own little sun, he set his drink down and made his way to her.
As if on cue, music filled the room, and the lights dimmed.
Blaéz glanced back to where the pool table had been, where Daniel now operated the music system. The lad gave him the thumbs-up sign as the soft strains of a love song filled the room, one Blaéz had heard Darci play often and had chosen for tonight because it was so damn appropriate.
He held out his hand. Her eyes widened in surprise. No, he hadn’t told her this bit.
When she put her hand in his, he drew her to the middle of the makeshift dance floor and into his arms.
As they moved to the music, she whispered, “You don’t dance.”
Her words, so reminiscent of a time of heartache and pain, it took him a moment to speak past the emotions crowding him. “Now I do, just for you.”
No, he never danced…only once, several months ago. A time filled with sorrow when he’d thought he would lose her, so yes indeed, he was going to create new memories starting with this dance.
Her lips trembled, her eyes misted.
“You aren’t supposed to cry,” he said softly.
“I’m not. I-I thought I couldn’t be happier, and you’ve proven me wrong.”
Blaéz pressed his lips to her brow. “It’s my aim in life.”
He tightened his arms around her, aware that the others had joined them on the dance floor. But he couldn’t look away from his mate’s radiant face. Her scent, her body flush against his almost undid him.
As the song drew to an end, Grace, who danced with her husband, spun to them, a wide smile on her face. “Darci, don’t forget the bouquet toss!”
The lights came on. Echo sprinted over, hitching her long gown up with one hand and revealing her heels. Grinning, she handed Darci the cascading profusion of flowers she’d carried during the ceremony. The floor cleared.
“You girls ready?” Darci asked, smiling as she walked to back to the center.
“Certainly,” Lila, the Oracle who usually tended to the warriors when badly wounded—and Kira’s grandmother—called out, rising to her feet. She patted her braided salt and pepper hair, her dark eyes twinkling in her cocoa-hued face as she made her way to the front.
The women looked at each other, then hurried over and joined the Oracle.
The warriors frowned.
Darci turned away and tossed the bouquet over her shoulder.
The flowers flew across the dance floor. A single cream rosebud slipped free, hitting Elytani in the chest. The rest of the bouquet smacked Kira in the face. With a shriek, she darted behind the others and eyed the fallen flowers as if a nest of snakes had come after her.
Blaéz slid his hands into his pants’ pockets, trying not to smile. Darci had explained all the traditions to him. Most were just for fun, she’d said. But this was entertaining to watch.
Frowning, Echo picked up the bouquet. “Ki,” she whispered. “This is yours—you can’t refuse it.”
“Nuh-uh.” Kira shook her head. “No way. You keep them. I like my life uncluttered.”
Laughter rippled through the room.
“Blaéz,” Grace said, mischief gleaming in her blue eyes. “It’s your turn. The garter. You know what to do.”
He gave a slight incline of his head and sauntered to his mate then dropped to one knee in front of her and slid his hands up her thighs. Her face gone a delectable red, Darci grasped his shoulders as he felt for the wisp of lace in the entirely wrong place—deliberately. Her eyes widened, and she bit her lip.
