His voice is nothing but ice now. “Elodie?”
I flinch at the harshness of my name and move to pull away, but Byron follows me, his gaze sharpening. His fingers clamp around my shoulder.
His anger brings the trace of British inflection into his words. “What the fuck— Why would you— You’re going to be in so much shit.”
My pulse skitters through my veins. “No. Please?—”
If he exposes me to the rest of the club, if Other Elodie’s killer is lurking here, it could screw up any chance I had at solving her murder. And radiants only know what other consequences I’ll face for impersonating staff, entering this club, and seemingly preying on its powerful members.
Uncle Nik’s stern voice reverberates up from my memory.“Don’t let yourself get flustered. If someone challenges you, putthemoff balance.”
I jerk my posture straighter with a mix of instinct and adrenaline. “What makes you think I don’t have a perfectly good reason to be here?”
Byron gapes at me, incredulous even through his fury. I think I succeeded at confusing him, anyway.
How can he see through my magic at all? Is it because of the unsteady connection between us, or is my illusion already getting weaker?
Knowing Byron, I don’t doubt he could shatter the effect completely if he wanted to.
His jaw works. He glares down at me, but he pitches his voice lower than before. “What reason could there possibly be? This is all some blasted Devine scheme, isn’t it? Dig up everything you can? You got me playing cards with you, talking about my family?—”
Is he serious?
“You askedmeto play cards,” I interrupt. “You volunteered what you said about your family. All I asked is if you were okay!”
“I didn’t know who I was talking to.”
His fingers flex against my shoulder, setting off a pulse of heat through my body. I wet my lips, and his gaze tracks the movement.
The smolder in his dark eyes suddenly looks like more than anger.
The memory of how Cole reacted in close proximity to me just hours ago gets my heart thumping even faster. Will pulling out of his grasp only work Byron up more?
“I wasn’t here to spy on you,” I say, as firmly as I can manage. “I swear it. The fact that we ended up talking was just random chance.”
“Random chance,” Byron repeats with a note of disbelief that’s fair, because I don’t think it’s only that either. “The people in here—if they had any idea what you’re doing— You have no idea how hard they’d come down on even you.”
For a second, he sounds almost concerned. His gaze flicks over my face and down my body, casting heat down to my core.
“Let go of me,” I suggest, with a softening of my voice to play into any sympathy that’s stirred in him. “I’ll walk out right now. Problem solved.”
His expression shutters, but he yanks his arm away. “Fine. Get out,now. And stay the fuck away. If I ever see you here again, I’ll break your mask in front of the whole club.”
“Thank you,” I mutter, and dash for the stairs.
My heart keeps pounding all the way down the street. And the imprint of warmth lingers on my shoulder like another mark I’ll never quite shake.
Twenty-Five
Byron
“This good, sir?” the driver of the ride I booked asks, looking doubtfully at the forest looming on either side of the gravel lane.
I keep my tone steady and professional, as if I’m heading off to a business meeting in the trees. “Perfect. Thank you.”
I get out and wait on the shoulder as the car’s wheels rattle back to the country road we turned off. Every thud of my pulse feels as if it’s being squeezed through a funnel.
My fingers flex and tap against my thigh. My gaze darts from tree to tree, counting so fast I’m barely aware of the numbers spinning through my head.
