“That’s even better, because I don’t want to—wait.What?” The world stops, tilts. I fall off it and into the abyss before I’m somehow spit out and placed back in front of my home. “Whatdid you say?”
Now her gaze flits around, worried that she’s said the wrong thing. It lasts about half a second before she shoves back her shoulders, defiant.
“Storm Grayson. You hate him. I know that. The whole world knows it.”
My spine tightens into a steel rod. I do hate Storm Grayson. She’s right about that, but it’s not for the reason most people think. Storm Grayson is not what the world believes he is.
Blair walks away, and this time I let her.
When I’m back on the front porch, Hands is in the doorway, holding the invitation. Little bastard’s been spying this whole time.
I take it and stare at the black paper stamped in golden ink.
Storm Grayson is going to be at that ball.
He’s making a play for Blair.
And there’s no way in hell I can allow that.
No, I can’t have her.
I don’t want her.
I don’t need her.
My body might go nuts when I’m in her presence, but there is no way that the two of us will ever be together.
And there’s also no way in hell that I’ll allow Storm Grayson to have her. She could have anyone,anyonein the world besides him.
And I’m going to make sure of that.
“Get my tux, Hands. I’m going to a ball.”
3
“Where’s Aunt Ovie?” I demand, throwing myself through the front door of the house.
My dad looks up from where he’s sitting in his recliner, smoking a pipe and readingA Dragon’s Quotidian Life,a book about dragons thathewrote.
Dragons are his favorite subject. Don’t get him started on them because he can talk for hours. Even though I like those creatures, the last thing I’m interested in is a long-winded explanation about their mating practices.
Trust me, I’ve heard it all—especially about how dragon courting rituals put werewolves’ practices to shame. If you think the biting between wolves is risqué, you ain’t seen nothing until you’ve studied how dragons go about mating. There’s biting—everywhere. And also some scandalous fire breathing that I would rather not think about.
My father looks up from the book, startled, his thinning blond hair falling into his face. “You’re looking for Ovie?”
“Yes. Is she here?”
“I’m not sure.” He points to the ceiling. “She might be upstairs getting your sisters ready.”
Mama walks into the room. Her hair’s piled high on her head in swirly curls, but she doesn’t have on her gown yet. “What’s wrong?”
“She’s looking for Ovie,” Dad says over his shoulder.
She frowns. “Blair, listen, there’s something I need to tell you?—”
I cut the air with my hand. “I already know all about it, Mama.”
She peers at me curiously. “You do?”
