Good news.
You look absolutely fuckingdeliciousin that gown.His thumb traced lazy circles over his mouth as if tasting the words.
My cheeks flared red, hit directly with his fire. Beside him, Aelora stole glances that were equal parts wounded and furious.
Tell me where I’m meant to sit, then. The empty chair next to you…or where you’ve been imagining me since I walked in?
His knees parted beneath the table, a slow shift of his body that sent heat spiraling through the bond. A low, guttural noise rolled through, hitting me like a hand closing around my neck as his gaze dragged in a consuming sweep before locking back on my eyes.
Sit beside me, and I’ll behave. Sit on me, and I won’t.
Desire stirred in my belly, and I tried to ignore it. After all, intimates didn’t go with this outfit. Couldn’t have my lust spilling all over Ronan’s fancy chairs.
He shot me a devilish grin, like he would fucking care what I soaked with my greed for him.
What’s the bad news?
He lifted the goblet to his mouth, the motion so casual it made my hands tremble.Elysian told them all who you are.
I stilled with every stare still cut into me, a different fever twisting under my skin.They know?
His hand flexed at his side as he lifted his palm, fingers curling in a slow beckon. To the chair beside him. To him.
They know exactly who you are, and it changes nothing.
I forced my feet forward. Past the ones clothed in rich threads, lounging in too-casual elegance. Consorts, allies, predators—I didn’t know. Didn’t want to know.
Their eyes raked over me with the efficiency of deciding where to strike. Some lingered with curiosity, some with hunger. Few with fear. The absence of guards unsettled me most. I hadn’t seen one since we’d landed. Which meant they weren’t needed.
Ronan rose as I approached, sliding a chair out with soundless grace, a gesture far too intimate for the hall we stood in. My pulse stumbled, despite the confidence I wore.
Even the men were beautiful here. Terrifyingly so. Some older, scarred and seasoned like Fritz. But most, like Ronan, seemed created from some merciless god’s desire.
And still, it was only Ronan I couldn’t stop looking at. The way his shirt dipped open, revealing the hard lines of muscle. The glint of the gold links resting against his throat. The trembling edge in his eyes that never quite let me go.
“Take your time, my love,” he murmured, pulling the chair back farther, inviting me closer. “But,” a pause, amusement tugging at his mouth, “we are rather hungry.”
“Hungry,” I repeated, “for food, I hope.”
The smallest spark lit in his stare. “Among other things.” A slow, wicked tilt of his lashes, a promise.
Chuckles rippled from the table, teeth flashing in half smiles. My spine straightened at the sound. If they thought I was prey, I would remind them, cursed or not, serpent or saint, I still had fangs.
I tilted my head, let my lips curl in something dangerously close to a smile. “Then I suggest you all eat carefully. Poison tends to linger.”
The laughter died at that. Only Ronan smiled, as though I’d just dominated my first move in a game I hadn’t realized we were already playing.
I lowered into the chair, the liquid cloth pooling between my thighs. It rode up as I settled, and the cold edge of the chair kissed the exposed skin of my ass. My breath hitched; for a second the sensation was all sharp and absurd, humiliating as I squeaked, fumbling at the fabric as I tried to tuck propriety back into place.
A quiet heat answered, the chair warming, and a drift of smoke curled up, a slow, protective veil that slipped over the more precious places with the intimacy of a hand. It eased against my shoulders, and for a ridiculous moment I considered letting the shroud do my thinking for me.
Aelora watched me through the haze, her smile honed to a blade. “So, Serena,” she said. “What’s it like, being marked? Is it as ghastly as they claim?”
Every head turned, some with restraint, some with the appetite of predators who smelled fresh blood.
I told myself her question was a provocation. That it wanted a performance. That I could give it nothing. My fist found the hem of my skirt under the table and gripped, nails biting, fabric creasing.
Dark ribbons of smoke slid along my forearm, coaxing the tension out of my fingers until I relaxed just enough to be dangerous. Across the table,Ronan’s mouth twitched. Not disdain, not quite, more like pleased curiosity. Maybe a hint of delight.
