Page 178 of Anathema

“But you’re angry with me.” Palm to palm, we circled each other, and he paused to dip me again. “I can feel it.”

“Have you learned a new glyph to sense that?” He twirled me around, and we switched palms.

“I’ve not learned anything since you’ve decided to ignore me.” I dragged my finger across his chest as I circled him, like the other women with their partners. Stealing a moment to observe one of the chiffon dancers performing the moves in a much more sensuous way, I added a bit more sway and saunter in my steps.

When I came back around front, he dragged me into him, just as the other men did. Unlike the others, he dug his fingers into me, pressing me hard against his solid chest. “I am angry at you.” The deep timber of his voice rumbled in my ear, and he spun me around, keeping in time with the other couples. “For wearing this dress. For looking so painfully exquisite, you’ve managed to draw everyone’s attention. Including mine.” Still clutching one hand at my waist, we held the other above our heads, staring at each other as we turned.

A strange, magnetic energy simmered between us. With our gazes locked, his intensely evocative eyes seen through the holes in his mask somehow stripped me bare. As if I were the only person in the room. The sole object of his focus.

The unspoken desire that lurked on the fringes thickened the air and stirred my pulse, forcing me to look away. “I told Rykaia it was too much. But she swore I’d blend in. She masked my scent and aura.”

“Yes, she did. I can hardly smell you, and yet, I still knew it was you.” He gripped me with both hands that time and dipped his head to the crook of my neck. “You’re incapable of blending, Maevyth.” Again, we found ourselves palm to palm, repeating the same steps as before. “And the scorpion?”

“I like the way it feels against my spine.”

He slid his hand to the small of my back, and my stomach fluttered at the gentle touch of his fingers there. “I curse Rykaia for bringing you here. And yet, the thought of never seeing you in this dress is a torment in itself.”

As before, I dragged my hand across his chest, circling him. “Then, you forgive me?”

He wound my body into his, my back to his chest, his arms tight around me. “So long as you do not speak to another soul while you’re here, yes.”

“There is one I’m dying to speak with, though. The unmasked mage we were talking to earlier. Anatolis. I know him.”

Still keeping up with the steps, he made a quick visual sweep of the room. “Did he recognize you?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Then, why are you so interested in him?” Hands clasped above our heads, I felt the tight squeeze of his grip nearly crushing mine.

“Were I more astute, I’d imagine that troubles you.” I twisted into him, then unraveled outward, palms clutched, and I smiled while imagining the ire in his expression right then. It wasn’t my nature to flirt, but Zevander made it nearly effortless with his obvious annoyance. I only wished I could’ve seen his face. “He’s handsome without being grumpy.”

“If you like boys who can barely lift their own swords,” he grumbled. “The words you whispered to me earlier. Where do you learn to say that?”

Lowering my gaze, I pressed my lips together, refusing to implicate her.

“Rykaia, no doubt,” he said humorlessly, and we switched palms, stepping in the opposite direction. “You’ve not spoken them to anyone else, have you?”

Confused, I frowned. “Why would I?”

The corner of his lips curved, as if he wanted to smile and pulled me closer, the possession in his grasp becoming ever apparent as he held me against him with both hands. “This juvenile mage you mentioned earlier. What is it that interests you?”

I chuckled and circled around him. “He’s a scribe in Foxglove. I attended a brunch with Mr. Moros, and he was there.”

His head tracked to the side as I came around him again. “Who is Moros?”

“He’s the one I was betrothed to. The one my step-grandmother sold me off to.”

He made a growling sound in his throat, wrapping me in his embrace. “You’re mated?”

“Mated?” Acids shot to my throat at the thought of being a mate to Moros. “No. I ran away. Into the woods. But Moros, he has mines in Lyveria, and he claimed to have come upon a chasm filled with white stones.”

Zevander froze. Clutching my arm, he dragged me away from the dance floor, and against the wall. Not far from us, two of the scantily clad dancers seemed to be caught up in themselves, their bodies moving to the motions of sex, as Zevander caged me against the wall.

“What did the stones look like?” he asked, his voice urgent but low, clearly not wanting anyone to hear us. “Did you see them?”

“Yes. They were white and glittery. He had two of them, but he gave one to the captain, and it turned him into a horrible looking creature. The other, he gave to the monster in the woods.”

His muscles tensed around me. “It was Anatolis you recognized?”

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