Page 52 of The Reign of Blood

The second he’s gone, another shadow casts over me.

Kryll.

“Where’s Flora?” I ask, peering around him.

“Arlo somehow convinced me to swap partners.”

“Arlo convinced you?” I clarify, eyebrows raised, and he smirks, rolling his eyes at me.

“I actually know Arlo’s father. He has a business relationship with my father, and he’s an alright guy. He’s also hot for his stepsister, so I can’t help but watch them stumble around each other in amusement.”

“He does?”

“Of course that’s what you took from that,” he mumbles, his grin spreading wider.

“Everybody, start practicing. Brody and I will give pointers on our walk-through,” the professor declares, and Kryll instantly reaches for my waist and hand, just as Brody had done a moment ago.

“Don’t you think?—”

“Shut up and dance with me, Princess.”

My eyes narrow on him. “Stop calling me that,” I grumble as we slowly begin to move.

“Why?”

“Because that’s not who I am anymore.”

His head rears back as he frowns down at me. “You think I’m calling you princess because youwerea princess?”

I gape at him, at a loss for words for a split second before I shake my head. “I don’t know. It sounds weird now that you’re saying it out loud,” I admit, and he snickers.

“That’s because it’s weird as fuck.”

“Excuse me, that’s my?—”

“Fuck off, Delia,” Kryll grunts, turning to the girl standing beside us with her hands planted on her hips. With her eyes narrowed, she storms off toward the professor, leaving Kryll to shrug and continue to try and lead me through this damn dance.

“You’re causing a stir,” I state, glancing down at our feet as I try to follow the steps.

“Is it me, or is it you?” he retorts, forcing me to glance back up at him.

“At the rate everything is going, it’ll work out to be me, I’m sure.” He smirks. “It’s not funny,” I snap, lips pursed, which only makes his face light up more.

“I never said it was.” No one should look this good when they’re making fun of me. It should be illegal.

“That ridiculous grin on your face says otherwise,” I mutter, and he shrugs again.

“I’m sure it does.”

Shaking my head, I focus on the dance for a few moments, my head spinning from our interaction. It’s always like this. He’s a mystery, and it’s half of the reason I’m distracted.

“You’re an enigma,” I blurt, tilting my head up to his as we manage to take five steps before I stumble.

“You’re one to talk.”

“Please, that’s crap and you know it,” I retort, making him shake his head.

“Maybe. I’m a shifter; getting close to people like this isn’t in my comfort zone,” he admits.

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