Gotcha.
CHAPTER FIVE
Pandora
Soren is looking into Milana’s eyes like he wants to swim in them, and I’m drinking wine and scowling at him from across the room.
“You look stunning tonight, Queen Pandora,” Prince Raiden, the shifter heir, purrs, and I can feel his gaze on my breasts. Dragging my gaze back to him, I’m about to reply when Salem stalks up next to him. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him, and I’d almost forgotten just how menacing this male is.
He’s tall.
Like really tall.
And built.
His shoulders are broad, and his whole body is made of pure muscle. His white tunic strains across his chest, his strong legs like tree trunks.
I stare up into his pale green eyes, void of emotion. Cold. Dead. There’s nothing in those eyes except pure dominance. A shiver goes down my spine.
“Well, if it isn’t my fiancée,” he growls, a muscle feathering in his jaw.
“Ex-fiancée,” I correct, arching my brow. “Our betrothal died along with my mother.”
Astrid told me when she met him, he emphasized that I was his ex-fiancée, so I don’t know why he’s changed his tune other than the fact he’s insane. Salem has many personalities, depending on his mood. He could have easily ignored me and pretended he didn’t know me tonight. I never know which version of him I’m going to get.
He grins, slow and calculated. “Once mine, always mine.”
Fucking hell.
This is why I try to avoid Salem as much as I can. He’s simply not sane. I could probably run into him a century from now, and he will still be calling me his. Not that he likes me because I’m pretty sure he doesn’t, but because he’s a possessive bastard and doesn’t like others to play with his toys.
“That’s not how it works, Salem,” I reply, taking another sip of wine. I don’t let my eyes move away from him because you don’t look away from a monster.
Raiden slides away, not wanting to get in between whatever this is, leaving me alone with him. I don’t blame him. No one wants to unleash whatever madness Salem keeps simmering below the surface.
“It works however I want it to work, Pandora,” he replies, scanning the crowd. His black hair is still as short as it’s always been, the only one of the triplets to wear it that way. I’ve always wanted to ask him how he got the scars—one on his cheek and others up his arms—but I’ve never dared to engage him in conversation about anything too personal. “Who are you here with?”
Tilting my head to the side, I wonder how to reply. “Friends.”
I don’t want to tell him I’m here alone, and I can’t mention that I’m here with Soren either, so vague is going to have to do.
He steps closer to me, leaning down to tell me something when Soren appears, a plate of food in his hands. He’s filled it with all sorts of things like cake, fancy sandwiches, and fruit.
Instead of eating from it, though, he hands it to me. “Eat.”
Not knowing how to react, I gape at him before accepting the plate, only to stare at it in confusion.
So much for pretending we don’t know each other.
And why is he bringing me food?
Is he drunk or something?
Or maybe this is a dream.
I casually pinch myself, and yeah, it hurts.
Not a dream.