Page 6 of The Darkest Gift

I can still feel Mason’s gaze on us, a tangible heat that slides over my skin like a brand. It’s heavy, deliberate—a presence I can’t ignore even if I wanted to. Elijah, though… he doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he does. His eyes keep flicking past me, just quick enough to make it seem unintentional, but I catch it every time. He’s watching Mason too, and I wonder what he thinks.

Does he believe Mason is only watching him? Is he trying to provoke something, dancing with a woman like this? Does he think he can use me as bait to pull jealousy out of Mason? My lips curve faintly at the thought. If only he knew. If only he had any idea how much more tangled this web really is. How much more dangerous.

And oh, if he knew who I actually am to Mason…

Elijah’s mouth twitches into a smirk as he leans closer still, his breath warm against my jawline now. The shift is subtle but intentional, his lips brushing the edge of my skin so lightly it feels like a suggestion rather than an accident. His voice dips lower, intimate now, meant just for me. "Should we take this somewhere quieter, more private? Away from… prying eyes?"

The way he says it, the way his breath feathers against the shell of my ear, sends a delicious shiver down my spine. It’s bold, reckless, and yet there’s a naivety to it too. Does he mean Mason when he says "prying eyes"?

Oh, Elijah. Sweet, beautiful Elijah. You have no idea.

"Sure," I say, letting my smile soften. Play along. Let him think he's leading. "Somewhere private sounds perfect."

"Perfect," he echoes, and there’s a spark of triumph in his voice as he takes my hand, guiding me toward the edge of the grand room. Away from the glittering chandeliers and polished marble, away from the crowd of sequined bodies swirling under the hushed glow of the Christmas gala. We slip through an archway, the air cooler now, quieter, the shadows stretching longer here.

As we leave, I glance back—just for a second—and catch Mason’s gaze. It’s steady, unblinking, and laced with something wicked and knowing. The humor on his face is so subtle, so faint, no one else would notice it. But I do. Of course I do. I know him better than anyone. And I know exactly what that look means.

He’ll follow. Not yet, but soon. He’s giving me the lead on this, letting me sink my claws in first. That’s the deal. That’s always been the deal.

Still, my stomach flips under the weight of his stare, a jolt of adrenaline and anticipation sparking through me. This game is only getting started, and already, I can’t wait to see how it plays out.

Chapter 5

Iris

We don't have to go far before Elijah finds an empty room, his hand firm yet casual as it wraps around my wrist and pulls me inside. The door clicks shut behind us, cutting off the faint hum of holiday music and the muffled, false laughter of the gala. My lips twitch in a subtle smirk when I hear the lock slide into place, but I'm already moving further into the room, my eyes sweeping across it, taking it all in.

The space is pure indulgence. Of course, it would be—this entire event was designed for the bored elite who thrive on extravagance. The hotel itself is more like a country club, catering to those who can afford to buy their way out of monotony. But this room… this room suits me perfectly. Dark tones dominate the space—the kind of dark that feelsintentional, seductive. Leather accents gleam under the warm glow of brass lamps, and the sharp scent of polished wood mingles with hints of aged leather. A library, styled somewhere between a private cigar lounge and a sanctum for whispered secrets.

The sofas scattered through the room are deep and inviting, upholstered in rich, nearly black leather that glimmers faintly under the light. The walls are lined with bookshelves, each packed with thick volumes whose spines are worn but timeless. It’s the kind of place that feels intimate, charged. Dangerously quiet, as though it holds its breath, waiting for whatever might unfold.

I stop without realizing it, caught up in the mood of the room. The air here feels heavier, thicker, wrapping around me like a velvet curtain, and for a moment, I let myself sink into it. That is, until I feel him—a presence at my back, solid and certain. Warmth radiates from his body, brushing against mine, and I inhale sharply as he steps even closer.

Elijah’s hand skims up my arm, deliberate and slow, before he sweeps my hair over one shoulder. His touch is practiced, precise, but there’s something raw just beneath the surface, like he’s teetering on the edge of control. His breath ghosts over my skin, sending a shiver down my spine, and then his lips, soft and cool, press against the curve where my shoulder meets my neck.

"Is this what you want, Iris?" Elijah's voice is a husky whisper, lips brushing my earlobe, sending a cascade of shivers through me.

"Maybe," I tease, tilting my head to grant him better access. His hands explore the contours of my body, each touch sending electricity zipping under my skin. He's good at this—too good—and part of me wonders if it's just a game for him too. But I'm not easy prey; I'm a predator in my own right.

"Only maybe?" His chuckle resonates against me, vibrating through his chest to mine. Our bodies are close but not quite touching, the space between us charged with anticipation. This is a dance, one full of push and pull, give and take.

"Convince me," I say, throwing down a challenge like a velvet gauntlet.

He accepts it eagerly, fingers tracing the neckline of my dress, dipping just low enough to promise more. My breath hitches, but I don't break. Instead, I lean back into him, feeling the solid press of his body. His other hand ventures downward, ghosting along the curve of my hip before settling with a possessive grip that suggests he won't be letting go anytime soon.

But as his lips find the sensitive spot behind my ear, my mind wanders to plans of my own; a seduction layered within a seduction. I can feel the pulse of something sinful and thrilling coursing between us, a reminder of the games Mason and I play—games that Elijah is now a part of, whether he knows it or not.

Elijah's breath fans hot against my neck, his lips grazing over the tender skin with a promise of sin. I tilt my head, granting him better access, and he hums a low note of approval. His fingers inch up the side of my thigh, taking advantage of the slit in my dress, bold and unapologetic, and every touch is a spark that threatens to ignite.

"Am I getting warmer?" His voice is a husky whisper, laced with dark honey and temptation.

"Scorching," I reply, my own tone matching his seductive timbre. The air around us is thick with desire, and I savor the power of this moment—this delicious tension that I can draw out or snap like a wire.

I turn in his embrace to face him, our gazes locked in a heated duel. Elijah's eyes are an icy blue, like crystal clear water deep enough to drown in, but I'm not one to succumb to the depths.Instead, I meet his intensity with my own, my green eyes a challenge.

"Your move," I taunt, and it's not just an invitation—it's a gauntlet thrown. I watch, fascinated, as the corners of his mouth lift in a grin that's wicked.

His hand slides behind my neck, pulling me closer until our lips are a mere breath apart. "You have no idea what you've started, Iris," he whispers. But oh, I do—I know exactly what I've unleashed.

---