Page 97 of Cursed

“I sealed out the noise,” Landis assures and then gives me a spin.

“Why are we dancing?” I ask, still a bit hesitant. I look to Rourke, who stares at me with a hungry gaze, just as he did that first night from across the living room at the party house.

Then I get lost in the beat of the music, swaying with my mates. Loving the light moment after all that death and destruction.

“Close your eyes,” Landis whispers. “Keep them closed until I tell you.”

I do, and I’m lifted into strong arms and carried outside. It’s chilly, but not uncomfortably so.

I’m set down on a mat or something.“I hope I’m not being sacrificed,”I say to Landis.

I only hear his mental chuckle.

The music is still playing in the background. I relax, knowing my mates will keep me safe.

“Open your eyes,”Landis mentally orders me.

When I open them, a shadowy male figure is towering over me. I yelp but realize quickly it’s Rourke.

Just behind him are magical lights, much like Christmas lights. I look down to see I’m lying on one of two chaise lawn chairs. Although they are much nicer than the set from that party.

Holy dragon dicks!

He’s recreated the night we met.

Tears of—well, I don’t know what—fall from my eyes. I’m overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness.

“I wanted to go back in time. Do it over.” Rourke runs his hand through his hair—his nervous tick. “Is it stupid?”

“It’s perfect,” I whisper, awe in my voice. I can’t believe that he would go out of his way to please me like this—to make everything right for me.

Going back to the night’s reenactment theme, he echoes what he first said to me, “I just wanted to check on you since you disappeared.”

“Nah. I’m good, Goldie,” I grin at him.

“Goldie?” He frowns, his brow crinkling in confusion.

“It’s my nickname for you.” I side-whisper, “From that night. You reminded me of a golden Greek god when I first saw you.”

“And now?” Rourke holds out his hands and spins slowly for me to peruse his masculine beauty. “Did I lose my luster?”

“Now you’re a dragon angel—which is much better.”

He sits down, facing me, on the other chaise lawn chair—just like he did at the party. He watches me with the same intensity he did before. “Why would an angel be better than a god?”

“Dragonangel,” I correct. “Because gods are pompous and full of themselves. Angels get in there and get their hands dirty.”

“I’d like to get my hands covered in you.” He waggles his eyebrows playfully.

“Oh, boy.” I palm my face, and we both laugh.

“So you don’t think I’m a pompous ass anymore?”

I study him, tilting my head dramatically, scratching my chin, and drawing out my answer. “I think I’ll downgrade your asshole status to mildly irritating.”

“And hot?” He grins, but his eyebrows lift, suggesting this is an actual question.

“Well, for a supe, I suppose you’re alright. But I’d have to see more of your body to make a proper assessment.”

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