Page 166 of Flirting with Darkness

I blinked. “What?” People in dreams didn’t say things like—

Gong!

It reverberated around the room, through our bodies, and when Faolán set me on the floor, I felt it there too.

At the front of the ballroom, a petite woman stood on a dais. Her white skin was even paler than mine—the colour of the sheets on our bed. Blue-black hair curled around her face in a long, loose mass.

And what a face. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe, it was so exquisite. A wide mouth with full lips parted in a smile, revealing perfect, white teeth, complete with fae canines. Her small nose matched her pointed chin, and large, sapphire eyes surveyed the room, waiting for us to fall silent.

Just as I drew a breath, my attention trailed down her slender body, and my lungs stilled again. She wore a black gown, but it was as though it had been cut from scraps of night, flowing down her body in a veil so sheer I could see the pink tips of her nipples and a dark strip of hair at the apex of her thighs.

None of the fae around us reacted like I knew the Hawthornes would, in gasped shock or pearl-clutching scandal.

I gripped Faolán’s sleeve. The sight of her, the feel of her magnetism rolling across the room, sweet upon the air, it had me clenching my thighs together, wanting, wanting, wanting, building on the fire Faolán’s kisses had stoked in me. He was an anchor stopping me from running to her.

“Dear guests,” she said with a flash of those perfect teeth. Her long, elegant hands spread in a gesture of welcome that beckoned me.

Faolán held my arm, and I realised I had taken a step forward.

My chest heaved as I shook my head. Whatwasthis? What had such a hold on me? I tucked into his side, planting my feet on the floor.

“Stay close to me,” he murmured in my ear, the heat of it making me shiver, then he took my hand, grip as tight as a vice.

“My friends, it is time to begin.” When she gestured to the side, two servants opened a pair of doors hidden in the mirrored walls.

The crowd flowed in and would’ve dragged me with them, if not for Faolán’s immovable weight shielding me.

He narrowed his eyes at the darkness through the doors. “Let’s have a look.”

Rather than leading me, he placed a hand on my shoulder, the unexpected skin contact making my breath hitch, and placed me before him, steering us through the throng.

Every sensation was too much. The warmth of him at my back. The rough skin of his hands. His breaths disturbing the hair on top of my head. The voices and footsteps of the crowd, and their eyes upon me.

I found myself straining for a glimpse of the woman who’d spoken, to no avail.

Fae charm. Of course. That was the thing pulling me towards her. Faolán had said he had no talent for that, but clearly our host did.

I leant back into him as we shuffled through the doorway, and he looped an arm around my waist. I fought against the desire to arch back into him and was grateful that our shuffling gait prevented it.

But my body cried that this was how it would feel if he took me from behind and that I should let him—beg him to—and bury my face between that woman’s legs at the same time.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Fae charm was a dangerous thing. A glorious thing. A thing that had its claws in my muscles and nerves, toying with me like I was a puppet.

Eyes closed, I took long breaths and trusted Faolán to steer me through the crowd. It was only then I realised the floor sloped away—we were walking down. Granny hadn’t shown us a cellar or mentioned one, but a house as large as this surely had one.

Also. I had to remember—this was a dream.

I sighed in pure relief as the air grew cool and dank, quenching the fire that had swept across my skin.

Although I still couldn’t catch many words in the conversations around us, there was a general tone of excitement running through the guests’ voices.

After maybe five minutes, Faolán drew us to a stop, his grip on my shoulder and around my waist tightening until I was hard against him. His “Hmm” rattled into my spine, jangling along my overwrought nerves.

When I opened my eyes, we were in a large, round chamber that dropped away towards the centre. The other guests occupied plush velvet chairs in inky black that worked their way down to that central space in tiers with nine aisles radiating out. We slid into seats at the back, Faolán’s on the aisle. I kept hold of his arm, still not entirely trusting myself not to climb across the audience to reach that woman the next time I spotted her.

The low conversation continued, though everyone’s gazes kept turning to that empty central area, making the air buzz with anticipation.

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