Page 4 of Heir of Blood and Moonlight

Surprise parted my lips, and I smiled quizzically. “I’m fine.” I shot a pointed look down at the stained front of my shirt. “I spilled a drink all over myself,” I said, rolling my eyes and shaking my head. “And now I look ridiculous.” I took a step toward the stairs. “I should just go home.”

Bastian thrust his arm out in front of me, his palm barely skimming my abdomen through the thin, damp fabric of myshirt. Tingles danced across my skin, and the sensation shot straight to my core.

“Don’t go.” His words were low, barely reaching my ears.

I gazed into his eyes, lured by the raw, rough edge of his voice. His irises were a warm hazel, with a golden starburst around his pupil like a sunflower.

Bastian’s lips curved into a lopsided grin as he lowered his arm, and the dimple on his right cheek made an appearance. “Please,” he added, his eyes going full-on sad puppy. “Don’t leave me alone with Lily and Mark.” He stuck out his full lower lip and whined, “Please . . .”

I huffed out a laugh. “What about my shirt?” I said, gripping the lower hem as I glanced down at the obvious stain. It looked like I had thrown up on myself and then tried to clean up.

“I think I can help with that,” Bastian said. My mouth fell open as he tugged his navy sweater off over his head. He handed it to me, the soft fabric still warm from his body heat. Then he pulled his white T-shirt off as well.

Now I was full-on gawking. Holy washboard abs, Batman. People like this didn’t really exist. At least, not people who did anything besides working out. Certainly not library interns, who were essentially slave labor—overworked and drastically underpaid. And that was in addition to Bastian’s Master’s degree coursework, which I knew for a fact was hefty because I had gone through the same program a decade ago. Maybe he never slept. How the hell else could he possibly maintain a physique likethat?

“Here,” Bastian said, pulling the sweater from my grasp and replacing it with his T-shirt. He tugged his sweater back on over his head. “Do you want to change in there, or . . .?”

My focus snapped up to Bastian’s face as he covered all that smooth, copper skin and all those muscular ridges. “Or out here?” I squeaked, my cheeks on fire.

What was wrong with me? I was a grown-ass woman. I was thirty-four years old. Solidly in my mid-thirties. And it wasn’t like I had spent those three and a half decades with my nose stuffed in a book. Maybe just the last two.

But Ihadlived—hard. I had lost everything. I had been through hell and survived by the skin of my teeth, fighting for everything I now had. So why was I acting like a naive teenager?

Bastian cleared his throat and averted his gaze, stepping to the side and reaching past me to push open the bathroom door. Right, so I could change my shirt in private.

Taking the hint, I retreated into the bathroom and waited for the door to swing shut behind me. I tucked Bastian’s T-shirt between my knees and pulled my stained blouse off over my head. I had just tossed the soiled shirt into the garbage can when the bathroom door swung inward, admitting a pair of giggling young women swerving and leaning heavily on one another like they might not make it far without each other’s support. As they stumbled into the largest stall together, they hardly noticed me huddled against the wall, a T-shirt clutched to my chest over my bra.

I hastily yanked Bastian’s T-shirt on over my head. It smelledgood. Really good. Like pine needles and something sweet, like molasses. I inhaled deeply. Was that cologne, deodorant, or just his natural scent?

The shirt was too big, so I knotted it at my waist, hoping it looked fashionable rather than, well, like I’d borrowed a shirt that was too big for me from some guy. I assessed my reflection in the mirror over the sink, pleasantly surprised by how I looked. I didn’t usually consider myself trendy. Okay, Ineverwould have called myself trendy. But even I had to admit that at this moment, I looked hip as fuck. Did people still say that? Hip? Oras fuck?

It didn’t matter because I feltgood. I blew a kiss at the pretty lady in the mirror. And then I cringed because evenIwas embarrassed by my dorkiness.

Bastian was still waiting when I emerged from the restroom. He leaned back against the opposite wall, his hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans, cool-kid style.

“How do I look?” I asked, striking the silly model-esque pose favored by young girls, one hand on my head, one on my hip.

Bastian’s gaze roved over me, slow and lingering. And did I spot a spark of heat in his eyes when they returned to mine? “Beautiful, as always,” he said, pushing off the wall.

I beamed at him, not even caring that he was most certainly blowing smoke up my ass. I absolutely did not always look beautiful. Tired, yes. Sad, definitely. Quiet, often. Nice, always. Those were my usual adjectives.

Notbeautiful.

My mother, however, had been beautiful. More than. She had been absolutely stunning, inside and out. I didn’t remember much about her, but I remembered how she looked as she uttered her final words to me.

“You will save us, my shining girl,” she had said as she pushed me into Javier’s arms, her eyes filled with desperation and heartache as tears streamed down her cheeks. “You will save us all. It is your destiny. But first, you mustrun.”

Even in my memory, her words rang with enough residual power to tease my flight response. If I gave in, my heart would race, and the blood rushing through my limbs would strengthen my muscles toget away.

But I didn’twantto give in. I didn’twantto get away. I wanted to stay here with this man who was too young for me, and I wanted to let him call me beautiful, even if I knew it was a lie. I wanted tofeelbeautiful, just for one night.

After my wardrobe change, the night transformed from a situation I was desperate to escape to an experience I wished would last forever.

I drank, probably too much. I laughed so hard my belly hurt. And I danced until my feet ached. First, I danced only with Lily, then with a string of random people, letting my body move with theirs to the rhythm of the music. And then I danced with Bastian. There was only Bastian after that.

“I should get you home,” Bastian said, helping me from the dance floor with an arm around my waist.

My legs were unsteady, and my head spun. “Yes, please,” I slurred. I wrapped my arms around Bastian’s middle and breathed him in. His enticing scent made my mouth water. I legitimately wanted to sink my teeth into him. Drunk me didn’t care that he was a mere mortal and that his blood would provide zero sustenance. But I managed to restrain myself.

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