Page 37 of Cursed Dreams
She eyed it warily. "What is it?"
"A very bad decision," Marand said, grinning.
Nyla giggled. "Which means you should definitely drink it."
Thalia sighed, muttering a curse before tossing it back in one go. The moment it hit her tongue, she gasped.
It burned. It burned like fire and tasted like regret.
"By the gods," she coughed, slamming the empty glass down. "What was that?"
Cellen grinned. "Doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you, my dear friend, are going to march over there and confront him."
Thalia wiped at her mouth. "That is not happening."
Marand grinned, looping an arm around her shoulder. "Oh, but it is. You’re wondering what’s going through his head? Well, ask him."
Cellen nodded sagely. "Or… demand answers. Either way, you’ve got the perfect excuse now, drunken bravery."
Thalia hesitated, but then, her gaze flickered back across the room.
Vaelith was still there.
Still watching her.
The way he sat, casually, as if he owned the very air in the room, the way his sharp, piercing eyes followed her every movement, calm and assessing, sent something both infuriating and thrilling through her.
Enough.
This prey bites.
Thalia pushed back her chair with purpose, the alcohol thrumming hot in her veins, her pulse steady with reckless determination.
"Fine," she declared, smoothing down her sheer embroidered dress. "I’m going."
"That’s my girl!" Cellen cheered, laughing as she squared her shoulders and turned toward the predator across the room. She marched straight for Vaelith
Thalia barely stopped before Vaelith, her heart pounding, the room spinning ever so slightly as she planted her hands on her hips and glared up at him.
“What’s wrong with my magic?” she demanded, skipping any pretence of politeness.
Vaelith, who had been leaning lazily against the bar, one long leg crossed over the other, lifted a brow, clearly amused. His dark tunic stretched over broad shoulders, and his arms, gods, his arms, were muscular beneath the fabric, resting lightly on the counter.
His lips curved, slow and knowing. “Are you drunk?”
“That is not the point.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them, rushing into each other in an unstoppable tide. “The point is—you made me think there was something wrong with my magic! Like I wasn’t good enough or strong enough, like I was some kind of, lesser thing! You made me feel like I was stupid, but I’m not stupid! I study, I work hard, I know I’m smart, so why do you act like I’m, nothing? Like one moment, you’re decent, and the next, you’re a downright dick!”
By the time she finished, she was breathless, chest rising and falling, face flushed with frustration, and possibly the four or five drinks still coursing through her veins.
For a heartbeat, Vaelith just stared at her.
Then he laughed.
Not a small chuckle, not a smirk, but an actual, full-bodied, uninhibited laugh.
Thalia blinked.
She had never heard him laugh like this before. Hell, she hadn’t even been sure he was capable of it. His usual smirks were wry at best, mocking at worst, but this?
