Page 7 of We Are the Match
An electric current jolts my body at the sound of her.
Helen.
Helen, here beside me at the bar.
She moved so quickly, so quietly, that I did not hear her approach.
And I always,alwayslisten for threats.
“Helen.” The word escapes me before I realize I mean to say her name.
Up close, I catch the scent of her—whiskey and the softer note of vanilla.
She turns her head just slightly, her eyes slipping past me. “Yes?”
It is a trained expression, amicable but not personal. Friendly but distant. She gives me her attention while telling me I do not matter, not the way she does, not really, and I never will.
I see the game. I see the tilt of power, the force pulling me closer, and even though I recognize it, I am enthralled by her all the same. Behind her, a hulking man—probably her guard—moves closer.
He scans me from head to toe, searching for weapons, or perhaps he is the kind of guard who looks beyond that, who watches for suppressed anger in the position of my shoulders, the curl of my hands. He raises an eyebrow at me. “Who are you?” His voice is a dangerous sort of soft.
“Paris,” I tell him, with a shrug of one shoulder and a grin that is too bold for my own good. With one finger, I twist one of the bands on my fingers, the cold steel, the raised indent of the flames engraved there, all of it a reminder. That my own damn tenacity may have kept me from dying, but it cannot save me.
I am not the kind of woman who can be saved.
“Thea’s guest,” Helen says, her expression curious. “But how do you know her?”
Helen may be curious, but this guard is looking at me like he can see the fury I have been tending all these years.
My hand strays to my pocket, to the lighter I smuggled in. There is a comfort to it, a security in flicking the lighter open, the small flame reminding me of—so much. Of what was stolen from me, of what I will do to those who robbed me. Helen included.
“Did you hear her?” the bartender snaps when I don’t answer. He’s staring at me, incredulity in his blue eyes. “She asked you a question. Answer the lady of the house.”
Helen visibly recoils at the wordlady, but her face smooths over a breath later. She leans slightly away from me, exposing her perfect white throat. The tip of my knife will sit nicely just there—above that thundering pulse point.
And for one mad moment, the truth is in my mouth.I am here to destroy you,I will tell her, watch her eyes widen, see her finally off-kilter. The flames engraved on my rings singe my fingers.I am here so that you do not forget.
“I’m an old friend,” I answer Helen finally, pulling the lighter from my pocket.
Helen arches a single eyebrow. “Oh, of course,” she says. She dismisses the bartender with a wave of her hand.
The bartender has not gotten my cognac yet, but he leaves because the princess tells him to.
I repress a curse.
“Some party.” I slam my empty glass down on the counter.
Helen arches both perfect brows now. “Tommy,” she murmurs.
The giant behind her steps a few paces away, and with a look from him, anyone in their vicinity moves back, including the guests who had pressed in toward Helen.
I flick the lighter open, flame in my hands as I watch them go.
“Why the lighter?” Helen asks me. Her voice is soft, a strange juxtaposition with me, all my sharp edges on display beside this woman with her soft dress and glowing makeup and full lips. Dangerous woman, she is, maybe more dangerous in the masking of it.
I meet her gaze as she reaches across the space between us, runs her finger down my hand and then down the lighter, her touch featherlight. I shiver, unsure whether to draw back or lean into the touch.
“A reminder,” I tell her.
