Page 37 of Love, Nemesis
A subtle flicker of the man’s eyes behind her caused the woman to turn. Lethe offered a hand when her eyes settled on him.
“Would you like to dance?” he asked.
She took his hand without pause, leading him off into the crowd with obvious urgency, as if he’d surprised her.
He stopped short, pulling on her hand and turning her into him. She caught his other hand, and for a brief second, the vitality in her blazed and then all at once was gone. He found himself a little disappointed that she was so shut down and immediately started strategizing other ways to prod and poke that fire again.
She danced with him for a moment, and he waited for her to acknowledge the aggressive nature in which he’d stopped her, or perhaps the rush with which she’d dragged him off, but she didn’t.
“Who are you?” she asked, eyes looking fearlessly deep into his like a woman unafraid of the dark. For the first time in a long time, he missed that.
He used to be like that.
“Lethe. And you?” he asked.
“Ana,” she replied. “Why did you leave En Sanctus?”
He exhaled steadily, embracing that challenge in her eyes. Silently, she accused him of the worst but still didn’t flinch away from him. Only from that, he couldn’t help but assume that she had a severity of her own kind.
A kindred spirit,he thought, and found the concept riveting.
“Why did you?” he asked, eyeing the brand on her collarbone.
Her eyes searched his face, reading every detail, and sparing no sign that she disliked him. He reveled in the openness of hereyes, savoring the mixture of warm browns and gold. Her skin was flushed under the festival light, spoken for by the sun that had left freckles across her nose, chest, and shoulders.
Disliking him quickly was not unusual, but he was flattered to get such a record-breaking time. He got to her, maybe just as quickly as she’d gotten to him. Hate, love, jealously, anger—to him it didn’t matter. If someone could make you feel a certain way, in his mind, they were already close to you.
“You’ve made a nice life for yourself here,” he said. “I won’t threaten that.”
“You’re a war hero of some kind, aren’t you?” she replied, as if that were enough to justify her feelings. “You are a threat.”
“Not to you.”
“I don’t tolerate people like you,” she said.
“You’re dancing with me.”
“For the people I want to protect.”
“And so, for them you’ll tolerate me? That puts them in quite a bit of danger,” he joked, but wondered how seriously she’d take the comment.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“This is it.” He released one hand and spun her around. She obliged, still nothing but stones, and then he tested the balance.
He pulled her in hard again, and Ana slammed her hand back against his with the force. Her body lurched forward, as if triggered to twist his arm, but she resisted.
Would she actually hurt me?he pondered. She really seemed to hate him, and he hadn’t even shown off his Dear Anne yet.
They moved together. He picked up the pace, his hand finding her waist. A snap step. He turned them, and a few people in the crowd veered away.
Ana broke from his hand, but he pulled her hip forward. She spun out, her other arm coming around, elbow set for a subtle, quick blow. He guided her elbow away from his side, his hand veering along her arm, clasping her wrist and spinning her again.
Her knee lifted, leg poised to strike his. He stepped back. She stepped forward. He stepped into her, hand on her side, leaving him open.
Her hand moved up toward his face almost as if she would punch him, and he stopped, locking eyes with her. She noticed onlookers in just enough time to guide her hand past his face and land her palm on the back of his neck. They stopped close, eye to eye, focused.
“Don’t want to cause a scene?” he whispered, pace slowing as they danced.
