Page 22 of Stars in Umbra
The freakin’ truth was his life was empty, despite the looks, the control, and a top-tier rep, because he’d been living deadened, sofokkin’numb for so long.
All this reputation and fortune did not afford him what he yearned for, the one missing factor that he envied the Riders for.
A lover, perhaps one like Rina.
He realized he was placing her, a woman he had just met, on a pedestal.
However, he had good reason. It was not because of her seductiveness or the lush sensuality behind her smile.
Nada, it was for the way she gazed at him now, as if she discerned past the shadows and the wounds to the real soul of him.
The music shifted into an evocative, Sacral chord, humming beneath a plaintive violin and bass that curled around them like smoke.
Around them, the crowd melted away into shadow and flickering gold light.
As the evening unfolded, a cloud rolled in, enveloping the venue in a surreal mist, like they were floating in the sky.
Mo never took note because, in that moment, his focus was solely on Rina.
They danced close, their chests brushing, foreheads almost touching, his hands on her waist, hers on his broad back.
He fought to control his rising desire, as their eyes locked in a conversation neither of them dared speak aloud.
It was so freakin’ intimate and so right at the same time.
At one point, her gaze dropped from his to his chest under the exposed collar when the glyphs on his skin began to stir.
Faint at first, then brighter.
Lines of pale gold light bloomed across his bare collarbones and arms, pulsing with each beat of his heart.
Rina gasped, and her hand rose, her fingers skimming the gleaming sigils traced down the line of his torso, just above the open clasp of his shirt.
‘They glow,’ she whispered. ‘Just like the Sacrans’ symbols.’
Mo’s hand tightened on her waist as her stroke sent arcs of pure pleasure through him.
She glanced up, question in her gaze.
‘Are you Sacran?’ she murmured.
His mind seized, and he froze, eyes narrowing, jaw set.
‘Nada,’ he rasped. ‘I’m Iccythrian.’
The curt answer cooled the moment between them, like the soft snap of a closing door.
Her touch dropped away, and though she said nothing, he sensed the shift in her, an invisible step back.
The music ended.
He let her go, unsure if she’d misconstrued his tone or if he’d misread her interest.
As she turned to leave, before she slipped through the press of dancers, he caught her wrist.
‘A drink?’ he murmured, nodding at the bar.
She studied him for a heartbeat, then smiled, a slow, wry, luminous beam that carved its way right into his heart.
