Page 41 of Soulmates
CONNOR’S NOT JUST dancing with me, we’re belly to belly on the dance floor, his big hands around my waist, holding me close. The thing is, I don’t mind at all. His scent is smoky, a little bit leather, a touch of horse. And whisky. I’m pretty sure he’s the phouka I saw the night the cabin burned.
He’s watching me, letting me take stock of the situation. My hands are spread flat across his chest, where I can push away. Or maybe pull myself closer. It’s not like Trajan and I have a commitment.
Okay, that justification gives me a twinge, but still.
He leans toward me, his eyes burning amber in the flashing lights. I tip my chin in case he needs a kiss, but he dodges, stopping just shy of my ear.
“Good to see you,” he says, his voice tripping something in my chest.
I inhale more of his smoky scent. “Surprised to see you.”
My scattered thoughts are climbing out of my dick, and I realize I somehow need to get this guy to Trajan. My next logical thought has to do with Trajan’s likely response to seeing his soul mate.
Probably there won’t be enough room for me in that bed.
Well, damn.
It takes me a minute to wrangle my priorities. Connor keeps his hands on my hips, heavy, strong. If you’d asked me about my type before I met Trajan, I’d have sketched someone like Connor. His combination of confidence and polish pullsmeinlikea shift in the space-time continuum.
Though even as the mystery man draws my interest, my attraction to Trajan tethers me. The scratch on my neck from his incisor stings.
A reminder of promises made.
Dragging Connor over to Trajan will fuck everything up, from my perspective at least, but I try to do it anyway. I rise onto my toes, close enough for my lips to brush the lobe of his ear. “I have an idea.” I don’t really. I need to make something up on the fly. “I think”—I slide my hands down his chest and interlace our fingers—“maybe you should come talk to a friend of mine.”
Because wouldn’t it be wild if he and Trajan wanted to help me live out my porno fantasy?
“I don’t think so.” He draws his hands away, but slowly, stroking my fingers. “You and Trajan keep your heads down and you’ll be okay.”
He eases back a step. I grasp his shirt, crushing the silk in my grip. “You know what’s going on.” I jerk him closer. “You need to tell us.”
“I can’t. Not yet.” He disentangles my grip. Something—a noise, a feel, a shift in the dense air—pulls his attention and he scans the room. Before I can stop him, he fades into the crowd still packing the dance floor.
“No.” I scramble after him, but he’s too fast, too determined. It’s not long before I’m on a different level, a different dance floor. All alone in a crowd of strangers. I can feel eyes on me, but I don’t know where they’re coming from. Guys with a thing for twinks? Connor? My cousins come to finish the job?
I’ve got to pull it together. I’m being pummeled by scent—were, shifter, elf, human. My body’s been teased and denied and I’m still queasy from shifting a dozen times in a day. I can do this, though. I straighten and scan the crowd. No sign of either the vampire or his soulmate.
At the opposite end of the dance floor, the DJ’s on an elevated platform. There are dancers on either side of him, club kids tricked out in black and neon. I’ll stick out, but if I can get a look over the room, it might be worth it.
I worm my way through the mass of dancers, perhaps tossing an elbow or two along the way. Scrambling up to the platform, I ignore dirty looks from the club kids. Dance. That’s all I need to do. The beat finds me, and I move. Eyes brush over me, but I’m an underdressed go-go boy so it’s expected.
A darkness at the edge of the room draws my attention. Trajan. He’s tall enough to see over top of most people, and it’s not long till our gazes cross. It’s almost physical, grabbing hold of me. He dives into the crowd, and I track his obsidian hair. He’s coming for me. For a moment,I lose the beat and whatever I’d felt in Connor’s arms driftsaway like a retreating wave.
I’ve done some stupid shit in my twenty-two years, but falling for a vampire has got to top the list.
My dad’s already bitter because I won’t give him grandchildren the old-fashioned way. There’s no way he’ll let it slide if I bring a vampire home. I’m already struggling to live up to his expectations. Years ago he decided I’d be the one to replace him because I’m ballsy and I can kick ass. Fighting is only one of the skills he claims I possess. I’m not sure what the others are. Like I said, it’s a struggle.
He’s got a woman picked out for me too, a fierce, beautiful wolf. I met Jocelyn once, and in a ten-minute snarkfest, we established a friendship and determined we’d never be married. I don’t know what she’s looking for in a mate, but it’s not me. Maybe our fathers should mate with each other.
I haven’t mentioned Jocelyn to Trajan because the whole arranged-marriage thing feels uncomfortably medieval. It makes perfect sense to a wolf. Not so much to the rest of society.
My flight of ideas is interrupted when Trajan hops up onto the ledge. The go-go dancers were barely tolerating me. He pushes them over the limit and the closest dancer gets all up in his face.
“Stop.” Trajan’s voice carries over the machine-gun beat. He grabs my wrist, commanding, proprietary. “Let’s go.”
We hop off the ledge. He’s still got ahold of my wrist, and he pulls me to the edge of the dance floor. Our departure has drawn attention. Eyes. I can still feel them. I stumble after him, down stairs, through crowded hallways. By the time we reach the main entrance, I’m spent. Too much up and down. I’m craving steak.
Halfway to the Escalade, Trajan spins around. He walks backward for a couple of steps, then takes my wrist again and starts jogging. I’m too fried to get freaked out. The eyes have been tracking me for so long, I’m used to them, can barely feel them anymore.
