COURTNEY
I couldn’t focus on saving the world, not with Bryce standing before me looking like this. I should tease him about his frilly shirt, tall boots, and gold-stitched black coat and pants—but those pants were tight in all the right places, and if I opened my mouth, I worried I might up and say so.
I blamed the head injury.
The song that had been playing ended as we reached the middle of the dance floor. In the silence, the words hanging unsaid between us roared.
As the music started up again, I shifted forward. My knuckles brushed Bryce’s palm, and his fingers closed around mine, quickly, before they could slip away. Beforewecould slip away. His skin burned through the thin fabric of my silk gloves. His eyes dropped to our conjoined hands, and he visibly swallowed.
Other dancers scooted to the edges of the room to accommodate us, smiling for once instead of glaring. I was too preoccupied to be annoyed with their superficial approval. Too preoccupied to even care about my aching ankle and head. Bryce curved one hand over my hip, the other tightening around my fingers.
As he took the first step toward me, my breath caught. For a moment, I was frozen, then my foot fell away from his, barely managing to land on beat. Again and again, he advanced, and I retreated. All it would take was one of us to stop. We would either crash together or fly apart. Instead, we kept up the dance.
Ever since Bryce’s story about his past, I understood him. He wasn’t uptight. He was careful, and no one had been careful around me in a while—the girl with the lip ring and the bad attitude.
“We should be saving the world, not dancing,” I said, letting my steps grow tighter. Our bodies moved with the music, closer with every measure, every spin.
“We can save the world tomorrow,” he said. Procrastination looked sexy as hell on him. “It’s not like we can go monster hunting in the dark.” His hips pressed against mine, his breath hot down the side of my neck as his temple brushed my hair. Even when he spun me, he was never far, hand skimming my waist, shoulders relaxed, anchoring me to him. “Besides, you have a head injury.” Bryce brushed a knuckle over the tender skin covering my temple.
“You can’t just ask the world to stop ending because I have a headache.”
“If you had a paper cut, I would let the world burn until you recovered.”
I wanted to tell him to be so for real, that he was just an accountant and couldn’t stop the world from burning even if he wanted to. But scorching heat rushed through my veins, pooling in my lower belly. I shouldnotbe pleased that Bryce was willing to sacrifice an entire world for me, but I wasn’t a hero, and my impure soul liked impure things.
I thought I’d gained control of my puppy-dog heart, but a faint blue halo of light glimmered to life over Bryce’s skin. Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice, his gaze never leaving me. My pulse pounded to the rhythm of the music like my common sense was trying to beat its way out of my skull.
The music faded and my heart crescendoed. Anticipation mixed with apprehension rushed to my fingertips.
As the last note drifted away, Bryce stepped closer. Twined his fingers with mine. Dipped his head until our mouths hovered an inch apart.
Would one little slipup really hurt? What happened in the bonkers-lighting-department-pocket-universe stayed in the bonkers-lighting-department-pocket-universe, as the saying went.
Yes, it would hurt.
“I need a drink,” I blurted, and then I ran.
Champagne dulled the pain in my ankle and softened the throbbing in my head, but I still stumbled, my feet feeling bigger and heavier than normal thanks to the alcohol. My thoughts spun, trying to catch up with my body, but mostly drowning in bubbles.
There was only one advisable thing left to do after catching undesirable feelings: self-medicate. I swiped a glass off a passing tray and downed it, teeth clinking against crystal in my haste.
“Hello there.” The visiting princess, Clementine, sidled up to me. “Have you made any progress with the kidnappings?”
“The king was a dead end,” I said distractedly.
“I heard you went into the city the other day,” Clementine went on. “Our last Chosen One loved spending time with the people too. Some might say too much time.”
I looked at her sharply. “By ‘some,’ do you mean Amy?”
“No, I heard he was quite supportive of Edna’s fraternization,” Clementine said cryptically. “I only mean that, if some of the good citizensdidn’tenjoy Edna’s company, they couldn’t exactly say such a thing about a Chosen One, could they?”
I focused my full attention on her. “What are you trying to say?”
She sighed wearily. “So many things.” Then a plate of hors d’oeuvres caught her eye, and she drifted away.
I couldn’t decide if she was trying to tell me there wassomething suspicious about Edna Johnson, or if Clementine was just tipsy and spreading gossip. Her last lead hadn’t exactly been eye-opening either.
Besides, I knew who the Evil One was, and it wasn’t a long-dead Chosen One.
