Page 47 of Wicked Chains
"What the hell were you thinking?" he mutters once we're in the hallway. "Do you have any idea who that was? Bartholomew Kent sits on the International Council of Magical Regulation. One word from him and you'd be in a containment cell faster than you can say 'bad idea.'"
"I don't care," I slur, though the cold air of the hallway is already clearing my head slightly. "They're awful. Their son is awful. This whole place is awful."
Soren sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. "Yes, yes, everyone's awful. The world is a dark pit of despair. Very edgy of you, Rose."
"Don't mock me," I warn, though it's hard to sound threatening when the floor keeps tilting. “I’m not a halfwit,” I grumble.
"I'm not mocking you. I'm saving your ass." He steadies me with a hand on my shoulder. "Listen to me. You need to be more careful. These people?—"
"Have power. I know." I rub my eyes, suddenly exhausted. "I'm just so tired of it. All of it."
Something in Soren's expression softens. "I know. But getting yourself punished won't help anything."
I lean against the wall, the cool stone grounding me. "Thanks for the rescue. Even though I didn't need it."
"Of course not." His smile is sardonic. "You never need rescuing, do you, Rose?"
"Exactly." I give him a wobbly nod of agreement. The champagne is starting to turn from pleasant buzz to queasy discomfort. "I should go lie down."
"Come on, I'll walk you to your room. Can't have you passing out in the hallway. Think of my reputation."
Soren lets go of my shoulder but walks close, just in case I decide to swan-dive into a wall or something. “You going to make it, or do I have to carry you?” His tone is almost bored, but I catch the way his eyes slide sideways at me.
“Please. I’m not that drunk,” I say, though the floor seems to ripple a little under my feet, so maybe he’s got a point.
“Let’s test that hypothesis.” Soren stops, leans against the wall, crosses his arms. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Trick question. You’re not holding up any—” I squint, realize he’s got a single finger raised. The middle one. “One finger. And you’re flipping me off.”
Soren laughs. “Come on, little hellion.”
Twenty-Two
Soren
I keep close, ready to catch her if she stumbles, not too close, though. In my entire existence, I've never wanted to devour someone quite like I want to devour Rose Smith.
"Almost there," I say, watching the delicate sway of her hips as she stumbles forward. Her dress clings to curves that have occupied far too many of my thoughts lately. Boundaries be damned.
"I told you, I'm fine," she insists, though the way her hand trails along the wall for support tells a different story. "Not even that drunk."
I arch an eyebrow. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, little witch."
"You could help me sleep at night," she says, looking over her shoulder with a smile that's all champagne courage.
I swallow hard. She has no idea what she's playing with.
When we reach her door, she fumbles with the key, dropping it twice before I take it from her fingers. The brief contact sends a jolt of need through me; the witch is brimming with untapped sexual energy, so potent. The kind an incubus like me could feast on for days.
"Here," I say, unlocking her door and pushing it open. "Drink some water and sleep it off."
I'm about to step back when she grabs my wrist.
"Stay," she says, and it's not a request. She tugs me forward, backing into her room. "I don't want to be alone."
"Rose."
"Everyone else has someone today," she continues, her voice catching. "Families. Parents. I've got no one, and I'm tired of it."
