Page 16 of Consume Me
A refusal flashes in her eyes, but she merely says, “What’s your name?”
“Dance with me, and I’ll tell you.”
Her eyes narrow. “Do your entitled demands work on all the ladies?”
“I didn’t come here for all the ladies.”
“But you came here for me.”
It’s not a question, but I see the awareness in her icy blue eyes. She knows who I am. Or at least what I want.
Does she know she’s my mate? That she belongs to both the fae in me and the beast I contain? That I cannot hurt her—even to uphold my oath?
If she does know, she doesn’t show it.
“Dance with me,” I say again, forceful enough that I wince.
Smooth, I scold myself.Really smooth.
My hand lifts before I realize I’ve moved. My voice is softer than I’ve ever heard as I add a word I’m not sure I’ve uttered for anyone, “Please.”
She stares at my offered hand. Then back at me.
There’s something like recognition in her eyes now. Not of me, specifically. But ofthis. The thing between us. The invisible thread that connects our souls, the connection pulling tighter by the second.
Her fingers slide into mine.
Heat slams through me like a wildfire.
Not the rune. And not lust—though that, too—butbond. A soul-deep, blood-sworn, gods-damnedbond. It’s older than the rune etched into me. Longer lived than any fae could be. More ancient than a single lifetime. Or twenty.
Whoever this woman is—my mate—this is not the first life span I’ve called her mine. Nor is it our first dance.
My breath is ragged with that knowledge as we step onto the crowded dance floor.
As if orchestrated by the universe itself, the music shifts, suddenly slower than before, more intimate. In theback of my mind, I wonder if Vaelora is watching. Pulling the strings. But then my mate looks at me again, and I forget all else.
My hand finds her waist. Her palm settles lightly on my shoulder.
She fits.
Too well.
And then we begin to move. And it takes everything in me not to yank her body to mine. To press myself against her. To allow my hands to roam, to explore—to claim.
I grit my teeth as we waltz, trying to keep my thoughts clear.
She eyes me, suspicious again. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“What do I look like?”
At my flippant question, her cheeks flush, and, gods above and below, it’s the most delicious pink hue. My cock twitches in my pants, and I’m not sure I give two fucks if anyone at this party notices. Not when she looks at me like she’s guilty of some naughty thought.
“You look broody,” she says at last.
