Page 101 of A Storm of Fire and Ash
“Friend…”Zayn’s voice rumbled in my mind.
“Ouch,” he muttered, though his expression didn’t carry a trace of pain—just irritation. His fingers tightened around mine, and his hand at my back pulled me closer, too close. My breasts brushed against his chest with every turn. I tried to pull back, but he only gripped me harder. “You know my mother is livid,” he said under his breath. “With what you’re wearing. With how you’ve humiliated me and paraded around like you’re untouchable.”
I narrowed my eyes, my magic sparked. “I didn’t humiliate you.”
His jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak for a moment. Then, quieter, almost reverent, he murmured, “You tell me you need space, I give it. Yet you get cozy with Zayn atMYball. You then tell me I deserve better, but what I deserve is standing right the fuck in front of me right now…” His eyes searched mine. He brought his hand up and brushed my lips with his finger. “You look beautiful, Elara. Truly.” His hand grazed the bare skin of my back, right over the scars. I froze. “I still can’t believe you wore this dress, but you look beautiful.”
The contact sent a jolt through me—but not the kind Zayn’s touch gave. No, this felt like ice cracking inside me. My stomach twisted. I didn’t want him touching my back. I didn’t want him touching anything. His fingers lingered, but all I could think about was how his eyes—golden, bright, entitled—were too similar to his father’s. Too close to the man who’d chained me to a post and whipped me like I was less than dirt.
The song ended.
Thank the gods!
The music shifted into a fast, thumping rhythm—wild and intoxicating. I was drunk, and not just on whisky. On fury. On freedom. On the sheer need to feel something that wasn’t Fintan’s cold fingers wrapped around mine like shackles. I had just stepped off the dance floor with him, stiff and miserable, when a waiter passed with a tray of drinks. I snatched a whisky glass without hesitation and threw it back, letting the burn scorch my throat. I hissed through my teeth as I set it down, the empty glass clank sharply against the silver tray.
“Divine, Elara. You’re being crazy.” Fintan spat. My eyes shot daggers at him. I hated him at that moment.
Then I caught Zayn’s eyes from afar, leaning back in that infuriating sexy way of his, eyes half-lidded, mouth curved in a knowing, amused smile. Like he’d been watching me the entire time. Like he could see straight through me.
“You might want to tone it down a little,” Fintan muttered beside me, voice low and sharp. “People are watching, and you already stand out enough. Don’t make a fool of yourself.”
Tone it down. Seriously?
I turned to him slowly, my lips parting in disbelief. Without a word, I stepped away from him and back on that dance floor, and let the beat pulse through my limbs. I slid into the center of the floor, no partner, no purpose but defiance—and something in me snapped free. Even my emotions had an echo in so much space.
I danced.
Not the stiff, controlled steps everyone here had mastered. No, I moved—my hips rolling to the beat, my hands gliding over my own body like I wasn’t afraid of being watched anymore. My fingers traced the deep cut of my dress, teased up the sides of my thighs, brushed through my pinned up hair as I pulled out the pin and let it fall wildly down my back.
The air in the ballroom shifted. I felt it.
Gasps echoed. Skirts rustled as women pulled back. Men blinked, stunned. They stepped away from me like I was a flame they couldn’t get too close to. And I burned hotter because of it.
I tilted my chin up.
Let them stare.
“You look sinful,”Zayn’s voice whispered through my mind, smooth as silk and dark as smoke. “Don’t you dare dim your shine for anyone, Peach. Let them see who you are. And my gods, if you keep dancing like that… I’m going to fuck you on that dance floor.”
His words rolled over me like velvet, and I let the music take over, hips swaying, body unrestrained, unladylike, unapologetic. My movements became smoother, more seductive, the rhythm guiding every twist of my waist, every bend of my knees. I was electric. I was alive.
Then, laughter.Makar.
Like the wonderful friend he is, he sauntered onto the dance floor, winking at me as he matched my pace, his moves exaggerated and playful but just as suggestive. He twirled around me like we were both drunk on rebellion, his hand skimming the air near my waist without ever touching.Our bodies moved in tandem, flirtatious and bold—but not romantic. Just fun. Wild.
Then Kalista joined. In her flowing blue gown, she mimicked me perfectly—mocking the nobles with every unrefined, exaggerated sway of her hips. She tossed her hair and laughed loudly, her cheeks flushed with mischief. The three of us danced like we were the only ones alive, unashamed and unafraid. Eventually, the crowd began to breathe again. They looked away. They started to dance too, awkward at first, then easing back into the normal rhythms.
But Zayn…
Zayn stepped onto the floor like he owned it.
He moved through the crowd without a word, his eyes locked on me with a heat that made my knees threaten to give. I didn’t wait. The moment he was close enough, I reached out, planting my hand against his chest, feeling the heat of him through his shirt. I let my fingers trail down slowly—down his torso, over his abs, until I reached his belt, then let my hands glide back up as I shimmied against him, teasing him with every movement of my body.
He leaned down and whispered in my ear, “How does a woman so innocent have such dangerous hands?”
I smiled at him, teasing his waistband with my fingers, and said, “Perhaps I’m not as innocent as you think.” I turned around, pressed my back to his chest, and rolled my hips into him—slow and deliberate.
Zayn moaned behind me, his grip snapping tight around my hips. His mouth dropped to my ear, his voice a low growl. “You keep moving like that, Peach, and I’mgoing to drag you out of here and make you scream my name so loud, the stars will blush.”
