Page 47 of A Storm of Fire and Ash
Eryn snorted, wobbled to her feet, and pointed at us like a stern matron. “Don’t drink too much, and no—whatever weird chaos you two get up to,” she added, gesturing between Fintan and Makar before staggering toward the door.
“Yes, Mommy,” Makar teased. She flipped him off as she walked out of the pub.
That left the three of us.
Makar leaned back in his chair, arms draped over the booth with casual confidence, swirling his drink. His short-sleeve shirt was tight and showcased his muscles nicely. “You’re both looking dangerously pretty tonight,” he said, eyes flicking between me and Fintan. “Must be something in the air.”
I tried to play it off with a laugh, but the way his gaze lingered… heat crawled up my neck. There was something bold in the ale, in the music, in the way Fintan’s thigh brushed mine beneath the table.
My thoughts spun, delicious and dangerous. The image of both of them—close, teasing, mine—sent a pulse of desire low in my belly.
Then I felt it.
A whisper across my mind, silk-soft and smug.
“Perhaps I should convince the prince for the three of us to have fun? Seems like that is all that’s on yer mind, love. Keep yer damn shield up, love.”
I gasped—visibly—and my heart leapt. I’d let my mental shield drop. Damn him.
Makar met my gaze across the table, utterly unapologetic. Fintan looked between us, confused at first, then narrowed his eyes, lips twitching as if he sensed something unspoken passing through the space.
Fueled by the tension—and maybe too much honeyed ale—I stood and climbed onto the table. A hush fell, then cheers erupted around the pub. The music picked up as I started to sway, hips rolling to the beat, letting my body move with bold, defiant grace. My hands roamed up and down my body, through my long hair, and I chugged the rest of my drink.
I was feeling good.
Bold.
Dangerous.
And I liked every fucking second of it.
“Gods, Elara,” Fintan called from the booth, somewhere between amused and flustered. “Tone it down.”
I looked down at him, wild and free, and laughed. I got down on all fours and crawled to him, licking my lips. His face now in front of mine, I placed my lips on his ear and bit him lightly as I said, “I don’t dim my soul anymore for people scared of the light.”
I stood again and continued my dancing. I knew my movements weren’t ladylike, but I didn’t give a shit. I’ve never had so many eyes on me before, but I was relishing in this.
The pub roared. Fintan stared, stunned for a heartbeat—and then his mouth curled in a slow, wicked grin.
And Makar?
He just leaned back and clapped slowly, eyes full of fire.
The cheers faded into a distant hum as Makar reached up to help me down from the table, his hands sliding to my waist with the sort of careful reverence that made the whole moment feel slower… hotter. I expected him to grip and let go. He didn’t. His fingers lingered, trailing just above my hips as he helped me onto his lap, his touch a whisper against my skin.
“Stars above,” he murmured, low enough only I could hear. “You really don’t hold back, do you?”
“Why should I?” I said, breathless, half-drunk on laughter, magic, and moonlight. “The world doesn’t.”
His smile turned roguish, but his eyes flicked past me—toward Fintan, whom I almost forgot was here. The prince stood with his arms folded, posture stiff, lips parted like he wasn’t sure whether to scold me or drag me out the door. His cheeks were flushed, but not from the ale.
“You’re blushing, Your Highness,” Makar said, clearly amused.
“I’m not,” Fintan muttered, jaw tight.
But I saw the way his eyes followed me. The fire in them. He was holding something back.
I tried to get off Makar’s lap, but his grip tightened on me.Makar tilted his head, just slightly, the way he always did when he was nudging someone’s mind. I felt the faintest ripple of it in the air—not quite a spell, more like… suggestion. Influence. Like a breeze shifting someone’s direction without them realizing they’d moved.
