Page 49 of Fire Touched

Ivy catches at her father’s hand. ‘Can I stay?’

Verron pauses. He cuts a sharp look to Prescott. ‘Only if you’re within Prescott’s grasp, you hear me?’ He lands a big, beefy hand on her small head.

Ivy nods. ‘Yes, Father.’

I’m already turning toward Katherine, so I nearly miss Prescott’s words. ‘I will take good care of her.’

That catches. An odd thing to say about a young woman in her own home. But the thought vanishes like smoke on water as I make my way to Katherine. It takes more courage than I’d care to admit to tap her on the shoulder.

She turns, graceful as a swan, her hair done up like that, and regards me, her face blank.

‘May I have this dance?’ I hold my hand out for her.

When she hesitates, time seems to stretch out. Panic grips me. I didn’t think she’d actually say no. What if she says no? My eyes dart up, meeting Elijah, who gives me an encouraging nod and smile. Moira doesn’t look too impressed, but she nods, too.

Slowly, my gaze finds Katherine’s. Come on, please. I take a steadying breath, my hand still outstretched. Should I get down on my knees? I should have brought her flowers or something. Should have talked to her through dinner, though the silence had been deafening. Sweat breaks out on my brow, across my palms. I resist the urge to withdraw my hand.

She doesn’t want to dance with me.

Damn it, Ivy—

Katherine grasps my hand rather quickly, with slightly more force than necessary, as though convincing herself with an iron will. She climbs out of her chair, face still carefully smooth, and nods toward the middle of the room. ‘You may.’

I exhale—a little too much, her mouth purses, hiding a satisfied smile—and lead her to the dancefloor. Moving slowly so as not to overstep my bounds, my hands hover by her waist.

Katherine takes my waist and my shoulder, waiting for me to do the same. ‘Going to be hard to dance if you don’t touch me.’

I try not to blush. Okay, moving with caution is not what she wants. I take her waist firmly, one hand sliding up her back—hand soon grazing her skin. I pause and spin her. ‘Katherine, where is the rest of this dress?’

She sputters a laugh, and bats me away. ‘Killian, it’s a dress, it’s fine.’

I lean in close. ‘There’s a significant chunk of it missing. This was Moira’s doing, wasn’t it? Everyone can see you—’

Her grip tightens on my shoulder. ‘The over-protective asshat routine is old, Killian.’

I still in her grasp. Slowly, we start moving together. It’s not quite a dance. I feel stiff and awkward. We sway together, hands on the other, feeling unwelcome. As we turn in our circle, my gaze finds the other women in the room. All are wearing gowns, but the similarities end there. Elga’s is floor-length, sparkling and purple, like twilight and stars are captured in the fabric.

Ella’s back is to me, in conversation with our friends. Her dress is a soft grey. It covers her back, but there’s a slit up her leg, revealing a good deal of her thigh. Moira’s is, well, scandalous, by comparison. A deep red, like wine, covers her, well, essential parts, but not much more than that. The women of Terran’s attires vary as wildly as the others. All the men are in suits. Some with vests, others with jackets. Some having abandoned the nooses they refer to as ties.

I drag my gaze back to her. ‘Sorry.’

Katherine catches at my chin, forcing me to meet her gaze. ‘I don’t remember your mother.’ She sways more easily in my arms now, less stiff. Her hips beneath my grasp are solid, warm. An anchor. ‘She died a long time ago, didn’t she?’

I nod, not sure what this has to do with anything.

‘Women can wear what they like, Killian. We can do what we like.’ Her voice is gentle.

It takes me a moment to make the connection. Right. I never had a mother. ‘She would’ve taught me that,’ I say flatly.

Katherine offers a sad smile. ‘I’ll teach you.’

My steps falter. My heart skips a beat. For a little while there, since I’d broken the bond between her and Carter, I’d feared things would never be the same between us. I sigh, wrapping her up, setting my face in the soft crook between her neck and shoulder. She’ll teach me. That means she intends to stay by me.

That she still loves me.

I inhale deeply. Her hands wind through my hair, caressing the nape of my neck. A shudder passes over me.

Bless you, Ivy. Ask her to dance.

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