Page 89 of Taming Seraphine

“Then what?”

“I want you to stay sober tonight and not take any chances.”

He doesn’t elaborate on why he doesn’t want me drinking, so I brush it off as one of his controlling quirks, like the way he made me meditate before we left and repeat a bunch of affirmations.

The waiter returns with our drinks. I sip from my glass and pretend it’s champagne. One benefit of being irritated with Leroi is that my heart is no longer pounding. He has a way of erasing even the worst anxiety. The music is so loud that its bass makes my bones vibrate.

I straighten in my seat and survey the people on the dancefloor. Right now, I feel confident, poised, and because I’m sitting beside Leroi, powerful. It’s a change from the first time I was here when I’d struggled with the thought of killing. Now, murder is infused in my blood.

Leroi’s gaze burns the side of my face. I turn to meet his dark eyes and say, “Let’s dance.”

The corner of his lips lift. “Go right ahead.”

“Come with me.” I stand up and hold out my hand.

He snorts. “I don’t dance.”

I roll my eyes. “What’s the point of going to a club just to sit around and drink?”

He lounges back in his seat and sweeps a hand toward the dance floor. “You dance. I’ll watch.”

With a huff, I turn on my heel and walk out of the VIP section to where everyone is dancing. The music is thumping with a tune I heard at the boutique, and I sway in time with the beat.

Leroi’s gaze heats my skin, even though I’m trying not to look in his direction. No matter where I turn, he’s on the edge of my awareness, a constant presence that’s impossible to ignore.

In some ways, he reminds me of the handler Dad hired to train me into becoming a killer. They’re both tall, dark, and unsmiling, except the handler didn’t have a soul. He was a creep whose eyes I wanted to scoop out with a rusty spoon. Leroi might be a killer, but he has a heart.

A loud burst of giggles on my left catches my attention. I turn to find a group of five women around my age performing the same steps. It’s a variation of the Grapevine, a dance so old Mom used to incorporate it into her aerobics routine. I watch them for a few repetitions before joining in.

As I dance, I catch Leroi’s eyes again, but his expression is unreadable, though his gaze follows me like a sniper’s red dot. I smirk. If he’s so worried about what I might do to these women, then maybe he should come to the dance floor for a closer look.

“Hey,” the woman closest to me yells over the music. “I like your shoes.”

She’s tall with a mass of dark curls that remind me of Gregor, the less insane of the twins who wore his hair long.

“Thanks,” I shout back. “They came with the dress.”

We continue the dance steps and the woman asks me more about my outfit. Her own dress is made of scraps of denim sewn together to mold around her curves. I’m no expert in fashion, but the outfit looks homemade.

The music changes, and I glance toward our table. A man wearing a black leather jacket sits beside him and is looking in our direction. He’s dangerous and edgy, and reminds me of some of the men I’ve had to kill. Leroi is so relaxed around him that it’s obvious they’re friends or associates.

“What’s your name?” shouts the curly-haired woman.

“Sera,” I answer. “And you?”

“Emberly,” she says. “My friends call me Ember.”

Ember introduces me to the other women, whose names I instantly forget. They’re a friendly bunch with bright eyes and easy smiles, but I can’t help but feel disconnected. Everything about them is light and carefree, while my past is encased in the kind of darkness that can never feel bright.

All I feel for them is a bone-deep envy that makes my ribs ache.

The next time I glance in Leroi’s direction, he’s standing and gesturing at that dark-haired woman who barged into our apartment, Rosalind.

I’m about to charge over to the VIP section to handle her, when a pair of arms wrap around my waist and I feel a tiny erection grind into my ass. The hands move to my hips and a deep voice slurs in my ear, “Hey, baby, wanna dance?”

THIRTY-THREE

LEROI

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