Sam’s body moved closer, her thigh edged up between my legs, and her fingers caressed down my neck as her head leaned down —her lips brushed against my ear as she whispered, “You need to stop drinking that, babe.”
But the thing was, I didn’t want to stop drinking. Whatever Jeremiah had made me was good, and the alcohol was finally easing away that vicious knot of anxiety in my stomach. Not just easing it away — destroying it entirely. I felt great. I felt warm. I felt like laughing. And God, I was turned on. The touch of her fingers was vibrant, tingling over my skin, and I raised the cup to my lips again.
She pulled me forward, and then she was leading me again through the crowd. Her man had his hand on my arm, and I was really damn confused as to why we weren’t dancing anymore, until we were in the bathroom, and he’d closed the door, and she —
“I told you to stop drinking it,” she hissed, gripping me by the back of the neck as he took the cup from my hands. “Sorry, babe, it’s for your own good.”
Right as I opened my mouth to ask what the hell she was going on about, she tugged me forward, bent me over the toilet, and shoved her fingers into my throat.
It had been hours since I’d ingested anything but sugary alcoholic drinks, and I vomited up most of the liquid into the toilet. I tried to shove her off, but she was shockingly strong, and shoved me down harder and pressed her fingers back again — more gagging, more vomit. Her man was watching, standing in front of the door like a guard. Only when I gagged and nothing came up did she let me go, to sink down dazedly against the wall as she flushed the toilet and tossed the remainder of my drink in after it.
“What…what the fuck is wrong with you?” I gasped, clutching my stomach, my throat sore from her fingers, my entire back tense with the effort of trying to fight her off. She sighed heavily as she rinsed my cup in the sink and filled it from the tap, then offered it to me as she knelt down.
“You’re gonna need to get a hell of a lot smarter if you’re gonna live, Raelynn,” she said, and I realized I’d never given her my name. “Don’t you ever, ever consume anything Jeremiah Hadleigh gives you.”
I sipped the water cautiously, my eyes darting between her and the man — and that was when I realized: his eyes were golden.
“Zane,” I whispered, and he gave me a cheery salute.
“Took you long enough to recognize me.” He pouted mockingly. “Fucking hell, Leon wasn’t lying about you being a chore to keep alive. Sucking down roofies like you don’t have a care in the world.”
“Roofies?” My voice shot up an octave in alarm. “What —”
“Your drink was drugged, babe.” The woman sighed heavily. “The Hadleighs don’t intend for you to leave this party, let me make that perfectly clear. And I’ve got shit to do, so keep drinking that water, get your head straight — I need you to get it together and leave.”
My mind was spinning, not just from the vomiting and drugs lingering in my bloodstream. Zane reached down, offering me a mint to ease the gross taste of bile from my mouth. Zane was here…so did that mean…
“Is Leon here?” I choked out. Zane just shrugged.
“He’s around,” he said. “Not watching you closely enough, that’s for certain.”
Sam hauled me to my feet, her fingers like a vice on my upper arm. “Look, we’re gonna call you an Uber and you’re gonna go the hell home. Or get the fuck out of town, preferably. I’m not about to have everything ruined because the Hadleighs’ next sacrifice is ready to just lay herself at the altar.”
She nodded to Zane, who shook his head at me and opened the door —
Only to find our way blocked by a man dressed in black.
Dazed with the remnants of the roofie in my system, for a moment I thought I was staring down an assassin who was about to kill me. The man glared at me, his gaze furious from the eyeholes of the balaclava obscuring his face. But that glare was as golden as the sun, and the moment realization dawned on me, I yanked myself out of Sam’s grasp and flung my arms around him.
Leon’s scent enveloped me, soft citrus and smoke. Comfort. Safety. I never would have imagined feeling a demon’s arms tighten around me would provide that feeling, but I could have cried from relief at seeing him again. He was dressed entirely in black: cargo pants, boots, and some kind of tight military jacket. The perfect costume to completely obscure his identity.
“I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me, doll,” he growled, holding me close with his hand gripping tight on the nape of my neck. “It was a cute little show you put on grinding between these two, but it gave me a feeling you’ve forgotten who you belong to.”