One of these aurora cycles, I’m going to be forced to bite my tongue so hard I sever the tip. I’m sure of it. The fact that it’s still attached is a fucking miracle.
Stepping free of the washroom, I see a male leaning against the corridor wall ahead, blocking the only exit besides the lavatory window in the room behind me.
I pause on the threshold, holding the door ajar, my heart slapped still by this … unexpected development.
I thought it’d take longer to lure him in. At the very least, I thought I’d be able to pee in peace before we play.
Tarik Relaken stares into the glass he’s clutching, swirling an amber liquid, smoke sloshing free. Tangles of red hair hang before his eyes, orange flames barbered into the shorn sides, framing the elemental bead hanging from his lobe like a drip of blood.
“You have a sensational voice,” he rumbles, stare still drowning in the depths of his drink. “And the color of your gown …” He tilts his head to the side, flames reflecting in his dark-brown eyes that singe me from afar. “Exceptional.”
I ease the door shut behind me, sealing myself in the corridor with the male, mind churning. I’ve got his attention, now to lure him away from this establishment.
I dip my head in thanks, then move to walk past, pausing when he pushes off the wall and turns to face me.
Further blocking the exit.
“Stay,” he mumbles, tipping his glass to his lips. He swallows, purring a smarmy “Drink with me.”
My gut knots.
His mouth might be saying drink, but his eyes say ugly things that pick you apart, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left for the scavengers.
You really are a piece of trash.
“With a voice like that,” he tacks on, stare sliding down my body like an oily brush, making my skin crawl, “I’m sure your mouth’s a fucking delight.”
A ball of icy rage gathers within my chest, pulsing with its own violent heartbeat, salivating to end this here.
Now.
It’d be silly not to. He’s asking for it so beautifully.
I glance at the closed exit. At the dead bolt right there—only three leaping steps away. If I can just get past him and slide it into place, I’ll ensure nobody can interrupt this impromptu gathering until the deed is done.
“Apologies, sir, but it’s a long walk home. I must be getting on my way if I’m to rest before the rise.”
I move, banking for the sliver of space on his right—
His hand slams against the wall so hard the sconce flame flutters, and my feet still. “I insist,” he grinds out, eyes hardening to dark flints that make something inside me pause.
Listen.
I weigh the value of locking that door. Risky, yes. But to be fair, I wore the veil for this very reason—on the off chance I’d be forced to escape through a back window with a severed appendage in my pocket. So nobody would pull me aside at a later date after passing me on a stairway, recognizing my face, pinning me as the prime suspect for stashing Tarik Relaken—handless and pulseless—into a privy booth.
Screw it.
My attention homes, body poised. The tips of my fingers tingle with anticipation as I reach for the dagger within the hidden compartment tailored into my bodice—
The door behind Tarik swings open, and I curse beneath my breath. We both look over his shoulder at the large, cloaked male who watched me sing all slumber from the back of the room while exuding the stoicism of a stone statue.
The hall suddenly feels like a vein swelling with too much hot, pumping blood. Like an incinerating storm just crammed between the close-pressed walls and sponged all the oxygen, leaving little for me to breathe.
Frustration and anger buck and battle inside me. My hand falls from my bodice, tucking into the gathers of my skirt where I can white-knuckle the fabric without it being obvious.
What an unfortunate time to decide he needs to take a piss, though less unfortunate for him. Had he been a few moments later, he would’ve walked in on something he certainly wouldn’t have walked away from.
Clearing his throat, Tarik lifts his very lucky hand from the wall and shifts sideways, giving me space to ease past. Honestly, he should use it to shake this male’s hand because he absolutely just saved his life.
For now.
“Milady,” Tarik bites out, forging a gaudy smile. “Have a Creators-blessed slumber.”
I battle the urge to let my eyebrows bump all the way into my hairline. Seems I’m not the only one who can sense the combustive energy rolling off this mysterious male.
Wish he’d take that energy elsewhere.