“Uncle Viktor just walked in. I don’t remember the last time my aunt and uncle were in the same room together. This will be very interesting,” Malachi murmurs, and I follow his gaze.
Sure enough, Viktor is working the room, all polished charm and hollow smiles, shaking hands with a knot of people near the far end of the other bar. Despite being Marco’s twin, something about him makes him look older. Maybe it’s the beard. Anton, his security, stalks a few paces behind, the sharp cut of his tailored suit doing little to disguise the predator underneath.
“If it isn’t my two favorite lovebirds,” a voice drawls from behind us, rich with venom. “My backstabbing, ungrateful son… and my treacherous little pet.”
The sound makes my spine lock straight, a jolt of cold rushing through me. I turn in my seat, and there is Marco, clean shaven, slicked-back black hair, and impeccable all-black suit. His presence sucks the warmth out of the space between us.
“How nice to see you’re still alive, Father,” Malachi says, flicking some invisible lent off his navy suit.
Marco’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Lucky for me, my demon didn’t have what it takes after all.” His gaze drifts to me, a smirk twisting his mouth.
“Oh, I have what it takes,” I snap. “I’ll show you?—”
He lifts a hand, cutting me off like I’m a petulant child. “Now, now. My pet seems to have forgotten all her manners in the short time she’s been with you. I’ll have to correct that when I take her back home. Perhaps I’ll even let Orin spend a little more time with her.” A flash of anger passes. “I know he fancies her too, in a very different way than you do.”
Malachi doesn’t move, but I feel the air change around him.
For one heartbeat, I truly believe he might slit Marco’s throat right here in front of everyone.
“Where is my brother tonight?” Malachi asks, looking past Marco and doing a careful sweep of our surroundings.
“He had more pressing matters to attend to, but he’ll be devastated when I tell him Katja was here,” Marco replies, waving the bartender down.
I don’t hide the disgust on my face. The very mention of Orin makes my skin crawl, bringing back memories I’d rather keep buried.
But suddenly I feel a lightning-quick strike to my nervous system that’s so fast and sharp it leaves me breathless. Then everything returns to normal, as if nothing happened at all.
I glance around frantically, unsure what could have caused such a strange sensation. Was it supernatural? Physical? My imagination?
Malachi immediately takes my hand and guides me away from the bar and Marco’s unsettling presence. “Dance with me,” he whispers over the top of my head as he smoothly navigates us onto the polished dance floor.
“What about Irina and your father? Aren’t you worried they’ll—” I start to protest, but he cuts me off by taking my waist and expertly guiding our movements to the rhythm of the live band.
“It’s too early for whatever Irina has planned. She’ll wait until later when people are more relaxed, when guards are down and alcohol has loosened tongues. The party has barely started, and guests are still arriving.”
His logic is sound, but I can’t shake this feeling that has me on edge.
Maybe it’s my abilities continuing to evolve in unexpected ways.
Yes, Kat, you’re being paranoid.
“You know,” Malachi says with that insufferably confident smile as he spins me gracefully, “I’m an excellent dancer. I thought you should be aware.”
“Oh really?” I arch an eyebrow as he pulls me back into his arms. “And here I thought your only talents were brooding dramatically and looking mysterious leaning against doorways.”
“Those are my hobbies,” he replies with mock seriousness. “Dancing happens to be one of my many professional skills.”
“Professional skills?” I laugh as he dips me low, his face inches from mine. “What exactly do you put on your résumé? Expert at sweeping women off their feet?”
“Among other things,” he says with a wink, pulling me upright again. “I also list devastatingly handsome and irresistibly charming.”
“Well, you got the devastating part right,” I tease. “Though, I think you meant devastatingly arrogant.”
“Arrogant?” He feigns wounded surprise, spinning me out and then reeling me back in. “I prefer confidently accurate about my ownexcellence.”
“That’s definitely going on the list of longest ways to say arrogant I’ve ever heard.”
“See? I’m also creatively verbose.” He grins, guiding us through a series of turns that make my dress swirl around my legs like liquid silk.
