Page 54 of Revenant

I gasp dramatically. “Is the Tristan Carrow asking me to dance?”

“I don’t ask twice.”

“How could a girl ever say no to an endearing gesture like that?” I place my hand in his, and he leads the way. It feels nice, but my stomach doesn’t flip like when Pryce gives me his cheeky grin. My heart doesn’t race like it’s going to burst out of my chest like when Bastian leans in a little too close. Tristan’s touch isn’t soft like Elias’s—goosebumps don’t scatter at the connection. He’s outspoken, cocky, full of himself—Koen is all those things, but it’s not out of insecurity—it’s a complete certainty that he is, in fact, the smartest person in the room.

Still, I allow Tristan to pull me close, because this is normal. He’s normal. And that’s exactly what I need right now. Tristan places my hands around his neck, his grip around my hips demanding. “Have we met before?” he admits, leaning in to be heard over the music. “My sister’s friends aren’t usually this alluring.”

I arch a brow. “Is that supposed to flatter me?”

“Did it?”

“Not really, no.” I giggle, trying to decipher if he’s being serious or not. His smile grows wide enough that it finally catches up to his scar, which leads me to believe it’s the latter.

His hand presses flatter against my back, drawing me in until there’s no space left. “Guess I’ll have to try a bit harder.”

“Well, for starters, I don’t know what decade you’re from, but this isn’t really how I like to dance.” As if on command, the music changes from slow and steady, to more upbeat and lively.

“My apologies.” The movement happens so fast. One second I’m staring at him with curiosity, the next? He spins me out, turning back into him with ease. I stumble into him, my feet tripping over themselves as I regain my balance. I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol, or the intoxicating atmosphere, but I let myself have fun. My hands stretch up over my head, guiding back down my body to the beat. Tristan’s hazel eyes light up as he drinks me in, keeping his hands respectful, even though everything about him screams the opposite. I turn, giving him my back, and he seizes his opportunity. Trailing his fingers down over my sides, leaning in close so I can hear the subtleness of his breathing.

Tucking my chin into my shoulder, I keep my focus solely on him. His lips part, but before he can say what’s on his mind, his eyes instantly move from me to something in the distance. My gaze follows automatically, landing on a couple nearby who are staring at Moriah and the guy she’s been talking to. He notices and reins himself in, smoothing his expression into something cold. Moriah doesn’t bother, her apparent outrage written all over her face. She turns on her heel and marches back to me.

She looks at Tristan, then at me. “Let’s get another drink.” Her tone is bright, lightweight as if the conversation she was having never happened.

I try to get out of Tristan’s grasp, but he doesn’t relent. “Playtime’s over,” I tell him.

“Tristan, please find someone in your league. Even you can see she’s way out of it.” She grabs my wrist, hauling me away before he can get a word in edge wise. The bartender wastes no time getting Moriah those drinks—part of me thinks she should just take both. But she thrusts one at me and I take it. This isn’t the time to pick a fight.

“Who was that?” I ask.

“No one,” she replies. But her pulse is racing, her smile is forced, and something in her eyes looks…haunted. Fantastic. Because what I really needed tonight was more mysterious shit no one will explain to me.

Before I can push her for more, my phone dings. My brows draw together as I pull it out of my purse, half expecting a text from my aunt Tessa. But instead, missed calls and texts appear in my notifications, all from an unknown number.

Unknown: Come back.

My stomach drops.

Unknown: Now.

Another buzz.

Unknown: You’re testing my patience.

The club suddenly feels too warm. I don’t know how Bastian got my number, but he’s the only one who knew I was slipping out tonight. Figures he’d pick now to blow up my phone. God forbid I have one night without a vampire temper tantrum. I glance at the screen once, then shove it back into my bag. I cannot deal with him—not tonight.

Thankfully, Moriah’s already ordering another round.

“Okay,” she says, turning to me with a grin that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Where were we? Oh right—having fun. Then we’re leaving.”

17: Alicent

The night got away from me, to say the least. One minute we’re getting drinks, making the dance floor our own, then the next…I’m waking up in what I’m hoping is Moriah’s bed and not her brother Tristan’s. After what were too many martinis to count, it all just became a blur. Not like the aftermath of the bonfire—where I seemed to be the only one who remembered anything strange. My stomach feels fifty shades of fucked up, and I’m currently berating myself for not eating more food before the night amped up.

Whatever, it’s too late now. This just means I get a free day to do nothing except watch re-runs of Gilmore Girls and lie in bed for the foreseeable future.

Moriah groans from the other side of the room, stretching as though she had the most blissful sleep of her life. “I trust you slept well.”

“So good I don’t even remember,” I joke, rolling onto my side to face her. Ultimately, we’re going to have to either request a room change, or get another bed in here. Moriah was lucky enough to get a single, which has come in handy, but my back will not survive if I have to keep sleeping on the floor. “How did we get back here exactly?”