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“No,” Callum says, shaking his head. “I’m only here because I tricked Inara’s uncle into wagering a spot here for me during a game of farvane.”
Farvane is a dice game played by some of the Evermore students in the commons. The rules seem incredibly complicated, and some magic is involved.
Mack grins. “It hasn’t exactly made him popular with Inara.”
I sigh. “She has a new person to hate, so you’re probably safe now. You’re welcome.”
Callum suddenly looks around. “Wait, why are we sitting on the floor?”
Mack giggles. “Actually, why are we inside this room? Let’s go show those Fae pricks how dancing is supposed to look.”
Dancing? I have as much rhythm as a praying mantis, but the others leave before I can protest. So I blow out a breath and follow them down to the dance floor. The floor is packed with bodies, all Fae.
There are so many horns and wings and tails and flashing lights that I can almost convince myself we’re at a Halloween party back home. Except the creatures writhing on the dance floor won’t peel off their costumes at the end of the night.
And to them, we’re the freaks.
The thought of being the only humans here isn’t comforting, but Mack, Callum, and Evelyn don’t seem to mind as they immediately begin grinding on each other.
Ick.
I’m about to join them when a surge of Fae bodies surrounds them and they’re swallowed by the crowd.
Just like that, I’m alone. A fruitless search ensues where I bump into every Fae possible, gathering annoyed scowls and more than a few offers to dance. But I’m not a fan of the hungry way the male Fae look at me like I’m something to be conquered and devoured.
Especially after we just had the reasons-not-to-sleep-with-the-Fae talk.
Plus, I need at least five more of those pink drinks before I can find a shred of rhythm, so I push and shove my way to the bar. The bartender belongs to the Court of Mortal Beasts. Black eyes stare at me from a bloodless face, and when he smiles, two long fangs flash.
Vampire. I shiver. Members of the Mortal Beasts look like mortals, for the most part. With a few major differences. Vampires drink blood and don’t sleep, Lycanthropes shift into werewolves, and shifters, well, shift into animals.
The vampire lifts his overly-plucked brows, which also happen to be studded with piercings. “Going to order anything, little shadow, or are you just here to offer that delicious blood I smell charging through your fragile veins?”
Shit. Panicked at the mention of him drinking my blood, I say, “I’ll have . . . the pink drink.”
His grin is terrifying. “Coming right up.”
When he hands me the champagne flute full of sparkling liquid, it looks way different than the other fizzy drinks from before. It’s not even pink, but a rich, sparkly purple.
Before I can ask exactly what this is, he asks for payment.
“Excuse me?” I say stupidly. Of course money is a thing here in Everwilde. It’s a thing everywhere.
He’s about to reply when his eyes shift behind me. A whisper of terror flickers across his countenance, and then he hisses, “The drink is free,” before escaping to a back room.
Before I turn, I know from the prickling cold feeling raking my back who’s behind me. When I turn, I’m prepared to see the Winter Prince.
But I’m not prepared to see the three Fae girls from the Court of Mythological Creatures surrounding him. They have snowy-white wings and pale horns. Two hang on his arms. A third leans in and tips a glass of something to his lips.
Because he can’t just hold his own damn drink.
Even with his mini flying harem attending to his thirst—and other things, by the look of it—his eyes never leave mine. I happen to have the misfortune of noticing how gorgeous he is, how big and full and kissable his stupid lips are.
But how can I find him attractive after he tricked me? After he humiliated Rhaegar and claimed me like a car won in some poker game.
I’m not a car. I’m not a possession. And I will never let him own me.
As if he knows my thoughts, those lips slowly tug into a saccharine grin, and a pit of desire opens up inside me.
