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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.
What the Fae?
I rip my gaze from his stupid, pretty face and grab my drink, toasting an imaginary glass. “Here’s to being the worst shadow in history.”
I slam back the sparkling concoction before I can change my mind.
The second it hits my throat, I know I’ve made a huge mistake. Of the I’m-screwed kind.
A wave of pleasure flashes over me, so overwhelming that I nearly fall off my barstool. At the same time, a pulse of fire ignites between my legs, a puff of air escaping my lips. I tamp down a moan as liquid fire smolders across my flesh. When I glance down over my skin I see that it’s all dewy and glowing.
Across the dance floor, I catch sight of Bane, Inara, Kimber, and the whole homicidal crew laughing hysterically as they point at me and whisper. One of them holds up a cellphone to video the scene.
Shit. My body is on fire. I need to dance, to grind up against someone. To do more . . . so much more with someone. A male.
What the hell was in that drink?
34
Gripping the bar with sweaty fingers, I turn toward the dance floor. . . only to see I’m fenced in by a wall of male Fae. My body rejoices but my mind is freaked. A blue-skinned Fae with long, twisty horns grins at me. Another male slides into the barstool next to mine, his yellow eyes flashing. Lycan.
His fingers are like iron bars as they wrap around my wrist, hard enough to make me wince. With minimal effort, he tugs me into his lap. My heart spikes into my throat.
“What’s your name?” he growls.
Part of me wants to throw my arms around his neck and then go somewhere dark, private. Ew. Gritting my teeth, I jump from his grasp before his arms can slide around my waist.
