her, and she giggles and does that whole bicep touch again. She leans toward him, pressing her breasts against his arm as she whispers something in his ear, which makes a smirk crawl across his face. And just like that, her questionable fashion choice isn’t the only red I’m seeing.
A low-burning anger clicks to life in my belly like a gas stove lighting. Didn’t he say that I was his mate? I mean, yes, we don’t know each other, meeting in a dream isn’t exactly the meet-cute of dungeons and torture that I had with my other mates, but still. Shouldn’t that term mean something to this jerk?
The last he knew, I was being held captive in a cage, and yet here he is, dressed to the nines, flirting with waste of a dress Boobs McGee, and sipping on champagne.
I grit my teeth and look away, veering off course. He’s standing in front of the only entrance to get up onto the second story balcony, which is a huge problem for me, and my heart is hammering in my chest so hard that I need a second to think.
I’m a little surprised by the intense emotion that cyclones through me at what I just witnessed. I try to calm the anger and indignation I feel bubbling up through my system. I tell myself that I don’t actually know him or have any kind of claim, but then an over-the-top giggle reaches my ears, and I lose the traction I just gained with my logical side.
I beaconed him, and accidental or not, he knows it. For all he knows, I’m off being tortured right now and yet, he doesn’t even seem to care. I scoff and seethe inside. What a prick. Well, good riddance then. I wouldn’t have wanted such an arrogant shit for a mate, anyway.
Except...I can taste the lie in my mouth as those thoughts flash through my mind. Because yes, the rude, arrogant, short-tempered bastard irritates me, but there’s also something there. I must’ve beaconed him for a reason, no matter how unclear those reasons may be now. Annoyance with myself and the situation flickers to life, burning right alongside my anger, fueling it, making it grow hotter and stronger. Which of course, is the worst possible thing I can do, because every time I get angry, I seem to—
“You.”
His voice rings through my head, and I nearly bump into a couple as I unintentionally cross into the dancing portion of the ballroom floor. I mutter out an apology as I try to keep my emotionless mask, but I don’t know if I’m succeeding or not. I’m just so pissed.
Damn my stupid emotions! I want to slap my skanky, beacon-hungry anger who keeps calling out to Ire like a one-night stand who can’t take a hint.
“I can feel you,” his cold, smooth tone says in my mind. “You’re here,” he declares with surprise.
“Well, that makes two of us, buddy,” I snarl.
“What makes two of us?” he asks, and I can tell he’s scanning the room for me.
“What? Nothing. I’m not here,” I quickly amend.
“Liar,” he growls, all the confusion gone from his tone. In its place is a building fury I can feel as if it’s my own, and an odd thrill tickles down my spine and wraps forward at my hips, right before it drips down between my thighs.
I move away calmly, doing everything I can not to draw attention to myself as I try to make sense of what the hell just happened to my body. It’s like his proximity is scrambling my sensors somehow, and my reactions to him are anything but normal.
I look around to see if anyone is watching me, but I don’t see the Abdicated that I saw before. Dammit. Ire is a serious wrench in my plan. And my plan can’t fail.
“Leave me alone,” I hiss, as I fall deeper into the thick throng of Abdicated partying all around me. I move out of the way of the dancers, but as I do, I step into the line of vision of another Abdicated watching me with barely concealed suspicion.
My pulse pounds in time with the concert going on from the boisterous musicians at the other end of the ballroom. Morax’s crony follows my every move.
“Where are you?” Ire demands like a barrage of thunder that refuses to be tuned out.
“I’m nowhere,” I reply tersely, thankful for the first time that I’m not wearing my own face. Then I realize with a