fed up and move along. He seems like one of those cats who’s only interested in chasing the mice when they try to run. As soon as he pounces and catches his prey, he’ll get bored and go away. All I have to do is play dead.
“Stop it,” Ire hisses, shaking me slightly even as he continues dancing, pulling me along with him.
“Stop what?” I reply, monotone.
He curses under his breath, and then before I know it, he’s pulling me toward the staircase of the balcony. Yes! Right where I need to be.
But as soon as we go up the first few steps, he yanks me into a hidden alcove right there on the staircase, hidden by a thick drapery hanging over it. Ire shoves the tapestry aside and then shoves me inside until we’re both standing in this secret little niche that’s meant for the servants, based on the shelves full of extra wine bottles from floor to ceiling.
I barely have time to whirl around before Ire is caging me in, his arms braced on either side of my head, his hands clasping the half-empty shelves at my back.
Frozen between the tailored sleeves of his pristine black suit, my breaths come way too fast and loud for this intimate little hideaway, our bodies shadowed from the light. And what’s the first reaction I have as he’s bearing down on me? It’s not to shove him away or demand to know what the hell he’s doing. Nope, my body responds completely wrong for some stupid reason. My breath catches, my core warms, and my lips part, like I’m secretly hoping he dragged me back here to have his wicked way with me.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I try to find my irritation, but it’s lost behind all the heat coursing through my veins. I blame my beacon-beckoning anger. She’s obviously a floozy and can’t be trusted when it comes to this male. She’s just calling out to him all needy and desperate all the time like we have no shame.
Ire stares down at me, those baby blue orbs so bright they nearly glow in the dim lighting. “You have one minute to tell me what’s going on and why you fucking lied to me, Snarls,” he says, his voice low and menacing. That voice. Damn that silky smooth voice. I shouldn’t like it so much. Especially not when his tone is angry. But just the sound of it makes my body respond. I curl my hands into fists to keep from touching him, reminding my body to keep hold of my anger.
“I didn’t lie to you,” I tell him, fed up with him lobbing that accusation at me.
“Is that right?” he clips back, dipping his face even closer to mine. “Because the last time we spoke in that pretty little head of yours, you told me that the Ophidian was holding you captive and that you had no idea where you were. So explain to me how you’re here in Nihil, at a Sin party, wearing the Wrong. Fucking. Face.”
The last three words he speaks are nothing more than gnashed growls of contention, as if me having a different face than the one he saw in my dream state is personally offensive to him. His gaze skates down my borrowed body with disdain, his hot breath coming in puffs against my cheek. “Tick tock, Snarls. Your time is slipping.”
I clench my teeth before blowing out a sigh. “Fine, but shut up and pay attention because I’m only going to explain this once,” I snap, keeping my tone even but quick. Because the fact of the matter is, he’s right. I don’t have time to waste. I might as well take advantage of the fact that we’re hidden away from watchful eyes.
His lips press into a hard line at my snarky words, his temper flaring, but I don’t give him a chance to speak. “I never lied,” I quickly say. “I really was being held captive by the Ophidian. And I still am.”
Ire blinks at me, his severe eyebrows dropping into a frown and tugging the scar just above his left eye. “What are you talking about?” he demands.
“He’s here. The Ophidian is here.”
Ire’s eyes go wide.
“He forced my sister Medley to kidnap Delta, and now he’s brought all three of us here,” I explain, my stomach clenching from the anxiety my words call forth.
To his credit, he doesn’t scoff. He doesn’t call me a liar, even though I expect