ceases, and I hear my mother’s voice in my head, that I know she finished casting the spell.
I pull my powers into my body once more, dissolving the shield. When I open my eyes, I’m a little lightheaded, but I manage to stand straight without swaying on the spot. I can’t show weakness in front of anyone, especially Blueblood vampires.
“Did it work?” Saxon asks, moving closer to me.
Immediately, I feel a strange pull toward the male, almost as if he’s a magnet and I’m steel. My skin begins to tingle again, and it seems like little wisps of electricity are snaking from my hand toward him.
“No. It didn’t work,” Mom replies. “I sense no change in his vitals.”
Saxon makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat, reminding me of a wounded animal. Then he storms out of the room, almost pulling the door off its hinges in the process.
Mom doesn’t even register the occurrence as she begins to collect the stones and the crystal. Ronan crosses the room, walking over to the vampire princess. Her face is twisted in an expression of agony when she locks gazes with her friend. I still sense tension between them, but whatever it is, it vanishes when she throws herself into his arms. He engulfs her in a bear hug while fixing his gaze on the sleeping prince.
I should wait for my mother, but my body has other ideas. I head out, letting the pull guide me to Saxon. The corridor is empty and quiet, and yet, I know exactly where to go. The steel doors we came through are not locked from the inside, but they’re effing heavy. Security in this place is tight.
I’m not sure where I’ll end up. If Saxon returned to his bedroom, do I dare follow? But the invisible cord leads me to the great room that I can’t call a living room because it’s too grandiose. It more resembles a place where monarchs would receive special guests. A number of sofas and chairs are spread around the room, all in deep jewel tones that match the dark furniture. Classic paintings hang from the walls, including a life-size portrait of Lucca looking like he just sprang from a Jane Austen novel—if she wrote about brooding vampires.
Saxon is standing in front of the dormant fireplace. His hand is braced against the mantel and his head hangs low.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He looks up, but in the gloom, the only thing I can see is the crimson glow of his eyes. Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have followed him.
“No. I’m not okay.” His voice comes out stifled.
I walk over even if common sense is telling me to keep my distance.
“I’m sorry. We’ll keep trying to get him back, every week if necessary.”
Why am I making this promise to him? It’s not up to me to decide, or even my mother. The king could very well tell us to wait another decade or longer.
Saxon doesn’t reply for a moment, and then comes the sneak attack. His arm curls around my waist to pull me closer, and his lips crash against mine. I should resist, but when his tongue darts into my mouth, possessive and hungry, I’m a goner. My wanton body surrenders completely, melting into his, until I remember my mother could walk in on us at any second. With enormous regret, I push him off me.
“Stop it! I didn’t come after you for this.”
“Your mouth said otherwise,” he replies roughly.
I take a step back even though I want to soak up his body heat. “You caught me by surprise. What’s up with all the jackasses in the world trying to steal kisses from me today?”
“Excuse me?” Saxon’s demeanor changes in an instant, going from I-want-to-sex-you-up to I’m-going-to-murder-a-motherfucker.
Shit. I shouldn’t have said anything.
“Did someone harass you?” he presses.
“Forget I said anything.” I begin to turn, but he grabs my arm.
“Answer me, Aurora. Did a vampire at Bloodstone try anything? Or was it your betrothed?”
His tone drips with disgust around the word “betrothed” and he hasn’t even met the guy yet. When I don’t answer, he continues. “It was him.”
“What’s going on here?” my mother asks from the entrance of the room.
Saxon drops my arm as if he has been electrocuted, stepping away.
“Nothing,” I say, sounding incredibly guilty.
Mom spares a couple of beats scrutinizing us. The light from the foyer casts wicked shadows on her face, and also allows me to see the calculating gleam in her dark eyes.