Music plays in my head … not Morpheus’s lullaby. Something with a sensual, addictive beat. I twist my hips back and forth. The rubies on my belt sparkle, and the rings jingle—belly-dancer style. I didn’t know I could move like this. Must be from all those years of hula-hooping with Jen.
Jeb’s eyes look like they might pop … so do the veins in his neck. He makes a sound—somewhere between a cough and a moan—mesmerized by my rocking hips. He stands. “Would you get down? You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“No. Come up here with me.” I raise my arms over my head and roll my pelvis seductively. “It’s a wake-up dance for Skittles. You know, like the Native Americans used to do to bring down rain.”
Jeb gawks. “I seriously doubt any Native Americans moved like that.”
Feeling the groove through every pulse of my body, I envision the chains on Jeb’s belt dancing to the music, imagine coils of energy running through the links, inducing movement. I beckon them toward me with a fingertip.
“Hey … hey, wait!” Jeb’s chains lurch, forcing him up onto the chair. He tries to grab the links with his hands, but they break free, tugging until he’s standing in front of me on the table.
I catch his hips, coaxing his body to sway with mine. Pressed against him, I nuzzle his neck, dropping kisses over his soft skin as I rake my fingers through his hair. His ponytail comes undone. “You taste good enough to eat,” I whisper.
The chains wind around his thigh, squeezing. Tensing all over, he grabs them. “H-h-how are you doing that?”
I laugh, running my palms across his biceps and chest. “Morpheus showed me I could animate objects. Isn’t it spectacular?”
I’m concentrating too hard on how good his muscles feel, and it breaks my connection with the metal links. The minute he’s free, Jeb climbs to the ground and lifts me down. I drop into my seat, giggling as he clasps both my hands crossways over my chest.
“You’re freaking me out, Al. Come on.”
“Come on where?” I break a hand loose and run a fingertip down his shirt, tracing the line of sheer black fabric over his yummy navel and stopping to clutch his waistband.
A muscle in his jaw jumps.
I purr. “Poor control-freak Jeb. Your world’s way off-kilter when little Alyssa’s not tripping over her chastity belt. Is that it, bad boy?” I tap the button at the top of his fly.
“Uhhh …”
“Why don’t you wake up Skittles, and then we’ll go home and have a real party?” I’m smiling so hard, it hurts my face—a provocative, teasing smile. For some reason, I can’t stop.
“You need to quit looking at me like that,” Jeb says, a husky rattle in his voice.
“Or else what?” My insides tickle with an unfamiliar power, knowing that he’s flustered. Knowing that I caused it.
Swallowing hard, he fishes out the bag of pepper again. “‘Home.’ Right. Maybe if we wake the mouse, the others will wake up, too.”
“Yeah! Let the tea party begin!” Then I can finally eat something. I play a drumroll on the table’s edge with my forefingers.
Jeb shoots another bewildered glance my way. It’s delicious being able to unbalance him. Like when his blood turned green over Morpheus earlier. I’ve never known any girl to be in control of Jebediah Holt. Sure would rock to be the first.
A tiny voice inside me tries to break through, tries to remind me this isn’t me … that I wouldn’t say these things, not to Jeb—that I wouldn’t take pleasure in his pain. Something’s wrong and I should tell him so he can help, or at least defend himself. But the hunger inside crushes my conscience. It’s more than just an ache for food. I’m starving for power, too. Power to bring the guy I want to his knees. To make him pay for not wanting me back.
With one eye on me and one on the bag of pepper, Jeb packs the mouse’s nostrils. The tiny creature inhales sharply. A sneeze gathers, then erupts on a hiccup. His icy shell shatters with the force of it. Clumps of frost slide from his brown fur and red jacket as he sits up to rub his nose.
The instant he sees us, he scrambles behind his teacup. Braving a peek, he blinks black dewdrop eyes our way. They look like chocolate chips. That fierce hunger rolls through me again.
Drooling, I scramble on top of the table.
“Eep!” The mouse’s voice is a high-pitched squeak as he scuttles out from his hiding place.
“Al, stop. We need his help.” Jeb tries to grab my ankles, but I’m too fast.
Shoving platters and plates aside, I crawl after the mouse as he skitters toward his friends, fuzzy tail jouncing behind him. He skids to a stop when he sees their condition. Whiskers drooping, he twists to look at me.
“Miss Alice, you must wake them!” he squeaks. Hesitant, his tiny feet patter backward. “You’re not Miss Alice.” He pats the edges of his eyes while staring at mine. “You’re much more—”