“No rush,” she says, not picking up on my sarcasm. She reaches over and grabs her cup, takes a sip, and then holds it out to me. “Here, have this. I’ll make myself another one.”
I accept the cup. It’s filled with brown liquid that smells kind of herbal. “What is it?”
“Spiced tea and vodka, my own special recipe.” She smiles in her genuine way again, and I can’t help but relax a little. “It’s super yummy.”
“Thanks for the shower and not freaking out about the clothes.” I motion to the white shirt and jeans I borrowed. “And thanks for a place to crash. I wouldn’t wanna be out there tonight.” Not on Halloween, when all of LA acts like lunatic children.
She blushes a little and nods. “Just sleep. I’ll check on you later. And I’ll make sure the boys don’t come back.” Then she slips out into the party and the cloud of laughter and music.
I scoot down in the pillows and sniff the drink. It has a nice nutmeg spark to it, kind of soothing to my nerves. I take a sip and breathe deeply, trying to focus on the moment. I’m safe. I’m warm and clean. It won’t be long until all three of those things go back to not being true. I need to enjoy this.
I drink a few more sips of the spiced vodka, then set it aside before curling into a ball and sinking into the soft mattress. Everything in me settles. I don’t remember the last time I felt this way. Maybe never. I hope Ziggy is okay. I should probably go check on her . . .
I reach over to take another sip of the drink. It’s really good. Like, really good.
I down the rest in a single shot, then set the cup on the table.
It falls to the floor.
Oops.
I laugh, then sigh happily and roll over, suddenly fascinated by the textures on the wall. Maybe I don’t want to sleep. Sleep is boring. I’m always so boring, always scared to join the fun. I’m tired of being scared.
I sit up and stare at the door. The sound of people and fun and life is so inviting. The beat of the music buzzes against my skin, and the urge to be in the crowd fills me. I should go find Ziggy. Or go dance . . . I stand up, wobbling a little, but I make it to the door. Then I’m down the hall and in the cluster of party madness before I even realize I’ve made a decision to join in. I scan the faces in the living room for a second, searching for Ziggy, but then my body is swaying and twisting to the electronic pulse of the notes, and my friend is forgotten.
As I move through the crowd, I touch chests and arms and cheeks, and people turn to look as I head for where everyone’s dancing. I smile, feeling powerful, feeling the energy in the room shift. I don’t normally want attention; I hate people looking at me. But now I wonder why I’ve never done this before, let people see me.
“This isn’t good,” I hear someone say behind me. “Look at her.” I think it’s that Ben guy.
He’s hot. I kind of want to let him do things to me.
It’s so weird. So not me . . .
“Just go with it, Ben,” Star says. “Faelan will be here any second.”
I watch her walk past me through the dancers. She’s added wings to her slutty Dorothy costume. They’re silver and sheer and—wow, they almost look real.
I turn and spot Ben. His eyes grow wide as I move to take his wrist, pulling him into the cluster of dancers, urging him closer. “Yeah, Ben. Listen to Dorothy. Just go with it, dance with me.” My voice is soft, so I don’t think he can hear me over the music, but his brow knits together.
“You smell really good,” he says, looking a little dazed and a lot confused as he begins to move with me. His voice is low too, but I can hear him as clear as day over the pounding beat. He’s got these soft brown eyes that are almost copper, and his brown hair is highlighted with red where it falls over his brow. His skin is lovely and tan. The cat ears he had on earlier are gone. As he leans closer, his lips part, and I hesitate.
Are those fangs? I blink at them, confused, but then I realize it must be part of a costume. He’s a vampire for Halloween? Such a cliché, but in a lame way it sort of makes him look even more inviting . . .
My gut swirls and tightens as I move my gaze back up to his eyes, and those strange urges rise, the ones I always get when I see someone I want to kiss. Warmth soaks my skin. I need something. I’m not sure what. A connection. Touch. Like I haven’t touched anyone in my entire life.
I slide my fingers up the muscles of his arm.
The heat in my skin, in his, grows a little and a vibration moves through my chest.
A small gasp escapes my lips. My head fills with the smell of spice, turmeric and nutmeg, and warmth settles in my throat as if I’ve just taken a bite of something delicious.
I can’t help reaching out to touch him again. My hand grazes the hem of his shirt, and I close my eyes. Then I do something completely insane. I slip my hand underneath the cotton, sliding my palm across his stomach.
Ecstasy becomes a second heartbeat in my skin. The smell of nutmeg turns dull and metallic in my head, and the tang in the back of my throat morphs into the taste of blood. Light and fire flicker behind my eyelids, glowing orange and gold, and I’m cloaked in warmth, as if I just stepped into a sauna. It heats my skin, my insides, and I’m suddenly starving—for what, I can’t tell. I only know I want more. More touch, more taste, more fire. I want all of it. All of him.
I press my hands firmly against his chest and start to take in a breath—
I’m shoved, hard. My eyes fly open just in time to see that I’m careening into a trio of Wonder Women. They disperse with squeals of surprise, and I land in a beanbag chair, knocking over a bunch of drinks as I slide along the floor.
Before I can get my bearings, a large guy is parting the crowd, coming at me with a strange metal shackle in his gloved hand. “Hold still,” he says, his voice low and dangerous, the hint of an accent weaving into his words. It registers that I need to get away from him, but I can’t make myself move. There’s a click as he hooks the shackle around my neck. Then he barks over his shoulder, “Who thought it was a grand idea to give her the draft and start waking her up before I got here?”
The two blond guys I met earlier step forward and point at Star. She’s off to the side, her cheeks beet red.
My attacker releases a growl and frowns down at me with watchful gray-green eyes.
The sight of him stuns me into stillness. He’s just a guy, but I know he’s not just anything as my whole being seems to notice him. The thin scar cutting through his right eyebrow, the odd curve of his ears, the perfection of his bronze skin, the rich dark brown of his hair—half of it tied neatly back with a leather strap, a loose strand tucked behind his ear.
I have an inexplicable urge to pull the strand loose again and watch it slide across his cheek.
Panic rises in a rush. I can’t understand anything I’m thinking or feeling as he looms over me.