? ? ?
This was the moment when I had a choice to make. I knew what I wanted to do—scream, cry, start a slap fight with the undead skank trying to take my boyfriend. But somehow, I knew that fighting for Michael that way would only make me look small, petty, and ugly beside Gloriana’s mature poise.
I didn’t know what the alternative was, but I was going to have to find it, fast.
They were halfway down the steps when I caught up. The light out here was mostly provided by the white, ghostly moon, and they seemed identically pale as they turned to look at me. I rushed down toward them. “Michael!” I gasped, and came to a halt one step above them. “Michael, please wait!”
Gloriana smiled at me, still maddeningly sweet. I’d been talking to him, but she was the one who answered me. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll bring him back,” she said. “If he wants to return.”
“Go back, Eve,” Michael said. “I’ll see you later.”
“You mean, you’ll dump me later?” I felt short of breath. Suffocating. “No. If you want to break up, be a man. Do it now, to my face.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, and I believed that. I could see it on his face. “I can’t do this right now, all right? Just go home. I’m not—”
“Not yourself? Yeah, that’s because she’s leading you around by the—by the nose! Please, listen! I love you. I know you don’t want to do this to me. Or to yourself.”
Gloriana wasn’t smiling anymore. I could feel the waves of pressure coming off her, closing around Michael. She was working hard at this, I realized. Harder than she’d expected. I might have taken some satisfaction in that, except that I was terrified that all her effort might actually be enough. “Michael,” she said. “Tell her to go away and go back to her friends. She’s just a child. You need someone . . . more experienced. Someone who understands what you want, and what you need, and isn’t afraid to help you through this . . . difficult time.”
He didn’t say anything. That, in itself, was a victory, but I could see him shaking again, very lightly. Vibrating, really. When she laid her gloved fingers on his hand, I saw his lips part in a soundless gasp.
“No,” I said, and took a step down, putting myself on the same level with him. I knocked her hand away, wrapped my arms around him. “No, I’m not going anywhere. You’ve got a roomful of candidates back there. You don’t get him, not unless you go through me first.”
Gloriana backed off, frowning. God, even her frowns were adorable, though the anger brewing in her eyes wasn’t so precious. I’d surprised her, all right. And now she was starting to realize that she might not be able to hijack Michael as she’d planned . . . and she wasn’t pleased. Not at all.
Michael stopped shaking, and I felt him relax against me. Sweet relief. His head came down on my shoulder, and I turned my head to glare at the other vampire. She was expressionless now, not smiling, not laughing, not exuding charm. She looked like a wax doll, and not a particularly pretty one, at that.
“Is that how it’s going to be?” she asked.
Michael pulled in a breath and said, “I’m with Eve.” Just that. Just three words, but they made me feel faint with relief and love.
I didn’t let go of him.
Gloriana slowly, reluctantly smiled, and the prettiness came back. “I apologize,” she said. “My mistake, of course. I didn’t think you were serious about her, or that she’d be so . . . forceful. I misjudged you both.” She put her palms together and bowed—I was almost certain mockingly. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again, Michael. Eve.”
He didn’t answer her. He was frighteningly quiet, I thought. Gloriana looked up, toward the top of the steps, and I saw her face change into something that was momentarily very, very ugly.
Amelie was standing up there, shining in the moonlight, radiantly silver. Beautiful, in a way that Gloriana would never be, for all her charm and good looks.
“Come back to the party,” Amelie said. “Your swains are missing you, Glory. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be responsible for any more broken hearts tonight.”
She turned and walked away, and I heard Gloriana make a light hissing sound, almost like a snake. She gave Michael one last, sidelong look, and then I felt something . . . snap, as if pressure had broken around us.
As she walked away, Michael tightened his arms around me, almost lifting me off my feet, and whispered, “God, Eve—God, I’m so sorry.” He was shaken, and he sounded angry—not at me; at himself. “I couldn’t stop myself. It was like being—it was like a dream. But I didn’t want to wake up, either.”
“Oliver called it glamour,” I said. “I can’t feel it, though.”
“No, not unless she wants you to. She’s—narcotic. It’s terrible, but it—feels so good.”