When I turn back to the dancefloor, Blake stands in front of me.
He holds out a slender hand.
“Would you care to dance?” he asks.
Chapter Forty-Nine
For a moment I am speechless.
My gaze travels up his black shirt, now buttoned up to the collar, and lands on his face. I cannot read his expression. He seems serious, yet his eyes glint in the torchlight as though they hold a thousand secrets.
The dancefloor blurs behind him as people slow their steps to the new melody that’s playing. Where have I heard this song before?
“You want to dance with me?” I ask.
“Yes.”
A giggle escapes my lips, and Blake tilts his head to the side—the movement almost catlike. “Does that amuse you, little rabbit?”
I lean back against the table and take a sip from my beaker—welcoming the coldness of the water as it travels down my throat. I am hot. Too hot. And my mind feels fuzzy from all the whisky.
Blake tracks my every movement as I brush a strand of hair out of my face.
“Do you think me a fool, Blake?”
“On the contrary. Dance with me.”
“If you mean to provoke Callum, he’s otherwise engaged.” I put down my beaker and raise an eyebrow. “You’re wasting your time.”
He smiles, dimples puncturing his cheeks. I could almost forget that he is a manipulative snake when he looks at me like that.
“I am not trying to provoke your master, little rabbit. That would be a waste of my time.”
“What are you trying to do, then?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
I frown. “Callum is not my master.”
“Prove it.” He glances at his hand, still outstretched. “Dance with me.”
The shadows in the Great Hall seem to gravitate toward him as the candles flicker, as though attracted to whatever darkness resides in his soul.
I laugh and shake my head. “Do you truly think me so easily manipulated?”
He smirks. “Oh, darling, I know exactly how to manipulate you.”
“I’m not dancing with you, am I?”
“No. But you will.”
“What makes you so sure?”
He steps forward, and places both hands on the table on either side of me. I breathe in sharply, inhaling his scent of the forest at night, as he dips his mouth to my ear.
“Because I’m playing a game, little rabbit.” His warm breath tickles my cheek. “And a part of you wants to play too—just to see if you can beat me.”
He turns his face toward mine, a challenge glinting in his eyes.
Then he steps back and I can breathe again.
“Why would I play a game with you when I am at a disadvantage?” I say. “I do not know the rules, nor the prize.”
“No. But don’t you want to find out?”
He holds out his hand.
My mother used to tell me stories about Night—the deity who holds the keys to the Moon Goddess’s prison. He tempts mortals into making deals with him, offering them what they desire in exchange for their souls.
Blake reminds me of him right now. Dangerous and strange with eyes gleaming with dark promises.
And I hate that I am tempted. Because he is right; I do want to find out what he is scheming.
Yet if I dance with him, what part of my soul will he claim?
He raises an eyebrow.
I raise my chin.
Perhaps the warm, smoky alcohol I have consumed is giving me false confidence, but I do not think that Blake is as smart as he thinks he is.
I place my hand in his.
A slow smile spreads across his face as his fingers curl around mine. He leads me to the dancefloor.
He raises our joined hands, and places his other on my waist.
“Do you know the Dance of the Dawn?” he asks.
“Of course.”
“This music follows the same rhythm.”
He pulls me closer, and I place a hand on his shoulder. “You wish to perform a Southlands dance in a hall full of northerners?”
“We are both Southlanders, are we not?”
“Is that the game? You wish to antagonize everyone here?”
“Let’s play and find out, shall we?”
I incline my head. “Very well.”
I step back and he releases me.
I curtsy and he bows, as is tradition, and then we dance.
We step forward, raising our hands, palms almost touching, as we circle one another. We change direction—our gazes locked, our steps careful. Graceful. Wary. Blake’s eyes track my every movement as though he is a predator, hunting his prey.
I think that people are watching us, but it would be unwise to look away from the wolf before me.
As the dance progresses, it requires closer contact. Blake’s hand curls around mine once more, his other flattening on the small of my back as he spins us around. My hand rests gently on his shoulder, and I fight the urge to sink my fingers into the hard muscle as he moves us faster and faster.
His steps are graceful, his poise strong and confident. He is a good dancer. Too good.
“You said you were part of the King’s Guard,” I say.
“I did.”
“I did not know that members of the King’s Guard had cause to learn to dance.” I lift an eyebrow. “Certainly not this well.”
He smirks as we continue our dance around the edge of the dancefloor. “You think I dance well? I should be flattered by such a compliment coming from the princess herself.”
“I think you’re a liar. You were not part of the King’s Guard, were you? You’re a man of noble birth. There is no other explanation for why you can dance.”
He spins me under his arm, and I inhale sharply as he pulls me back again. “Interesting theory, little rabbit. I assure you, I was in the King’s Guard, I am not a man of noble birth, and there is another explanation.”
“I do not trust you.”
“Nor should you.”
“Tell me the explanation.”
“I already have. In a way.”
“Stop speaking in riddles. Tell me what I want to know.” I raise my chin. “Or I will tell everyone your secret.” I smile sweetly. “I think there may be a storm coming.”
I expect him to blanch, for his shoulder to tense beneath my fingers. Instead he smiles, pulling me closer.
“Go ahead,” he whispers. “My account of what you were doing in my chambers late at night will be quite different to yours, I assure you.” His tone is as dark and seductive as the night sky.
The heat drains from my body as we continue to circle the dancefloor. My pulse pounds so hard in my ears that it almost drowns out the sound that has chilled me to my core. I’m still dancing, but my movements no longer feel like my own. Everything blurs. It is Blake who is leading me, like a puppet master, commanding his toy.
The music has reached its crescendo, and the reason why it seemed familiar to me is now clear. I recognize this part of the song.
It is the same melody my mother used to sing to me at night.
The same melody I hummed to Blake when he was afraid.
Why would a band of Wolves in the Northlands know the tune my mother loved so dearly?
Blake is watching me curiously, his head tilted slightly to one side.
I narrow my eyes. “What is this?”