I’d never stolen anything before, but I found myself sliding down the table to the edge. I slid my hand forward, eyes on its owner’s exposed back, slowly pulling it toward me—
“Notice how Grayson is missing?” one said through a mouthfull of truffle.
I froze.
“It’s kind of hard not to!” her friend responded, then she lowered her voice. “Do you think the rumors are true?”
“No way. That would be insane. Could you imagine? But…” the first crooned. “It would be hot, if true. He’s like Crowne Hall’s own broody, Byronic ghost.”
Her friend groaned. “Okay, so, like, you’re still sleeping with your English professor.”
“I mean, a grade’s a grade—”
I didn’t realize how close I was until they turned to get more truffles and froze, eyes wide on me, our noses nearly touching. I quickly shoved my hand behind my back, hiding the phone.
“Um…” The one sleeping with her professor narrowed charcoal-lined eyes, trying to see me through the veil. “Can we help you?”
What happened? Where is Grayson?
I bit my tongue until I tasted blood. They both shared a look, lifting their champagne off the table with ease before walking away on a shared laugh. “The fuck was her problem?”
I didn’t know how long I had until one of them realized their phone was missing. I glanced at West, still busy with the man. I had so many questions, so much I wanted to say to Grayson. What happened while I was gone? Are you okay?
Dear Atlas, where are you? I’m downstairs, I’m home—
No sooner had I sent the message, then the phone was snatched out of my hand.
“Give that back,” I said instantly, without thought, reaching for it. My eyes collided with brown, with a color I dreaded more than the twisting grip on my wrist.
The eyes of Arthur du Lac.
“Ahh!” I cried out, as he yanked my arm into a painful and unnatural position.
“You are poorly trained.”
“I’m not a fucking dog.”
“Very poorly trained,” he murmured. His grip twisted and I swallowed a cry, as he looked at the phone casually. Luckily I’d already signed out of my profile.
Arthur’s meaty thumb pushed into my wrist bone another second, then he dropped me. I let out a breath, my wrist throbbing—Shit.
West.
“You gave this to her?” Arthur asked, raising the phone. My heart pounded against my ribcage, waiting for West to give me up to his father.
West clenched his jaw. “Of course.”
Something passed between them.
Unsaid.
I rubbed my wrist as West wrapped his arm around my waist. Arthur focused on me, and for the first time all night I was glad for the opaque veil.
“Your mistress could use better training,” Arthur said.
“We had to rush it.”
Arthur made a sound of understanding in his throat. “I can help with that.”
West’s grip on my waist tightened, barely. “We’ll see.”
West steered me away from his father, down near the croquembouche. I could feel Arthur’s eyes on us.
West stopped in a small alcove, and nerves fluttered in my chest. From the angle, only West could be seen. I was hidden from the party, hidden from anyone who might think to stop what came next.
“West—”
West gripped my wrist, yanking me to him. “Don’t go near my parents if I’m not around—don’t even stand in the same room with them. Got it?”
My brow furrowed. “Why do you care?”
West stared at me, a look too close to concern on his features. His grip loosened on my wrist, and he turned it over, examining the flesh.
“Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?”
Why do you care?
West drew an arc with his thumb along my flesh, and traitorous shivers rose in its wake.
“Story, I—”
West broke off, his touch gone, as he went flying into the croquembouche.
Shrieks sounded, socialites scattered to get out of the way. My heart stuttered. Halted. Stopped completely.
Grayson.
“Where the fuck is she?”
“Grayson.” West brushed a flake of frosting off his suit. “They let you out?”
Let him out?
Grayson lifted his head, searching for me among the gathered crowd. I stepped forward, out of the alcove, certain Grayson would recognize me, see me even behind the veil. Even still, I raised a hand to lift the gauzy material. So maybe that’s why I was pulled away, pulled deeper into the crowd, and hidden behind another man.
Maybe he had the same idea.
“Good evening, Story.”
Beryl Crowne.
My brain twisted and bifurcated, trying to remember a time when Beryl Crowne had addressed me directly. I came up blank. Had we ever spoken? He was the boogieman, the thing that went bump in the night but disappeared under my bed when the lights came on.
“What did you do to her? Where the fuck is she?”
I shook out of it.
Grayson was right there. His voice tugged on my heart like a vicious wire, each second I didn’t go to him leaving bloody marks. I took a step—
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” Beryl said lightly. Dangerously.
I froze, unsure about my step. Beryl glanced at his watch, as if his words weren’t a threat. As if his grandson wasn’t combusting behind him.
Something was so off about all of this.
So wrong.
“Been waiting for you,” Gray growled, curling his fist in the fabric of West’s shirt, yanking him off his smushed cream bed. Like candles snuffed out one by one, slowly conversations came to a halt. “Been waiting so goddamn long for this, but I told myself I wouldn’t do this in front of her.”
West laughed. “Well, shit, she’s right here.”
At that, Grayson looked up. My chest screamed to yell his name, I was a songbird with its vocal chords ripped out.
I am here.
Right. Here.
But Beryl fucking Crowne blocked me.
West swiped the blood from his nose, drawing back Grayson’s attention. “I’m generous, Crowne. I could be persuaded to share. We could fuck her together.”
Heat and embarrassment flooded me at West’s words, at having someone like Beryl Crowne overhear them. Beryl continued to examine his wristwatch.
West leaned forward, his lips at Grayson’s ear. “I think she’d like that, Grayson. I’ll even be nice, I’ll let you choose between her pussy and ass. Which would you prefer?”
Something dark fell across Gray’s face, and he smiled.
I knew that smile. I’d only seen it once before, the night…the night I almost ruined everything.
Predatory. Wild. Unhinged. His canine reflecting the chandelier’s light. I knew what was going to happen before Grayson reached for West’s throat.
Claws scraped on my chest the longer I went without talking to him. I couldn’t let him do this. I might not have a voice, but I could have a reaction. I could fucking do something. I could let Grayson know he wasn’t alone.
So, I shoved Beryl fucking Crowne out of the way.
My heart jackhammered just thinking about the repercussions—but I should have realized the wrong then, when the crowd dwindled, when it was only us left in the once bustling ballroom.