“You danced with her like it wasn’t.”
“You saw me?”
“Everyone saw you.”
That sharpness in her voice … was it jealousy? He said carefully, “I’m not the two-timing sort. Hypaxia and I are betrothed in name only. I don’t even know if we’ll marry. She has as little attachment to me as I do to her. We like and admire each other, but … that’s about it.”
“Why should I care?”
He studied her, then took a step closer, until only a handsbreadth separated them. “I wanted to see you tonight. I spent the entire time watching the clock.”
Her breathing hitched. “Why?”
“So I could do this.” Ruhn lifted her chin and kissed her. The mouth beneath the fire was soft, and warm, and opened for him.
Flaming fingers twined through his hair, tugging him close, and Ruhn slid his arms around a slim, curving body, hands feeling her ample backside. Fuck yes.
His tongue brushed over hers, and she shuddered in his arms. But she met him stroke for stroke, as if she couldn’t hold back, as if she wanted to know every inch of him, his every taste and nuance.
Her hand slid along his jaw, fingers exploring the shape of his face. He willed his night to pull back to show his eyes, his nose, his mouth. Thankfully, it obeyed him. Beyond the veil of flame covering her features, he could feel her watching him. Seeing his bared face.
Her fingers traced the bridge of his nose. The bow of his lips. Then she kissed him again, with sheer abandon, and Ruhn gave himself entirely to it.
“You remind me that I’m alive,” she said, voice thick. “You remind me that goodness can exist in the world.”
His throat ached. “Day—”
But she hissed, stiffening against his grip. She glanced back toward her end of the bridge.
No. That male who’d once dragged her from sleep to have sex with her—
Day whipped her head back to Ruhn and the flame rippled, revealing pleading eyes of solid fire. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and vanished.
Hunt was still drunk when he and Bryce returned to the apartment at three in the morning. She carried her heels in one hand, the train of her dress in the other. They’d left the party soon after Ruhn had bailed, and headed to a dive bar in the heart of the Old Square, where they’d proceeded to play pool and drink whiskey in their ridiculous finery.
They didn’t talk about what they’d discovered in the cloakroom. What more was there to say?
“I’m plastered,” Bryce announced to the dim apartment, slumping onto the couch.
Hunt chuckled. “Very princess-ish.”
She removed her earrings, chucking the diamonds onto the coffee table as if they were cheap costume jewelry. The comb in her hair followed, gems glinting in the soft firstlights.
She stretched out her legs, bare feet wiggling on the coffee table. “Let’s never do that again.”
“The whiskey or outsmarting your father or the party?” Hunt tugged his white bow tie free of its knot as he approached the couch and peered down at her.
She huffed a laugh. “The party. Outsmarting my father and the whiskey will always be a repeat activity.”
Hunt sat on the coffee table, adjusting his wings around it. “It could have been a lot worse.”
“Yeah. Though I can’t think of anything much worse than gaining multiple enemies for the price of one.” That the Asteri’s appearance had only been a footnote said plenty about their night. “Though Celestina isn’t our enemy, I guess.”
Hunt picked up one of her feet and began rubbing the insole. She sighed, sinking back into the cushions. Hunt’s cock stirred at the pure pleasure she radiated.
“Can I tell you something?” Hunt said, massaging the arch of her foot. “Something that might be deemed alphahole-ish?”
“As long as you keep rubbing my foot like that, you can say whatever the Hel you want.”
Hunt laughed. “Deal.” He picked up her other foot, starting on that one. “I liked being at the party tonight. Despite all the fancy clothes and the Asteri and the stuff with Hypaxia and Celestina. Despite all the prince bullshit. I liked being seen. With you.”
Her mouth quirked to the side. “You liked staking your territory?”
“Yeah.” He let her see the predator in him. “I’ve never had that with anyone.”
She frowned. “Shahar never showed you off?”
“No. I was her general. At public functions, we didn’t appear together. She never wanted that. It would have positioned me as an equal, or at least someone she deemed … important.”
“I thought your movement was all about equality,” Bryce said, frown deepening.
“It was. But we still had to play by the old rules.” Rules that continued to govern and dictate people’s lives. Celestina’s and Hypaxia’s lives.
“So she never came out and said, Hey, world! He’s my boyfriend!”
Hunt laughed, and marveled that he did so. He’d never thought he’d be able to laugh about anything related to Shahar. “No. It’s why I was so … honored when you asked me to do this.”
Bryce studied him. “Do you want to go outside so we can get caught fooling around in public by the press? That’ll make us really official.”
“Maybe another time.” Hunt lifted her foot to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the instep. “So, we’re, like … married.”
“Are we?” She held out a hand before her, studying her splayed fingers. “I don’t see a ring, Athalar.”
He nipped at her toes, earning a squeal from her. “You want a ring, I’ll get you one.” Another kiss. “You want iron, steel, or titanium?” Wedding bands in Lunathion were simple, their value derived from the strength of the metal used to forge them.
“Titanium all the way, baby,” she crowed, and Hunt bit her toes again.
She squirmed, but he held her firm. “These little toes make me think some dirty things, Quinlan,” he said against her foot.
“Please tell me you don’t have a foot fetish.”
“No. But everything where you’re involved is a fetish for me.”
“Oh?” She leaned back farther into the cushions, her dress slipping up her legs. “So I make you want to get a little kinky?”
“Uh-huh.” He kissed her ankle. “Just a little.”
She arched into the touch. “Want to have drunk, sloppy sex, Prince Hunt?”
He rumbled a laugh against her calf. Only from her lips would he tolerate that title. “Fuck yeah.”
She pulled her leg from his touch and stood with that dancer’s grace. “Unzip me.”
“Romantic.”
She gave him her back, and Hunt, still seated, reached up to tug at the zipper hidden down the length of her spine. The tattoo of the Horn appeared, along with inches of golden skin, until the first tendrils of lace from her thong were revealed. The zipper ended before he could get a view of what he wanted.
But Bryce peeled the dress from her front, letting it drop. She hadn’t worn a bra, but the black thong …
Hunt ran his hands over the firm cheeks of her ass, bending to bite at a delicate strap of her underwear. She let out a soft, breathy sound that had him kissing the base of her spine. Her long hair brushed his brow, silken and as lovely as a caress.