It is him. My hunter.
When he reaches for my hand, I let him take it. He bends over it and plants a kiss on the back of it. The touch of his lips is soft and delicious. It makes me tremble. It makes the stone in my navel quake briefly. And then it abruptly stops vibrating. Finally! I gasp in relief.
He thinks it is his kiss that has made me gasp, and the corners of his mouth tip up just the tiniest bit. There is a twinkle in his eyes.
“And what’s your name, my sweetheart?” he says in his voice that is as delicious as a starlit night. I want to swallow it whole.
“Diana,” I murmur.
His eyes are not pure black. One of them, his left, has a startling wedge of brilliant green. The effect is disconcerting. He does not let go of my hand, and nor do I take it away from him.
“Diana.” The stranger repeats my name. “Sweet Diana. I feel I’ve been hunting for you my whole life.”
Chapter 20
DIANA
Hunting. He said hunting. The coincidence takes my breath away. In my dreams I had always thought of him as a hunter. The sight of him standing next to Xander is making me feel oddly light-headed. They had both been in my dream, and now they are both here in real life.
“Hunting?” says Freddie scathingly. “One hunts beasts, not women.”
“You, perhaps,” the stranger retorts, never taking his eyes off me. “But I hunt beauties too.”
His voice softens at the last part. I find myself flushing, at both his words and the way he won’t stop looking at me even though both Freddie and Princess Caroline are scowling. Lila looks a little concerned.
“I’m Storm,” my dark-haired stranger tells me.
He is not wrong. Already his presence is wreaking mayhem on this party and the people in it. Everyone nearby is staring out of the sides of their eyes at our little group and the scene that is playing out ever less quietly.
“Storm?” Freddie scoffs. “You must be having a laugh, mate.”
Storm does not bother to answer. His name suits him perfectly. He has pinned me in his sights, and it makes me feel like prey being buffeted in the eye of a storm. I find myself unable to take my hand away from his.
“The lady is here with me,” Freddie says loudly, as if Storm is deaf.
“I think you’ll find she’s here with me,” says Storm smoothly. And then to me, “Aren’t you, my sweet?”
I don’t know what to say. Even if my tongue wasn’t so ridiculously tied, I wouldn’t want to embarrass Freddie. But nor do I want to disappoint Storm. I’ve been waiting for him. It feels like my whole life has been spent waiting. But that doesn’t mean I need to throw myself at him. I must take control of myself. I intend to ease my hand away from his, but instead I must nod, because Storm looks pleased.
Freddie looks outraged. “I think you’ll find I had the lady first,” he says, going red in the face.
This annoys me. He speaking as if I am an object, and I am sick of being treated like a man has the right to own me. Storm sees the look on my face. When he turns towards Freddie there is a quietly thunderous warning in his eyes. Freddie gets to his feet. I see his fists bunch up as if he is about to throw a punch.
Princess Caroline sees it too. Quickly she steps between the two men.
“Freddie,” she says warningly. “This is Constantine Storm.”
The name must mean something to Freddie because he takes an involuntary step back. Immediately he looks embarrassed and angry at himself for doing so.
“Now look here…” says Freddie, but he seems to have lost his vigor, and he lets the words trail off without finishing them.
Storm isn’t even looking at him. He offers me his arm. “Would you like to have lunch with me, my honey?”
His lip quirks. We both know he called me his honey just to irk Freddie some more. It is all I can do not to giggle.
He is so utterly charming. The sound of his voice washes over me like gentle waves. Being in his presence makes me feel at peace somehow. Safe and complete. I want to bask in this little oasis of calm he has brought me. I don’t want to send him away. I find myself tucking my arm into his.
He looks very pleased that I have agreed. “See you later, Caroline,” he says. Then a little coolly, “Daxx.”
He even gives Lila a smile. But doesn’t spare Freddie even a glance as he sweeps me away, leading me towards a distant table in a secluded corner by a leafy tree. It is as far as possible from the long table at the front where the royals will be sitting, and I am glad.
I sense Princess Caroline glowering at us as we walk away. Let her glower. She’s the one who told me I had to be nice to her guests. I do shoot Freddie and Lila an apologetic look for abandoning them. Freddie looks mutinous, but Lila just looks worried.
“Be careful,” she mouths at me.
I nod, and as I turn away, I glimpse Xander and Caroline walking to their table. Xander does not look happy. His arm is interlinked with Caroline’s, but the gesture seems stiff and awkward. I wonder if he knows the cruel side of Caroline that I have seen, and if she is the one my dream was warning me about. I shake my unease away. Xander Daxx is a grown man. He wouldn’t have chosen her if she was a threat to him. Whatever sort of marriage they are planning to have is their business.
I glance sideways to find Storm smiling down at me, that twinkle in his eyes.
“I feel like it’s too soon to ask you what you’re thinking about,” he says with amusement.
My heart starts thumping. “You don’t want to know.”
“I want to know everything about you, and I’ve only just met you,” he replies.
I bite my lip. It is difficult to hold his gaze when he is looking at me so searingly like he can see into my soul.
All around us, I can hear quiet murmurs as we pass. Whispers and giggles from a table nearby draws my eyes to a group of young women who are staring at Storm with great interest. One sneers at me, and says something to her friends and they all burst into laughter. It makes me feel angry and mortified. As if they know something I do not.
Storm notices the stiffness in my body language, and raises an enquiring eyebrow.
“They’re looking at us,” I whisper.
“Let them look.” And then he stops right near them as if to make a point. “Shall we?” he enquires.
“What?” I whisper.
In that moment I become aware of the jazz band playing. Storm raises my hand above my head and spins me in a circle. Then he takes me in his arms and begins to dance, effortlessly leading. My eyes go wide. He is whirling me around, like he did in my dreams.
“Storm!” I admonish him in scandalized delight. We’re not supposed to be dancing. Nobody else is. And yet he doesn’t care. He twirls me again.
I let myself get lost in the motion. I feel the thrill I felt in my dream. That sense of rightness, of belonging. The intoxication. He is a fine looking man. Fine smelling too. His aftershave makes me want to snuggle up to him and breathe him in deeply. He is so close that if I tiptoed, I could kiss him. His lips are a strong curve, so inviting. And he is looking at me like I am too good to be true. I cannot tear my gaze away. This is dangerous, I think, with a delighted shiver.
“Do you like giving people something to look at?” I tease him.
“They’re feasting their eyes on your beauty. So let them. I bet they don’t see it that often.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You’re a flirt,” I chide.
He tilts his head in acknowledgement. He sways me back and forth in tune with the music, one hand on my waist and the other clasping my hand, and it feels so right. When we finish, there is a scattered round of applause from nearby tables, but not from the women who had been giving me poisonous looks. Storm bows at them mockingly. Following his lead, I blow them a pert little kiss. The women glare at me.
Even as we walk away, I can see them eyeing him up with interest. It is as if they recognize him. “Do you know them?” I ask.
He gives them a disintere
sted glance. “Nope.”
“It seems like they know you.”
He gives me a mischievous look. “Maybe I was in the papers a bit some years back.”
The way he says it, like he won’t tell me anything more, immediately perks up my interest.
We get to our table and he pulls out a chair, seating me, before he sits down himself. It feels nice. A waiter rushes over to take our order. I am famished, so I order a full English breakfast and three different mini pastries too. Storm looks amused.
I laugh, and shrug defensively. “I’m hungry.”
“No problem. I love a lady who eats.”
“Good, then you’re gonna love this lady.” Realizing what I have said, my eyes go wide and I blush.
He bursts into laughter, and half seriously says, “Maybe I will.”
The waiter is clearly listening with too much interest. Storm orders the same as me and quickly sends him away.
Now that we are alone and sat opposite each other, it is difficult to not keep staring at Storm’s face. He looks so familiar. He is like a dream brought to vivid life. I suppose he is. My dream.
“Erm… Tell me about yourself,” I say.
“Straight to the point! I like it.” He gives me a rakish grin.
“I didn’t mean… I mean…” I blush, annoyed that he makes me feel tongue tied. I clear my throat, and make an effort to speak less nonsense. “I didn’t mean to be intrusive. You don’t have to tell me your life story or anything.”
“I’ll tell you mine, if you’ll tell me yours.”
“It’s a deal,” I say.
He reaches across the table for my hand. The touch sends an unexpected shiver up my arm. He keeps hold of it, not shy at all. He raises a dark and perfect brow. “So?”
He wants me to go first. But I don’t have anything to say. Not yet. I don’t want him to stop looking at me the way he is looking at me now, as if I am the most fascinating creature alive. No way can I tell him about living with the Coltons. I don’t want him to think I am pathetic, or boring, or pitiable, or mad when I come to the part about my dreams. I take a sip of water while I think.
“Won’t that ruin the magic?” I say. “Knowing too much too soon?”
“But is the magic worth anything if it’s based on nothing?”
I laugh. “True. If we’re going to do this, you first.”
He leans back a little, looking amused. “Ah, which of my dark secrets to tell you first? I suppose what brings me here. I’m a friend of Caro’s.”
“A good friend?” I ask, not liking the idea.
“We used to be.”
“You must still be if she invited you here.” I realize that I am being intrusive but I can’t help it.
“We were closer some years back. To be honest, I was a bit surprised to receive an invite. But who could turn down a chance to have some fun and meet some interesting people? And I was right.” He looks at me meaningfully, making me blush.
A shiver goes through me. If he had decided not to come, I would have thought he was just a dream. But now he is here, and the dream is real. But just because the good dream is real doesn’t mean the bad dream has to be too. Just because we danced like we had in my dream with Xander watching… I mentally shake the thought away.
“Do you know Xander too?” I ask.
“A bit.”
The terseness of his response makes me anxious. “You don’t get on with him?”
“Let’s just say he and I have history.”
A tiny alarm bell goes off in my head. He and Xander have history. And I had dreamt of someone shooting Xander, and Storm had been in that dream.
Chapter 21
DIANA
I look into Storm’s eyes, searching for reassurance, but he is oblivious to the awful thought that just went through my mind.
I bite my lip. I must not jump to conclusions. I must not let my over-active mind run away with me, looking for bad things where there are none. My nightmares have plagued me for too many years, and I will not let them ruin this one good thing I have been waiting for. I won’t let them!
And yet I find myself saying to Storm, “Why were you in the papers?”
He scowls, seeming to remember unpleasant things.
Immediately I feel guilty for asking, for sounding so suspicious. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want,” I say. “I’m sorry. I was just… curious about you.”
“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m actually surprised whenever I meet people who haven’t heard the story already.”
“What story?”
He takes a deep breath. “You’ll probably hear about it soon enough. My father was Avan Storm.”
I gasp. “The actor?” The really famous actor. Hollywood royalty. So that’s why everyone was staring at him.
He nods. “And my mom was Inaya Ashara.”
He pauses, as if waiting for me to realize something. I frown. I recognize her name. She was a stunning actress, but I never saw her movies. I don’t know what it is that he thinks I ought to know.
“I don’t really keep up with the news much,” I tell him sheepishly.
He looks a little relieved. “You were probably too young anyway. It was a long time ago. My mother was murdered. The cops thought my father did it. There was a trial. He was found not guilty.”
My hands fly to my cheeks. “Oh my gosh! How awful.”
I vaguely recall this. It had been back in the days when human-otherkind relations were even more fraught with tensions than they are now. Hers must be the murder that had sparked the riots. It is odd to think that woman had been his mother.
Storm nods bitterly, and I realize my reaction was completely inappropriate, as if his parent’s story is tabloid fodder rather than an awful trauma that had actually happened to his family.
I squeeze his hand. “I’m so sorry.”
He continues, as if determined to finish. “Some years later he took his own life.”
His father killed himself. What an awful end to the tragedy. And then it comes back to me. Of course I know this story! It was so famous that Mrs Colton had spoken of it often at one time, especially when citing her disgust for otherkind.
She’d said it served Avan Storm right for marrying a filthy angelus like Inaya Ashara. He should have married a human actress if he’d wanted a decent normal marriage, but he’d invited sin into his life by cavorting with a demon and no good had come of it. Blood will tell, she’d said, and Inaya Ashara had no doubt been murdered by her own filthy kind, who had set up her poor human husband to take the fall.
Storm must have been young when it happened, and suffered all that vitriol and relentless attention when he was just a kid. He is otherkind too. And people hated him for it, like Mrs Colton hated me.
Storm sees the expression on my face. He knows that I’ve remembered the story. He pulls his hand away from mine, a cynical look coming into his eyes. A darkness and hurt that he’s had to live with for years. I reach for his hand. None of that was his fault, whether his father did it or not. I take both of his hands in mine, squeezing them reassuringly.
We are sat like that, when the waiter returns with our food. Our silence lingers as he unloads his tray and leaves.
“So now you know my story,” he says, cynically. “Spoiled degenerate son of a drunkard celebrity father and tragic celebrity mother. I’m damaged goods, I hear. Not to be trusted.”
His self-mockery makes me wince. “But that’s not your story,” I say. “That’s not you. That’s other people’s stuff that you had to live through. And you were so young. You must’ve done remarkable things with your life since then.”
He laughs bitterly. “I’m not so sure about remarkable. Sometimes when crap happened in your past you gotta party hard and live large, just to see the bright side of life.”
I raise my glass of mimosa. “I’ll drink to that.”
He clinks his glass against mine. He takes a sip, and the alcohol seems to relax him. With a deep s
igh, he leans back in his chair, and eyes me thoughtfully. “Your turn.”
Knowing he has just bared his heart to me somehow makes it both easier and harder to tell mine. I grimace. And then I sigh.
“There’s not much to tell really. I don’t remember anything before I was fifteen. I was in a car crash and got amnesia. My adoptive mother died in the crash. After that I lived with my… my aunt, I guess you would call her, until recently. And now I’m here.
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