“Try double that,” Galwyn replied glumly. “Probably more. Not that it matters. It’s not like I have a line of suitors waiting to claim my hand.”
As much as she hated indulging in a pity party, she couldn’t help herself. The situation was bad enough without reminding her that she wasn’t the most attractive fae in Othercross.
“Cut that out!” Evie was suddenly and startlingly emphatic, which was so unlike her. “I hate it when you talk about my friend Galwyn that way.”
“Ditto,” Kelly chimed in. “You’re smart, you’re pretty, you’re funny, even if you don’t always make a show of it. I mean, look at the way you’re rockin’ that dress! Any guy would be lucky if you so much looked at him. And I’m not saying that because you’re one of my dearest friends either.”
As usual, praise seemed to have the opposite effect on Galwyn, and she nearly shrank into herself trying to escape it. Secretly, she wished she were able to hear it, but her friends’ compliments only seemed to point her focus to what she considered her deficiencies. There were a dozen women within spitting distance who were taller, slimmer, and more popular than her.
Of course, she was her own worst critic—everyone was—but the fact that her family was doing everything in their power to pawn her off on some shriveled old prune wasn’t doing much for her confidence. It felt uneasily like being swept under the rug in an act of convenience. As if they had all secretly decided that she had no other prospects so they wanted to get rid of her as quickly and quietly as possible.
“Uh oh,” Evie whispered under her breath.
Galwyn snapped her gaze up, but already knew it was too late.
“Excuse me, my dear,” said a creaky, rusty voice from behind her.
Galwyn took a deep breath to steel herself, brushed her suddenly damp palms down the front of her blue dress, then turned to look into the beaming, wrinkled face of the fae her auntie had picked out for her.
“Lord Rutherford! Where have you been all night?”
She knew she was laying on her effusiveness a bit too thick, but the rheumy-eyed old fae didn’t seem to notice. Or was too polite to point it out.
“I’ve told you, pet.” He took her hand between his dry, leathery palms and leaned in so she got a good whiff of his musty breath. “Call me Reggie.”
“Oh,” she said, attempting a laugh as she pulled as far away as possible without appearing rude. “I couldn’t possibly. Reginald is the furthest I’ll go.”
“As you wish.”
A smile lit across the old guy’s face, and it was clear that he took even this much acceptance as a victory. He may have been ancient, but Lord Reginald Rutherford was no fool. Galwyn could see that, and almost regretted the way he must have felt led on. Trouble was, she wasn’t intentionally leading.
The music shifted into a slow number, and the lights in the room were turned down just a hair. Without even looking, she knew Aunt Aquaria was somewhere nearby orchestrating this little moment. Lord Rutherford took it in and turned those watery eyes back to her.
“I don’t suppose you’d join me for a turn around the floor? You may not believe it, but I’m still something of a dancer.”
Suddenly aware of a hush, Galwyn came to the painful realization that the focus of the entire room—at least the fifteen or so feet around them—was on her and her decrepit beau. She hated attention in the best of circumstances, and this made her want to melt into the floor.
“It would be my honor,” she said through a fake smile, and tucked her hand into the crook of his bony elbow. At least he got points for gallantry. As he led her out to the center of the dance floor, old Reggie was the picture of gentlemanly decorum.
Any number of old lechers she’d met over the years would have relished the opportunity to get their hands on a younger woman—even her—but Lord Rutherford nobly kept his hand at her waist. No wandering higher or lower in hopes of copping a cheap feel. Galwyn couldn’t help wondering if that was only because they were on such public display.
Naturally, that was the moment Reggie’s arthritic hand started drifting downward onto her hip. He sent her into a spin, using the opportunity to get a healthy grope of her backside. The touch curdled in the pit of her stomach, and she let all those feelings of softness toward him harden.
As the floor filled up around them and they were no longer the center of attention, their little turn on the floor transformed into something very different. It was essentially one long dodge of a pair of wandering hands. Galwyn was sorely tempted to trip or laugh just a little too loud in hopes of becoming the center of attention again.
Anything to upset the courtly groping.
An odd sensation cut through her anxiety. It felt like a pair of burning eyes searing into her skin, branding her. Not Rutherford’s, thank goodness. No, this was a welcome feeling. Slyly scanning as the creaky old man guided her around the floor, Galwyn found the source of the radiant heat, and her heart stopped cold.
There, just at the edge of the dance floor, was a face she had never seen before. And it was the kind of face that could never be forgotten. Chiseled features loomed a few inches above everyone else. Silver eyes sparkled with intensity from behind a drape of matching silver hair. But the most striking feature was what looked very much like a traditional fae crown, but instead of gold, it was tattooed onto his forehead. Something almost like terror rattled inside of her, mixed with a thrilling excitement.
“Are you alright, my dear?”
“Huh?” Snapped back to her dance partner for a moment, she was greeted by a wan smile surrounded by a thousand wrinkles.
“You’re gripping my shoulder very hard.”
“Sorry!” With a mild giggle, she relaxed her hand, which had been digging like a falcon’s talon into his skeletal shoulder. “I’m just a nervous dancer is all.”
Lord Rutherford smiled in such a way that gave her a head-to-toe shudder. “Well, we’ll soon fix that.”
Galwyn’s heart pounded in her throat as she searched out the sharp features of the man she had locked eyes with. Something about him aroused feelings in her that were entirely new. She couldn’t tell if it was fear or elation. Even more, she had no idea why he inspired them in her.
But one thing was for sure—she wanted very much to find out.
Chapter Three
There she is.
With curves that went on forever, an easy smile which bloomed across perfectly pink lips, and skin the color of porcelain, Dain knew he’d found the one. Her brown hair had been pulled into an elegant ponytail low on her neck, and her hazel eyes bore into Dain’s from behind a pair of unassuming glasses. She didn’t have the kind of dazzle about her that would make every head in the room turn, but there was a depth to her beauty that was undeniable.
He’d been prowling the party when he’d overheard some of the guests whispering about Galwyn Murphy and her elderly suitor. Her last name had been enough to pique his interest, so he’d pushed his way through the throng for a glimpse. Now that she was no more than a few feet away from him—being dragged around the floor by her dance partner, whose moves had been lifted from the 1860s—his interest had shot past its peak and continued in an upward trajectory. Dain couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was, but something about her attracted him like a moth drawn to a flame.
Straightening his back, he narrowed his eyes and looked away from his target. Could someone be trying to pull his leg? He wouldn’t put it past his cousins to try something to teach him some kind of ethics lesson. He scanned the room, looking for any sign of foul play, but none of the guests seemed to be paying attention to him. No one was putting a spell or enchantment on him. Whatever this was, it was something else entirely.
“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, suddenly realizing that he shouldn’t be lusting after his target.
He wanted to humiliate the Murphys, not be fascinated by them. The rational thing to do would be to turn around and look for a different mark but, somehow, he couldn’t
peel his eyes away from Galwyn.
Folding his arms over his chest, he watched intently as Galwyn’s geriatric suitor glided across the dance floor, his hands never leaving her waist. Dain’s fingers twitched as he imagined how it would feel to be that close to a woman like Galwyn, and he sucked in a deep breath as he imagined his own hands on her body.
Blending in with the crowd, he made his way toward the edge of the dance floor, positioning himself so he could pounce on his prey once the song ended. He wasn’t the kind of man who thrilled in stealing a woman from another man, but he was more than willing to make an exception. After all, it didn’t seem like Galwyn was enjoying herself. Not that anyone could blame her for her lack of enthusiasm—the fool she was dancing with was old enough to be her grandfather.
Walk away, he thought to himself. The pull he felt toward Galwyn spelled trouble, and trouble wasn’t what he was looking for. What he was looking for was revenge, and that...well, that was a dish best served cold, not something you warm up with desire and season with lust. There was no room for strong emotions in his plan.
And yet…
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He barely blinked as she twirled across the floor, his eyes taking in every movement of her tantalizing body. That, he realized, was probably how vampires felt whenever they were close to sinking their teeth into some unsuspecting victim. Of course, what he had in mind right now was far more interesting than something as pedestrian as bloodsucking. All he needed to do was get rid of that ancient dinosaur who was now freely groping Galwyn, and then it was only a matter of letting his Oberon charm work its magic.
Dain didn’t have to think about what his next move would be. The moment the final note of the song echoed throughout the hall, he strolled into the dance floor with the confidence of a matador parading around the arena. Most of the couples were breaking apart and drifting off, but Galwyn’s suitor didn’t seem that eager to let her go, not that Dain could blame him. His hands remained firmly planted on her hips, his bony fingers bunching up the fabric of her simple, blue dress, and that was enough for Dain to feel a pang of jealousy.
“Sorry to interrupt.”
He stepped right between the odd couple, his eyes solely focused on Galwyn. Whoever the old fae was, Dain couldn’t give any less of a shit. In the grand scheme of things, that man was inconsequential.
“Would the lady care for a dance?” He held out his hand and then flashed Galwyn what he hoped to be one of his most winning smiles.
Her eyes widened slightly, the light of the chandeliers turning them into two pools of amber light, and her lips curled into that easy smile he’d admired from across the room. She took a step back from the old man and allowed Dain to take her hand, her delicate fingers skittering across his palm. The moment he felt the touch of her flesh against his, thunder and lightning exploded up his spine, and his thoughts of vengeance scattered like birds taking flight.
“Um…okay,” she whispered, her gaze searching his face for some clue. Of what he didn’t know. All he knew for sure was that her honeyed voice made his insides clench. He had no idea why he felt like this but, truth be told, he couldn’t care less.
“I’m certain that Lord Rutherford won’t mind, right?” She turned her hazel eyes toward the old man, but—unlike what she had said—he didn’t seem too happy about the intrusion. Still, Lord Rutherford couldn’t bring himself to act discourteously in front of Galwyn. He simply knitted his eyebrows together and stared daggers at Dain, his lips turning into a thin line of contempt.
“You’re one of those Oberon boys, aren’t you?” The polite tone of his voice wasn’t enough to mask his disdain.
Dain should’ve been annoyed by the obvious snub, but he realized with amusement—and no small amount of surprise—that he didn’t care. He had far more interesting things demanding his attention, such as a beautiful woman in a blue dress.
“Yes, he is!”
A high-pitched voice came from behind them, answering Rutherford’s question before Dain could. When he spun around, he came face-to-face with none other than Aquaria Murphy, the snotty siren who’d invited him, and now apparently considered it her duty to keep the Murphy females inside the fence that separated them from the Oberons.
“Dain Oberon, if I’m not mistaken,” Aquaria said, her cool tone belying the tension obviously swirling deep within her. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve already promised Galwyn’s next dance to her cousin Aldion.”
“Aldion?” Galwyn asked. Judging by her tone, it was evident she had never heard of such a cousin.
Aquaria shot her a stern look. “Your third cousin on your father’s side, and a very good friend of the family. He’s an amazing man to have a conversation with, and I’m sure that—”
“Well, then might I suggest cousin Aldion find someone else to have that conversation with?” Dain turned on his heels to face Aquaria. Even though it pained him to do so, he kept a polite smile on his face, making sure his tone matched it. “I do apologize for being so forward, but the young lady has already accepted my invitation to dance.”
“She only accepted because she—”
Dain continued as though Aquaria hadn’t spoken, “I hate that cousin Aldion will have to wait for Galwyn’s delightful company, but this next dance belongs to me.”
He tightened his fingers around Galwyn’s as he spoke, and he noticed that she squeezed his hand back. She had barely spoken, but there was no doubt she was taken by Dain. Everything was happening the way it was supposed to.
“I don’t think that—”
“Now, Aquaria,” Dain said, leaning into her and dropping his voice to a low growl, “none of us wants to be the cause of a scene at such a prestigious event. Do we?”
He held her gaze for a heartbeat, and he immediately knew he had her. The woman seethed, but there was nothing she could do about it. The rules of high society kept her shackled, forcing her to behave semi-decently. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.
“Now, if you’ll excuse us.”
Aquaria clenched her jaw so hard that Dain could almost hear her jaw creak, and he had to make a very conscious effort to stop a triumphant grin from taking over his face. Only when the Murphy siren finally gave up and disappeared in a huff did he allow himself a smile. And, damn, that smile felt good.
“Now, where were we?” He spun around and, with a smooth motion, pulled Galwyn away from Lord Rutherford and into his arms. The old man merely stood there, gawking at the young Oberon fae that had stolen his woman, but he didn’t utter a single word. Grumbling under his breath, he disappeared into the crowd that had gathered in front of the bar.
“Dain Oberon,” Galwyn whispered softly, as though testing how each syllable felt on her tongue. “I’m—”
“Galwyn Murphy.” He closed the distance between them and placed his left hand on her waist. God, her scent was intoxicating. How was it possible he hadn’t noticed such a woman before? “Shall we dance?”
Chapter Four
What the hell are you doing?
That one thought cut through Galwyn’s mind with the intensity of lightning. She was going up against Auntie Aquaria—who had made it clear that Dain Oberon wasn’t a proper dance partner—and she was enjoying every second of it. Of course, her enjoyment wasn’t restricted to Aquaria’s displeasure.
As the smooth cadence of a cello suite wafted through the air, Dain pulled her tight against his very large, very impressive body, and she found herself floating across the dance floor with such ease that she could barely believe it. Granted, she wasn’t actually floating, but Dain’s movements were so natural and elegant that they made Lord Rutherford’s dance moves seem awkward and antiquated. And he was doing it dressed in leather, which seemed like quite a feat in itself.
“You’re a good dancer,” she murmured, not quite believing this was happening. The moment the words left her mouth, she felt her cheeks heat up. Everything about this Oberon man intimidated her�
��from the tattooed crown to the piercing silver eyes to the leather pants—but it was exactly the right type of intimidating. His touch was gentle, but there was an aura of a predator lying dormant under his skin. Was this why nobody liked the Oberon cousins? Did they use their charming smiles to masquerade ruthless souls?
“Only because I have you for a dance partner,” Dain replied quietly.
The softness of his voice made her fears and hesitations vanish. If there was something ill-advised about this dance, she was going to find out by herself—she didn’t need an old feud, one which she knew little about, to mar this perfect moment. Considering she was destined to spend her life with a man she didn’t love—or could even tolerate touching—she wanted to remember every second of this dance with perfect clarity so she could call it up whenever she needed years from now.
She waited for Dain to continue the conversation, but he didn’t seem willing to carry that burden. Either that or he was the kind of guy who felt more comfortable with silence than words. Whatever the case, his gaze never left hers, his silver eyes glinting with a kind of predatory intelligence.
“Tell me about yourself, Galwyn Murphy.”
There was something so genuine about his curiosity that a shiver ran up her spine. She felt like she was under a microscope and, odd as that sensation was, she didn’t mind. After all, when had been the last time someone as tall, dark and terrifying as Dain had expressed such fiery interest?
Exactly never.
It wasn’t as though Galwyn would ever be considered a catch in the eyes of the fae elite, so her dating history was practically nonexistent. On top of that, she’d never been the kind of girl who shone when under a spotlight. Hiding in the shadows was where she felt most comfortable, where she could hide her flaws more easily. As a result, anytime someone showed any kind of interest in her, she couldn’t help questioning their motives.
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