Chapter 21

“I’m not sure clubbing is my thing,” I said as I stood in front of the floor-length mirror in my room and tugged my black dress down as far as it would go—which wasn’t far at all.

Next to me, Willa looked like a goddess of night. Her dark eyeshadow and dramatic eyeliner accentuated the lightest blue eyes I’d ever seen. She wore a velvet mini-dress that barely covered her hips and left nothing to the imagination.

On her other side stood Addie, shifting back and forth nervously in a cotton jumpsuit. The wide legs flowed with every step she took, though the chest dipped low enough to be deemed “appropriate clubbing attire” by Willa.

“I’m not sure clubbing is any of our things, but we’re going to do it anyway,” Willa said. “I’m dead and determined to try everything at least once.”

I snorted and shrugged. “But while you’re grinding our ass on Wren and Addie and Holland are French kissing in the first dark corner they find, what will I do?”

“Find a stranger to grind your ass on? Or French kiss with?” Addie offered with an innocent shrug, tucking her earplugs in her pocket.

“Perhaps both!” Willa cheered.

With a hum, I ushered them out of my room. “I suppose that’s an option.”

Wren and Holland waited for us in the living room, and I tried my best to ignore the way they looked at their partners—like men starved. Addie wandered directly into Holland’s arms, leaning up to whisper something in his ear. I was too busy pulling on my boots to hear what she said, but his response was reassuring her they could leave at any time and he wouldn’t be upset. Meanwhile, Willa climbed into Wren’s lap and growled like a tiger; Addie and I both made gagging noises in response.

“Are we all ready to go?” I asked.

Everyone exchanged looks and thumbs up, and then we were off.

While I wasn’t one for crowded bars and flashing lights, I’d spent so much time over the last week missing a girl I shared a couple soft glances with that the roaring music and pulse of human heartbeats was a welcome reprieve. Wren pressed a round of drinks into our hands before promptly dragging Willa onto the dance floor. She followed with a fist pump into the air and a starstruck look.

Addie and Holland lingered near me for a few minutes before they, too, were swallowed by the crowd and I was left alone. Not wanting to hold on to a cup, I gulped down the glass of chardonnay before leaving it on the bar and choosing to move into the middle of the dance floor again.

With each flickering light, I reminded myself I was strong. Every sway of my hips reminded me I was free. And even though my heart bled, it beat louder than the music—reminding me I was alive.

I was alive, living in Paris with the best friends—family—a girl could ever ask for. I had my horse, our competitions, and an entire future of showjumping ahead of me.

I had everything I needed.

I wasn’t sure how long I danced. It could have been hours or only a few seconds. It was liberating to lose myself between other bodies on the dance floor. I danced with a man with a beard for a while; his hands on my hips made me feel desired. When he got bored with me, I found myself in the arms of a pretty blonde woman who clung to me as if I was the only thing keeping her sane. Perhaps I was. That was fine with me.

A couple times, I caught glimpses of my friends: Willa with her tongue down Wren’s throat, Addie with Holland’s teeth grazing her neck, Willa and Wren grinding in a corner, and Addie and Holland slipping out the door.

It was like I was stuck in a kaleidoscope, cursed to see only flashes of them while I spun round and round—losing myself all the while.

And then…

There she was.

I spun out of the arms of a red-haired person and into Eliza’s embrace. She looked up at me, her ocean-blue eyes startled. There was blood on her lips, staining her chin, and a thin sheet of sweat covered her entire body. She wore a yellow sundress that was wholly out of place in this dark bar, but it hugged every inch of her curves and I found myself unable to look away.

I wasn’t sure where she’d come from, but she was meant to be there at that moment.

I focused on the feeling of her soft hand in mine, drawing me further and further into the crowd, and I liked how her thumb brushed over my knuckles—back and forth, back and forth. I supposed one dance couldn’t hurt.

We moved further into the middle of the dance floor, and I watched Eliza’s eyes glint in the dark. For the briefest of moments, I thought I glimpsed red rimming the bright blue of her irises, but it disappeared as quickly as it came.

I forced myself to look away from Eliza and focus on the beat of the music. Without her to distract me, dancing was easy. My hips swayed and swirled to the music, and I breathed in the intoxicating scent of sweat and liquor in the air. I felt her next to me, her arms in the air as she moved to the beat. Her heart beat almost as loud as the music, and I resisted the urge to look at her.

If I looked at her, I was damning myself.

If I looked at her, I was solidifying my heartbreak.

If I looked at her, I was stepping headfirst into something that wasn’t good for me.

I looked at her.

In the shadows of the dance floor, every time she’d walked away did not matter.

All that mattered was the dazed, pretty look in her eyes and the sweat beading on her forehead. Her heart skipped a beat when she met my gaze, and I looked away, only to turn back to hear that sound again.

Danger. Danger. Danger.

My mind screamed at me.

Eliza was dangerous. She was a nest of thorns preparing to sink so deep into my skin I may never break free. But, my god, I couldn’t look away as she spun in the crowd. Her hair flung over her shoulder, revealing the pulse in her throat. Involuntarily, my fangs lengthened, and I struggled to hide them before she saw how much I wanted her.

I wanted her.

I watched, feverish and frantic, as she fell into the arms of a human man on the dance floor. She laughed, relaxing into his touch and grinding onto him, letting her head fall onto his chest. All the while, her eyes held mine.

The air between us was electric.

On this dance floor, our pain, our trauma, and our anger didn’t matter. None of it was as important as the beat of our hearts and the desire that had driven so deep into my core, I was sure I would never escape.

In the dark of the dance floor, everything made sense. I wanted Eliza so desperately that I was willing to follow her anywhere. I was willing to look past her on-again, off-again behavior, and her cruel words to see her like this.

I knew, upon first sight, when someone would be a part of my life.

I also knew when they would destroy me.

Eliza was going to tear me apart.

I was going to let her.