Chapter 7

Seven

" W ait," Quinn said, pulling out of Jane's grip. "You are going to tell me what all of that was about, but first, I have the Mirror-Rite to complete." Before Jane could stop her, she'd turned on pointe and strode back to the alcoves.

Twenty minutes. Jane could wait . . . for now.

Jane's voice called after her. "I can't follow you in this, Quinny. You're on your own."

"I understand."

The curtains were closed again, but the voices still escaped the alcove. The three men spoke in hushed, serious tones. Quinn tiptoed up again with no plan other than parting the curtains, which were like scarlet waterfalls dripping from the ceiling.

"I'm worried about her," one of the male voices she didn't recognize said.

"Jane is used to danger."

"Yes, but this one is personal, and we all know when it's personal, it gets messy."

"Unfortunately,"—this time, it was Emrys's voice—"it is personal for all of us."

"So, it's just a messy situation then."

"Precisely. "

"And life and death," Emrys said. Quinn shook her head. Whatever they were wrapped up in was too dangerous, and they all needed to get out of it, but especially Jane.

At the slight noise, Emrys's entire body tensed, and she swallowed a silent curse. It was one thing to get caught eavesdropping once, and it was another to have it happen twice. Unrecoverable.

Shit .

She pinched her lips together. Acting without a plan was utter foolishness. Dammit. She slowly took a step backward and ran her hand through her hair, unsure of what to do. But she needed to trap him and kiss him.

That was easier said than done.

For fuck's sake. She inhaled sharply, trying to think, and the only thing she could come up with was hiding in the alcove next door and ambushing him when he came out, hoping he was the last to leave.

It was the only semblance of a plan she had, so she went with it.

The neighboring alcove was pitch black, so Quinn whispered to the room, "Can I please get some light?" But like all sentient buildings, it had a mind of its own and refused to aid her.

Letting out a huff, she ran her fingers along the gilded walls, trying to feel for a light switch. But instead of finding a wall sconce or switch, her finger hit human flesh, and she jolted. The other person stiffened as if in pain.

"Oh, shit," Quinn said, "I am so sorry. I didn't mean—"

Before she could finish her sentence, she was thrown off balance and pinned to the wall. Her breath came out in a rush as the massively tall frame trapped her within its hold. His—for the pure size of the figure made her believe it was either an impossibly tall woman or a tall man—hand curled around her throat but didn't squeeze.

"Truly, I am deeply apologetic," she breathed. "I didn't know anyone was in here, and I never would have come in if I did."

The figure ignored her. "If you wanted to touch me, all you had to do was ask." It was the voice of the devil. All at once, Quinn was relieved and horrified because not only was it Emrys Avalon, which was both good news and bad news, but once again, he was touching her in ways she enjoyed. And that was horrifying.

Although the excited pounding of her heart or the honeybees buzzing against the velvet lining of her stomach was answer enough.

"I believe you are the one touching me."

He loosed a low chuckle. "Technically, yes."

"Well, it's always prudent to be technical."

"Is it really?" he asked. "How enlightening. Although, I do think some things are enjoyed far more in the absence of perfection."

Quinn scoffed. She couldn't think of a single thing that benefited from a lack of precision.

"Ginger, I know you are obsessed with me—"

"I am not obsessed with you." Her cheeks heated, and she was suddenly very happy he couldn't see her in the darkness.

"But why are you eavesdropping on me twice in one night?"

"I wasn't."

"Then what do you call skulking around outside of a private alcove when people are in the middle of very important conversations?"

Quinn bit her lip and blinked, wishing she could see him better. Her vision was slowly adjusting to the dark, but he was still only a blur of strong masculine muscles. "Alright, I will concede that I was outside your meeting, but it wasn't with the intent to listen in."

"Yet you did." His grip shifted on her neck, and he tilted her chin up as if he were looking into her eyes, which would have been impossible unless he was Mirror-Blessed with the magic ability to do so. Given that he tried to spell her earlier, it was a high possibility, which was a horrifying thought to consider.

"I simply wanted to ask you for help."

"Oh?" She couldn't see him, but she imagined his midnight-manicured brows rose at this. "Ask away."

His thumb stroked along her jawline, and she tensed, her breath hitching with excitement and terror. What she was about to ask would have negative consequences because no matter what he said in return, she would be mortified.

"I wanted to . . ." She simply couldn't say it aloud. It was wrong of her to consider ambushing him, but that was what she wanted to do. It was also impossible. She couldn't reach his lips without his help.

"Wanted to . . ." he repeated. Not helping in the slightest.

Oh, bloody mirrors, was he truly going to make her say it?

"I would like you to teach me . . ." Quinn swallowed. Possibly, if she presented it as a teaching opportunity, he might be willing to help her. What was she kidding? Emrys kissed a new girl every night. It was his way. He'd be more than willing to help.

"Teach you?"

Could he stop merely repeating her? Quinn's heart slammed in her ears like it was a bird trying to escape a cage.

"Passion." The word was so low only a long-extinct vampire would have been able to hear it.

"What?"

Quinn placed her palms against the wall, bracing herself. There wasn't much else she could do.

"Would this happen to be about your lack of passion problem?" Emrys said loudly, the sound brushing her earlobe as if his lips were nearly touching her.

"What?" How could you possibly know that?

Thankfully, he answered her unspoken question. "After our conversation this morning, I asked Jane why you've never made the Royalle Ballet before, and she said it's because you lack passion."

A wineglass shattered in her stomach, jabbing into her core. "Oh."

"Is that what you want me for?" His hot breath stroked her neck, and his fingers slid into her hair, now cupping her head instead of her jaw.

The movement sent a sensation of pleasure down her spine. There was something about the way he touched her neck and hair that caused her to completely unravel.

If this was her body's reaction to a simple touch, she desperately wanted to know how it would respond to a kiss. It could be a fun science experiment. Quinn might not want to be a medical examiner like her uncle, but she loved the scientific practice. It made sense.

It was logical and precise.

Two things she desired above all else.

"Because I am known as a perennial rogue, you want to learn from me," he asked, sliding one finger down the column of her neck, and resting above the crest of her breast.

"Yes," she said, wanton and desperate for more of that liquid fire touch.

Every movement of his hand caused her nerve endings to erupt in sensation. And it was beautiful. Magical.

"You want me to touch you here?" His finger slid further south, and her breath hitched as it slid down her bodice. "Ginger, you must verbally answer me."

"Yes." She gulped. "I want that."

"You feel like velvet." His lips touch the spot just under her ear. Quinn gasped. "You want me to kiss you here?"

Words weren't forming to answer him because she was so overwhelmed with stimulation. She'd touched herself before, but it was nothing like this. It was all more exciting because she couldn't see anything, and she had no idea what was coming next. Tension licked at her spine as she waited for him to make his next move.

It was to place another kiss up her neck. His lips were hot against her skin, and his hand traveled farther down her bodice until he completely cupped one of her breasts. "You like this."

Too much. "Yes." She pinched her eyes shut, hating herself for admitting it—hating herself for all of it. He was her enemy and off limits, not even a thought on her mind until today. Quinn did not lust after young gentlemen and certainly not princes.

Lust. Yes, that was precisely what was happening. Fuck .

But if this was happening, then it needed to happen fully. "I need you to kiss me."

He nipped her neck with his teeth and followed up with his tongue, touching where his teeth had marked.

"Oh . . ." Her fingers dug into the wall to keep her from reaching out and touching him.

"Is this not enough of a kiss for you?"

"No," she whispered, "I need you to teach me true passion."

"Like I am your little whore?"

"Yes," she said without thinking, "I mean, no. Of course not."

"You want to use me?"

Yes . But how could he possibly have a problem with that? His moniker was the Playboy Prince for a reason.

"Do you, Ginger?"

"Yes."

"How very enterprising of you." His voice was fire, both harsh and passionate. "There is a forbidden part of you that wants me to touch you everywhere."

Yes .

He flicked a finger across her nipple, and her entire body tensed with anticipation.

"I want you to kiss me." Please, Emrys, for the love of all the mirrors, just kiss me so I can complete my rite before midnight . . . and because now it's the only thing I desperately want.

His lips hovered over hers, and with his free hand, he titled her chin up. "You want me."

Now, that was an utterly too broad question, and she wouldn't answer it because her goal was within reach, so close. Quinn wasn't willing to wait anymore. So, without any skill, she leaned forward and touched her lips with his.

But as soon as she did it, he pulled back. "No. "

"What?"

"No." The word was a nail in her coffin.

"Why?"

"One day, I will kiss you thoroughly, but it will not be today." And like lightning, he disappeared into the shadows.

She reached her arms out, feeling for his body, but he was gone.

Truly gone.

Placing her hands back on the wall, she cursed.

"Emrys, please come back," she whimpered, pathetically because she knew he wouldn't, and that only meant one thing.

The sound of the clock striking midnight reverberated through her bones—like a dagger twisting into her soul.

She'd failed.

Ten-thousand-fucks.

She hung her head, her fingers clawed into the wall. One thing was certain—she felt it in her bones—she was going to incur terrible mirror consequences.