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He will aim his ice-cold wrath at me.

It fast got out of hand. What was meant to be a mere ice-skating excursion turned into a private booth in a loud, glaring club after ice-cream.

That’s why his fierce gaze is lashing at me, like hands that reach from the depths of the oceans to snatch me up, drag me down, and drown me.

So I avoid him as best as I can.

My cheek turned to Daxeel, I watch the humans dance so brazenly that I wonder if—at any moment—a couple with start to bed one another right out in the open.

Then I spot Dare at the edge of the crowd.

With Bee.

They dance, but not like the others. There is a lazy romance in the way they move together, and how they stay tucked away near the wall, like no one else exists but them.

I watch them a while, the way she melts back into him, how his head is dropped low enough that his mouth runs over the shellof her ear; his arm looped around her middle, hand flat on her stomach, thumb brushing over her smooth skin.

Together, they move with the music, they move with the deepest sound of the melody. Others dance and jump and spin and drop—but not them. Bee sways with that one layer of the beat and Dare swayswithher.

I think if Daxeel would ever dance with me, he would do it like that. Move with me, not the melody, because in my fantasy world and the way it once was, I am his melody.

In the passing hour, I don’t dance much more than tapping my boot on the floor and drumming my fingers on the table.

Ridge finds his way back to the table. He sits with Aleana, wedged between Daxeel and me. And though the light male plays bottle coin toss with the sickly female, I know he only came to the human lands for Eamon.

Daxeel came to keep an eye on both me and Aleana.

But Dare…?

He’s harder to work out.

Curiosity, maybe? Just for the fun of it?

Either way, Dare sticks to the dancefloor.

Now, as I look over, Eamon dances with Bee, and Dare sits on the edge of a short table, drinking straight from a bottle. He keeps his focused stare on Bee’s back, from the dimples above her waistband to the pear-shape of her backside, and he seems content doing just that. So content that, when a human woman approaches him and runs her fingertips down his arm, he snarls at her with enough of a threat that—even from the other side of the club—I tense in my seat, as though he’s holding a dagger to my throat.

I’ve never seen a human scatter so fast before. But scatter she does.

Some hours, two more valerian stalks, and many bottles into the night, instinct has Daxeel stiffening on the leather cushioned seat of the booth. And it’s not instinct about Aleana who’s been asleep for the better part of an hour now.

His face hardens against the glare of the flashing club lights and his stony gaze runs all over the walls and doorways.

“What is it?” I lean over his sleeping sister so he can better hear me, but he is dark fae, so he probably can hear me just fine over the thumping music.

In answer, his jaw clenches, hard. “Dawn. It’s close.”

I wave down the others.

Ridge scoops Aleana into his arms as Daxeel pays the bill on the table with gold pieces.

Before I can start down the stairs, Daxeel moves for me. His muscles prowl beneath his sweater, his steps as slow and quiet as a beast stalks its prey.

Arm snaking around my waist, his chin turns and he looks down at me. In this dark pocket of the club, my light source is the deep glimmer of his eyes.

I flatten my hand against his chest, as though prepared to push him away. Instead, I follow and take that step closer. I crane my neck to look up at him.

I love you.