Page 137

Tilting her head, Alora closed her eyes to the strumming of strings. Those fingers arched and swayed over the wood like they were dancing. By muscle memory and exquisite skill, her fingers lightly tapped the table as if there were ivory beneath her fingertips. Softly pressing into the wooden top as if they were producing the notes.

“Where”—her voice, it mixed with the notes like her tone belonged with them—“where is that coming from?”

The music flowed louder, like a leaf drifting across calm waters.

Like gliding through the night sky on shadowed wings.

Alora scanned around the room. No one else seemed affected by its breathtaking sound. No one but Garrik, whose eyes had softened staring at her, his mouth parted slightly.

“Dance with me,” he whispered. His voice was just as beautiful as the melody.

She swallowed hard, meeting his gaze and curling her fingers into her palms before dropping them to her lap, unsure she’d heard him correctly.

But Garrik whispered again. “Dance with me.”

Alora scanned the bar. No one was looking. No one seemed to notice. Her heart pounded in her chest as her eyes darted back and forth between his outstretched hand and the bustling tavern. And for a moment, she considered it—taking his hand that slipped across the table. Considered staring into his eyes as his hand would grab hers and the cold of his rings tickled her fingers, the other falling to the small of her back as he led her slowly twirling around the room.

For a moment. She wanted to.

“I—”

“Sorry for the intrusion.”

The music stopped.

That softness in Garrik’s eyes fell. “I would prefer for you not to interrupt us at all,” he dryly rasped, not bothering to so much as glance at the barmaid.

The female flickered her gaze between Garrik and Alora.

Garrik stiffened, still glowering. “You can leave now?—”

“Where is the washroom?” Alora blurted, pulling at her fingertips under the table.

The female pointed behind Garrik and turned in time for Alora to slip from her seat and rush away.

Alora roundedthe corner of the hallway and stopped. Sinking her shoulder into the wall when a barmaid caught her eye.

She was adorned in a revealing dress that matched her night-dark hair, cut low enough that if she leaned forward, her swelled breasts would likely fall out. Her hair spilled around creamy shoulders in long waves as she walked across the tavern.

The barmaid was beautiful—save for the black, dirty nails from washing dishes all evening. Carrying a simple glass of amber liquid with only one patron in her eyes.

Garrik didn’t seem to take notice of her. Surveying the door again, his hand rested motionless on his knee while the other held an iron grip on the empty glass in his hand.

The barmaid didn’t say anything as she approached him. Her gaze carried a lustful gleam and widened smirk, raking across his form with ravenous eyes. A night-bug willingly flying into the jaws of the beast.

Honestly, she couldn’t blame the female. Even in his illusioned form, Garrik was?—

Alora shifted uncomfortably, blinking with a sharp shake of her head.

She wondered if Garrik would enjoy this female’s company over her. How his hands might touch the barmaid, caressing her thighs like he did to her when she was on his table, injured in his tent, bleeding from the arena. How his lips might brush along the barmaid's jawline, whispering in her ear before capturing her lips.

Perhaps that’s why he really came here … to drinkher.

Alora couldn’t resist it … the mere thought of his body pressed against the female, crushing her under his shoulders, or his hands brushing through raven-colored hair. Unbuckling his belt to offer himself to her. Allowing her to enjoy the pleasure of his thrusts. Beinginsideher.

A sharp pain in Alora’s palm drew her steaming attention. She realized that her nails had sunk into her skin from a trembling, iron-tight fist.

What Garrik did with his body was none of her concern or business.