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CHAPTER ELEVEN

S lumping back into her chair, Tavia shook her head, the shock of the question running through her panicked mind.

“I still need to teach you to dance, too,” he mused, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.

“Wait,” Tavia said, her brow furrowing. “What do you mean by seduction?”

“Part of my plan involves getting one of the Brotherhood guards alone. And you, my pretty dove, will be the one to do that.”

“But aren’t we supposed to be married?” she asked, the heat rising in her cheeks as her fingers tightened around the warm mug .

“Yes, and the guard I have in mind will absolutely fall for your little charms.”

Lucius leaned back in his chair, the tension in his shoulders easing as he settled into the seat. A faint smile curved his lips, and the red in his eyes softened, shifting toward that striking emerald green she found hard to look away from.

“I don’t know anything about seduction,” she said, her voice quieter now. “It’s not my specialty.”

“Well,” Lucius said with a smirk, his teeth gleaming faintly in the low light, “it seems that tonight, I’ll have to teach you many things.”

Now, Tavia was the one feeling stressed.

It was one thing to pretend to be a wife—but seducing someone?

How could she seduce someone when she’d never even kissed anyone? Her stomach churned, and she looked down at her tea, watching the cinnamon flecks swirl in the amber liquid.

“What is it?” Lucius asked, his voice carrying a note of curiosity.

“Nothing.”

Tavia wasn’t ready to reveal her inexperience .

“We’ll start with something easier,” he said, his tone gentler now, “dancing.”

“Don’t we need music for that?”

Lucius put the tea down with deliberate care, then extended his hand toward her. His fingers were steady, though his expression held a trace of mischief.

“Time to make you that aristocratic bride I talked about.”

Begrudgingly, she put her tea down, the faint clink echoing in the quiet room, and took his hand. His warm and firm grip sent a subtle thrill up her arm.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, glancing at him from under her lashes.

“Maybe,” he said, pulling her gently into the living room, the soft pad of their steps muffled by the rug beneath their feet. “But it’s going to be exceedingly enjoyable.”

Lucius held out his hand, motioning for her to join him in the living room. Only moments ago, she had been ready to leave—ready to run away from this Fae Vamp . And yet, somehow, she shuffled into the living room and clasped his hand.

“Now,” he said, placing a hand on her back, “dancing is simple. The male leads, and don’t overthink it.”

Tavia frowned as she grabbed his hand, and he held it up in the traditional pose.

“Don’t we need music?” she asked.

“1-2-3, 1-2-3,” he started, saying the numbers softly as he began to move.

Tavia shook her head but decided to play along for now.

He dipped his shoulders and repeated, “1-2-3, 1-2-3,” speaking the rhythm as if the words should mean something more than just counting.

“1-2—”

He winced as she stepped on his left foot.

“Sorry.”

“No worries. Just relax.”

Tavia was finding it extremely difficult to relax.

There was no real music, and Lucius was becoming more of a complex character than she was ready to deal with. The nightmare from the previous night still lingered in her thoughts, leaving her feeling anything but at ease .

He started again. “1-2-3, 1-2-3.”

They moved around the living room, Tavia stepping on his feet at least three more times.

“This is ridiculous. I’m awful,” she said, pulling away from him.

He grasped her waist and tugged her back, bumping against his chest.

“You’re not awful,” he said, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “Just a bit uptight. Close your eyes, and don’t think about it. Just move. 1-2-3, 1-2-3.”

This time, with her eyes closed, his voice took on a melodic tone as though he were singing the counts. She focused on the way his hands held her, on how their hips seemed to move in sync.

And suddenly, she was dancing.

He moved a little quicker, pulling her closer. His head rested against the top of hers, his breath tickling her ear. He continued counting softly as they swayed, their movements falling effortlessly into rhythm.

After some time, she stopped stepping on his feet. She didn’t realize how long they had been dancing, but she found it difficult to stop.

His hand rested on her hip, his fingers splayed against her back. He kept repeating the counts, gently swaying her around the room.

At some point, he moved her arms around his neck and both of his hands were at her waist.

Tavia had seen dancing in taverns before and knew that the kind of dance performed at a ball wasn’t this. And yet, she couldn’t pull away—because it felt right. She didn’t understand why or how.

She had only known Lucius for days. He was a vampyre . And yet, at the same time, she had never been closer to someone. It was as if they danced to the same rhythm constantly, and there was a strange comfort between them.

She was enjoying it.

But what would happen after the heist?

Surely, Lucius and she would go their separate ways. And this friendship—if that’s what you could call it—would end.

Lucius had stopped counting, but he still didn’t let her go. They swayed around the warm living room, the fire crackling softly in the fireplace. She didn’t open her eyes or want the moment to stop.

She had told herself not to get lost, but she was slipping.

Maybe this was her fault. She had been alone for two years, living in the shadows, afraid to make any connection because someone would steal what little she had.

And yet, she didn’t have to worry about Lucius stealing from her, because she had nothing to offer someone like him.

And after he dumped out that macabre collection of blood, she was beginning to think he was more than just a vampyre . She wanted to know more about him.

His hands slid up her back, sending a slight, exhilarating thrill through her. She realized that if she stayed too close, the desire to do more than just dance would overtake her thoughts—and she wasn’t ready for that.

With great willpower, she pulled away, not daring to look into his eyes. She was afraid that if she met his hungry gaze, everything she felt would be reflected in those emerald green eyes, and then she would be helpless.

Lucius clapped—a slow, deliberate clap—and when she dared to glance at him, he smiled.

“Well done,” he said. “Well done. ”

She gazed up at him, realizing this heist she’d gotten involved with was becoming more dangerous by the moment.

If she had learned anything from life on the streets, it was this: you never let your heart be stolen.

And that’s exactly what was happening.