Page 36 of Too Hexed to Handle

I take a deep breath. ‘Okay.’ Another breath. With more conviction, ‘Okay, let’s dance.’

Damian watches me carefully as my palm slides against his, as though expecting me to be nervous, even with the protection of the gloves. Instead, I beam at him. Any kind of reaction would be what he expects, is probably the reason he prefers to lurk in corners, and I won’t give him the excuse.

We join the other dancers, and I allow myself to revel in the fact I’m here, a star-sprinkled sky above me, listening to the swell of violins and laughter ringing out around us, safe in the arms of someone who actually does want to be in my company. For a moment I’m a normal girl. It’s been a long time since someone held me. Not since . . .

Not since Michael.

Damian must sense the way I stiffen, because his hold loosens. ‘You don’t appear to be having fun.’

‘Sorry.’ I lock my arms around his neck. ‘I usually avoid being near people. For their safety.’

‘In case you’re compelled to kiss them?’ He raises a brow. ‘Should I be concerned?’

Heat fills my cheeks. ‘No. It’s habit, that’s all. You’re perfectly safe with me.’

He doesn’t reply, but he squeezes my waist as though in reminder that I’m safe with him too, so long as the danger is locked away, and I tell myself the goose bumps erupting along my arms are from the breeze tickling my skin.

‘Can you feel anything through them at all?’ I ask. ‘The gloves, I mean.’

‘No,’ he says shortly.

I lift a finger to his face, dragging it along his jaw. ‘But you can feel this though. You could still . . .’

He swallows, eyes searching mine, and for the first time I sense a real emotion from him, the scent of light rain in the air despite the dry night. There’s an edge to his usual smoothness when he says, ‘No, I couldn’t. Haven’t you noticed, the moment we joined this dance floor, every other person shifted away?’

I hadn’t, but he’s right. We’re isolated from the others, two people pretending at a normality we both want but will never have. Occasionally, their eyes dart to us, then down to Damian’s gloves, like they fear him even with his powers contained. Yet they’re here anyway, clamouring for his favour, desperate for his reward.

Hexes, they treat him as badly as they would a Souleater. They’ll use his emeralds the way they’ll happily spread a Souleater’s lust powder around at the Laevothe festival, while refusing to view him as a person.

‘It’s not fair,’ I whisper. Wistfulness morphs into anger, and I sway with more force, as though if I dance hard enough, long enough, I can prove we belong here.

Damian responds in kind, his hand sliding up my spine as his hips rock in rhythm with mine. ‘Once I’ve killed that Souleater, it won’t matter what they think. I’ll have everything I need to – Well. That’s it. I’ll have everything I need.’

‘Revenge won’t change the way they look at you.’

‘We’ll see.’ He smiles, focus shifting to something over my shoulder. ‘Speaking of people looking, the man who met with me after you – who spent most of his time interrogating me on all possible ways harm could befall you on this quest, I might add – hasn’t stopped glaring at us since we started dancing.’

Alarm flares, but before I can turn round, Damian dips us both, bending me ninety degrees so I can see what’s behind me. Although the figure is upside down from this angle, it’s unmistakeably Astin, hovering on the sidelines, almost crushing the goblet clenched in his fist.

Damian lowers his head, lips inches from mine, and murmurs, ‘You’re welcome.’

I’m hauled upright and spun in a circle, panic clawing at my throat because I don’t feel welcome in the slightest.

‘What was that for?’ I hiss once my breath returns.

‘Call it a thank you. For being the only person to speak to me like a human today. I thought you deserved some real fun before this is over.’ He looks over my shoulder once more. ‘Your friend is on his way.’

‘On his way where?’

Damian blinks at me like the answer should be obvious, and then I’m hit with the familiar scent of pine, and I realise the answer wasn’t obvious at all. I turn my head to find Astin standing right next to us, brow furrowed. ‘Mind if I have the next dance?’

I gape at him.

‘Why don’t you finish this one?’ Damian twirls me one final time before releasing me, and I stumble into Astin’s waiting arms.

I’m still gaping by the time I’ve found my footing. ‘Astin,’ I exclaim. ‘You’re . . . here. On the dance floor. Why are you on the dance floor?’

‘Keeping you out of trouble,’ he says, nostrils flared with displeasure. It’s unclear if his irritation comes from my behaviour, or the fact he’s currently standing in the one location he claimed he wouldn’t go. He makes a half-hearted attempt at moving to the music, presumably so we don’t look like idiots next to the enthusiastic dancers around us.