Page 125 of The Dragon and the Dove

‘Because I’m very persuasive.’

‘With those murderous hands?’

‘And my tongue.’ He smirked.

A giddy laugh bubbled from her. Why was she enjoying this? ‘What else do you bring to the table?’

He stroked his chin. ‘An impressive patchwork of scars. That fancy-ass sword I stole from the Appoline. And I can make an apple tart that’d bring you to your knees.’

‘Because it’s full of arsenic?’

He winked. Then grinned. ‘And I can dance.’

‘Not as well as I can.’

‘No one’s as good as you.’

Another laugh stole out of her.

‘And I can make you laugh,’ he said, satisfied.

Saints, save her. ‘I’m laughing at you.’

‘It’s all the same to me, kitten.’

She drank to hide her smile. ‘Good pitch. I’ll think it over.’

‘And one more thing,’ he said, tipping his glass at the ceiling. ‘The Saint of Destiny doesn’t fuck with me. I am exactly as I am to everyone I meet. I wear my darkness on the outside, and I don’t give a rat’s ass about magic or power.’

And that is exactly why you like him, purred the old voice.

As they drank and talked, and laughed some more, Val started to think there were some surprises when it came to Caruso Dantes, and that maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

When the hour was obscenely late and the whiskey was gone, and their chairs had somehow moved closer, Caruso leaned over and said, in a voice like dripping honey, ‘Do you remember when we danced at Marvale, Valerie?’

She thought about it constantly. ‘Not really. I was drunk.’

The old voice tsked.

‘You were like an apparition. The way you moved, how you pulled the light to you, like a firefly.’

‘Sounds like you were drunk too.’

‘We should do it again,’ he said, conspiratorially.

‘What, now?’

‘Why not? We might be dead in two days’ time.’

He was on his feet then, a hand outstretched towards her. His eyes were shining, his smile seductive. Val didn’t know how it happened, whether her body had overruled her mind, or if it was fate that pulled her to her feet and shoved her into his arms, but suddenly, they were dancing alone in the music room, while the rest of House Armand slumbered.

There was no music, just the whisper of their breath in the silence, and somehow it didn’t matter. He held her close, palming the small of her back, and she clutched his shoulder, folding her other hand around his. He dipped her low, her hair brushing the floor as he leaned over her. She was lifted then, as though she were no more than a feather in his arms. She spun, and spun, and their laughter soared, making its own kind of music.

They were drunk off their asses, and half mad with the kind of hysteria that comes on the cusp of war, and Val couldn’t tear herself away from him. Once she left the blissful silliness of their bubble, her fears would return. The night would be dark, and dawn would be cruel, and she would wake all alone in her bed, and have to face the terror of tomorrow.

So she danced and shoved the world away. When the alcohol wore off and she turned boneless with exhaustion, Caruso dipped his head and said, softly, along the shell of her ear, ‘Do you remember in Marvale, when you fell asleep in my lap?’

Val had never slept so well. ‘Remind me.’