Page 58 of Twisting Beauty

It was her.

I sat up, my entire body sharpening with awareness, my blood pounding, my senses honed in.

I saw the moment she clocked all these strangers in her house, saw the flash of apprehension across her features.

The muted purple of her dress might be subtle to others, but to me she stood out brighter than anyone else in the room.

Someone—Breezy?—asked me something. Someone else made a joke. Others laughed. But I barely heard it.

My attention was fixed solely on her.

Across the crowd, her gaze caught on me and I felt it like a pull deep in my chest. The tension crackled in the air like a live wire between us.

The corner of my mouth lifted, not a smile. A promise.

I didn’t move yet. I didn’t approach right away. I took my time, studying her stiff posture, the hesitant tilt of her chin, the way she chewed her lip as if she sensed the trap was closing in on her.

Her gaze tore from mine, darting around the room as if looking for a way out. Then she moved, darting through the crowd.

Game on, my little imposter.

I knocked back the rest of his whiskey in a single swallow, set the glass aside, and rose from my seat, no longer the patient king on his throne, but the hunter ready to move in.

I began to stalk her through the crowd as she weaved between my guests.

The crowd split around me as I aimed straight for her, my gaze never leaving her.

Aoife slid into my path, her perfume thick, making me scowl as I looked over her head to my target.

“Dance with me,” Aoife purred as she threw her arms around my neck.

I peeled her off with a single hand, my eyes never leaving the imposter.

“No,” I said, already moving.

Behind him, Aoife’s scoff cut through the music. “Lorcan, where are you going?”

I didn’t bother answering.

She began pushing through the crowd, her movements frantic, glancing back over her shoulder every few seconds, her cheeks red.

She knew. She could feel me on her trail.

Like a deer breaking from the herd, she ducked under the red rope Mervyn had put up to block off the stairs and the bedrooms upstairs.

My smile cut sharp. She’d taken the bait.

I followed her upstairs, my feet soundless on the stairs.

On the mezzanine floor above, the music dulled, the air cooler, the light from sconces a dim wash. The hallway stretched ahead, lined with closed doors. The hush up here was oppressive, intimate, the perfect place for her punishment.

Shadows swallowed me as I skirted the creaky boards that would give me away.

Up ahead, she hurried toward her bedroom and disappeared behind her door. I could almost hear her sigh of relief, could almost feel her sagging against the wood.

Oh, mo chlunaireín, don’t think that a locked door will ever be enough to keep me from you.

The anticipation wound tighter with every step. I slowed as I neared, pushing my sleeves up.