Page 67 of Cursed Shadows 2

“Nari,” Ridge gestures to me, then to the tattooed female whose crimson curls are now loose down her back. “You remember Luna—or perhaps you have suffered a head wound in the hours since you met.”

My smile is forced on her. Hard to conjure enough welcoming energy for her when all she’s doing is staring over at Daxeel—whose eyes are pierced through my soul.

Still, I make the return introductions with Aleana before Ridge excuses himself to get a drink, and Luna—with a lingering look at Daxeel, then a once-over spared on me—follows.

My nostrils flare with the deep inhale I draw in.

Before I even turn back to my drink, I catch Eamon pushing from the loveseat and finding himself at the bar. Right next to Ridge.

I smile something small for only a moment before I lean back into Aleana.

Her dazed eyes lift to meet me, as though she was expecting the second coming of my questions—and she looks so utterly exhausted already in her hunched, narrow shoulders and the lazy droop of her lashes.

“You like him, don’t you?”

Her mouth flattens into a thin line. A speckle of dimples appears on her chin with the gesture. “I don’t know Ridge enough to speak on my opinion of him.”

Something pulses between us.

Gazes locked, our faces turn severe—studious. And we’re back on the tower again, sizing each other up.

I draw back to the spine of my stool. I lean against it and steal my drink from the bar. Before I bring the sugared rim to my lips, I mutter, “And I was told evasion was a litalf thing—perhaps beneath your kind.”

“I was told,” Aleana starts and sets her empty glass down, but can’t bring herself to meet my gaze, “that you were too self-focused to concern yourself with anyone else.”

The harshness of my swallow is not for anything other than the words I fight back. The urge to kick the legs of her stool stiffens my legs, curls my toes in my boots—and instead, I force a tight smile.

“I suppose you only like nosy females when it’s yourself who pries and no one else.”

Aleana’s eyes flash on me. “Maybe this is why you have no female friends.”

My eyes narrow into slits. “I could say the same about you.”

With that, I slip off my stool and shove my empty glass away. It topples over the edge of the bar and lands on a stack of dish cloths.

Aleana’s drooped gaze follows me as I push back from the bar and, with a sniff, flip my hair over my shoulder. I make to leave, to storm off somewhere, maybe to Eamon who’s backon the couch with Ridge now, or to Daxeel who…

Who—

White hot panic jolts through me.

Whatever anger Aleana stirred in me is amplified the moment I land my gaze on him—and Luna. That crimson-haired warrior who has her forearms braced on the edge of the couch, and her face much too close to Daxeel as she mouths words that are silent to me. Her smile is too seductive, her lashes too low over her consuming black eyes, and the way she watches me—I hate her, and if I can’t shove Aleana, then I’ll shove this bitch.

A hiss crawls up my throat.

I throw myself forward a step before I’m stomping over to the couches, hands fisted at my sides.

Daxeel’s gaze turns on me, but my snarl is reserved for Luna. Her smile is small, amused, as she watches me advance. Slowly, she draws back from the edge of the sofa, and as she rises up to her full height and her smile is aimed at me like a sword, I feel the jolt of panic in my chest.

Still, my steps don’t falter.

But I don’t get close, not before Daxeel shoves off the sofa and intercepts me. His arm hooks around my middle and he lifts me clean off the floor.

In only three steps, he’s dragged me over to the bar—and he drops me there.

“Always stepping to warriors you won’t survive,” he spits, exasperated, and his hand hasn’t left my middle—his fingertips linger at the curve of my waist, a tender touch he seems too tired to fight.

I see the gleam in his eyes, the one I recognize from all those small smiles he used to let slip. The same sort of almost smile he tried to hide from me in the lobby downstairs.

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