Page 78 of Shadows of Stardust

As I do, I’m a little surprised by the anticipatory heat that rises in my chest, the undeniable eagerness to seek him out, though Juni and I were only talking for a few minutes.

Even in the midst of all this company, the only person I want to talk to right now is Zandrel.

Zandrel, who’s fierce and lethal and belongs to the most prestigious fighting force in the universe.

Zandrel, who was just a damn kid with no parents and no home and nowhere else to go when he was snapped up by that fucking vulture of a recruiter.

Zandrel, who’s arrogant and a pain in the ass, but who’s helping me find Savvie and might just be my one best chance to see her again.

Zandrel, who’s a whole lot more handsome than I wanted to let myself admit. Who—with each of ourfakekisses—has sparked a low burning heat in my belly. One I should know better than to indulge.

Zandrel, whose words from earlier have lodged themselves firmly in the back of my mind, playing on a repeating loop.

I would have had my eye on you, regardless.

I don’t see him right away, and feel a little foolish at my eagerness, at letting those words mean anything more than they should.

He was teasing. Loosening things up between us after how stiff and awkward we’ve been. He was being friendly. That’s it.

Still…

The rest of our conversation keeps playing through my mind, too. The hollow loss in his voice. The way I can’t help but think he doesn’t share things like that easily or often.

My eyes keep searching, and despite my best efforts, a bubble of anticipation expands in my chest.

Maybe when I find him, I can convince him to dance with me. For the cameras, of course. Not because I’m suddenly curious to know what he’d be like on a dance floor, if he’d take the lead and hold me close, murmur little observations and teasing snark about the other contestants while he did. Not because I’d like to see if I can help him relax a little, find a reason to make him smile.

But that bubble immediately pops when I spot him.

He’s standing on the far edge of the dancing crowd, and he’s not alone.

A beautiful, statuesque Nexxan female stands with him, leaning in closer than she should be, too close, too familiar.

Ansalla.

A sick ache kicks up in the bottom of my gut—a mix of dread and indignation and a hot, inexplicable spark of possessiveness.

I swallow all that bile back.

There’s no reason for it. She’s not doing anything wrong. They’re only talking, enjoying the evening, and just because I might think the look in her eyes is a little toohungryfor my liking doesn’t mean I need to fly off the handle.

But then shetoucheshim.

A brush of long, elegant fingers over his bicep, squeezing lightly, affectionately.

Oh, hell no.

There’s nothing inexplicable about the possessiveness this time, nothing subtle. There’s nothing but a flare of irate protest so strong I can barely keep my feet planted where they are.

How dare she?

How dare she put her hands on my…

Okay, maybe I don’t know how exactly to finish that sentence, but it still doesn’t mean she should be touching him.

Even if this is all fake,shedoesn’t know that.

The whir of a hover just over my shoulder snaps my mind back to the present.

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