Page 126 of Gilded Wicked Mirrors
Their tension was a tightrope. Electricity sparked between them. He slid his hand up her thigh, and she shivered. Her whole body felt alight with fireflies, buzzing and warming her soul. She told a story with her feet. A play of seduction and yarning. She tracked her fingers along his chest, curling into his chiseled pectorals as she twirled around him.
The movements became quick and heated. Angry and burned. Fast. Whip. Fast. Whip. A play of interlocking feet. Synchronized enemies and warring nations. Fire split the air between them, consuming their motion.
Pain rippled through Quinn’s feet. The lack of calluses made the dance incredibly painful. It was like running a marathon in slippers.
He pulled her into a twirling lift. Holding. Supporting. Controlling. A move that required total trust. Total release. It ended in a fish dive, and if they messed up, she would fall on her face. But he held her tight—safe.
Passion surged between them.
As the dance progressed, the movements grew slower and slower. In their final step, he dipped her before drawing her by the nape of her neck. Their eyes met, their lips hovering, nearly touching each other.
A spark burst between them.
She wanted more than anything for him to lean in and kiss her. But instead, he said, “I don’t think anyone could say your dancing isn’t passionate now.”
“I think you’re a little like poison.” She panted, her chest rising frantically with every gasp. “You wreak so much havoc in my heart.”
“Funny because I was thinking the same thing.” His fingers laced into the hair behind her ears, and she shivered beneath his touch. “You make me want to give you want you want.” He paused, his lips gliding along her jaw. “You make me desire nothing else.”
She couldn’t take it anymore. She wanted him. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. Desperate and hungry. But he didn’t move to kiss her.
“You destroy me.” His lips stroked her ear, and her whole body quivered.
“It seems mutual.” Her breath hitched.
“Yes.” He cupped her face and moved in to kiss her, their lips barely touching—
Shocked gasps forced them apart, ruining the moment. Still panting, a twinge of frustration stroked through her bones. The passion inside Quinn wilted like a dying rose, and she jolted back and stepped away from Emrys as she noticed their audience.
“Wonderful job, dancers,” the Royalle Ballet director said, trying to break the tension and shock cascading through the room. “We will announce our new apprentices in tomorrow's newspaper.”
Forty-Two
The molten surface of the Mirror of Midnight beckoned, shining brightly in the midday rays as it escaped from the thick fog.
“Alright, we do it together,” Quinn said, holding Emrys’s hand.
Giselle barged in first. Quinn followed closely, but as she stepped, a distant voice called, and Emry slipped his fingers through hers.
She sucked in a breath as coarse sand slithered across her skin, feeling like tiny pieces of glass cutting lacerations into her flesh.
The girls stepped out into a sea of midnight butterflies that formed galaxies and constellations in an ocean of night. Periwinkle sat crisscrossed, braiding red hair, and waiting for them.
“You came back!” She wiggled her nose with glee. “Look, I am braiding your hair. Isn’t it beautiful?”
The girl held up an intricately crafted braid with three different styles mixed together. It truly was artwork. The mirror was strange and terrifying, but Quinn had to admit the girl was growing on her. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She smiled brightly. Quinn whirled around, searching for Emrys, but he was missing. “He’s not coming.”
“Where is he?” Quinn asked as her necklace vibrated and melted into liquid ruby once more. The Blood Mirror formed into the brunette woman.
“That’s a question.” Periwinkle held up one finger in the air.
“He’s held up outside dealing with a situation,” Blood answered quickly.
Periwinkle groaned. “Stop that, Blood. This is my domain.”
“Sorry.” Blood shrugged completely unapologetically.
