Page 43 of Reap the Night
He holds out his hand. “Then come.”
I glance back at the others to see them turning away. “What about?—”
They start toward the exit, and they’re not the only ones. Several groups have stopped dancing and are heading toward the arch that will take them out of the club.
“What’s happening?”
“A signal that the night is over…for the humans at least. You can go with them if you like. Or stay and I can take you home.” His hand is still waiting for mine.
I want this.
I need this.
I slip my palm into his. “I’d like to stay.”
It’s strange watching the club empty of humans. Strange how blank their faces are as they navigate their way to the exit.
“Are they under some kind of fae spell?”
“It’s a mild compulsion,” Crush says. “Nothing intrusive. It makes them want to leave.”
“But we’re not affected.”
“No fae is.”
The globe lights dim, allowing the moon to reign, and I spot Holly across the field. She stands stock still watching everyone leaving, and then she looks right at me for a beat, and I can’t be sure because of the distance, but I imagine I see confusion etched onto her features, but the next moment, she turns away and joins the exiting entourage.
“Come.” Crush leads me toward the VIP arch. “We have a little time until the dance begins.”
The icy chamber that was the VIP room is now a dining room that looks like a room from a castle in a fantasy book. A hearth large enough to roast two pigs dominates one side of the chamber, and a heavy wooden table and chairs take up the center.
The three males sitting at it halt their conversation to take me in. They’re all huge like Crush, but their skin has a greenish tinge to it.
These must be his ogre blood friends. I attempt a smile, but the nerves get the better of me, and it wilts.
Crush gives my hand a slight squeeze. “They don’t bite.”
“Not unless you want us to,” the male with topaz eyes says, glancing up from his hand of cards.
“You’re a tiny thing, aren’t you?” another one says. He has warm brown eyes. Kind eyes, and his dark hair is a mess of waves that falls across his forehead artfully, giving him a softer, roguish air.
The final of the trio doesn’t speak at all. He merely stares at me with piercing silvery eyes. He has a hawkish look to him. Hard and almost mean.
I step closer to Crush instinctively.
“Stop it, Roarke,” Crush says.
Roarke smirks, cruel and thin before dropping his attention to his hand of cards.
“Don’t mind him,” Brown Eyes says. “He was born with a resting bastard face.”
Topaz Eyes guffaws. “So true, so true.”
Roarke glares at him and places a card on the table.
Topaz groans. “Fuck you, Roarke.”
Roarke drains his glass and tips his head to one side, indicating the deck on the table then cutting a glance toward me.
