Page 8 of Make Me
He chuckles almost knowingly. “Try Moonlit Venom. Fae-crafted, lightly spiced, and glows just enough to remind you that even pretty things can be dangerous. It’s been a guest favorite.”
Well, at least the old guy knows his stuff.
I make my way down the hallway behind him, passing ornate sconces glowing with cool blue light. The doors I pass are all shut tight, their knobs a polished bronze that gleams beneath the chandeliers. Unable to resist, I reach for one, but the moment my fingertips graze the handle, a jolt of energy zips through me like a warning shot, making my spine snap straight.
Note to self: touch as little as possible in this house.
The bar comes into view next, but it’s the open area beyond that catches my attention most. It’s not what I expect from Vaelora. Less fancy ballroom, more high end nightclub. The ceiling is lower here, the lights dimmer, and the music is a pulsing beat that thrums through the floor. Twinkle lights weave amongst the rafters like constellations, bathing everything in a dusky glow.
A wide dance area commands the center of the room, packed with bodies moving together, a mix of shifters, fae, vamps, and everything in between. Tables line the edges, draped in dark cloth and covered with half-finished drinks, crystal dishes of glowing fruit, and enchanted smoke that swirls from incense burners.
I make my way to the bar, a sleek white marble counter that curves in a half-moon shape beneath a ceiling of hanging glass bottles. A sexy vampire with platinum blond hair and a roguish grin greets me, his fang-tipped smile practically a wink.
“Hello, gorgeous,” he drawls, his red eyes gleaming as they sweep over me. He taps a finger against his sharp chin. “You want a Moonlit Venom but make it a double.”
My mouth parts slightly. “How’d you know?”
He winks. “It’s my job to know.”
Of course it is.
While he starts mixing, I lean against the bar and take in the crowd. Everyone seems relaxed here—laughing, drinking, dancing—but the energy is charged. Like they’re all just pretending this is a regular party while something deeper stirs beneath the surface.
And then—oh no.
Bruno.
Don’t get me wrong. He’s not a bad guy. Actually, he was kind, attentive, and good in bed. But I felt nothing. Emptiness disguised as affection. I slept with him because I needed something, anything really, that helped me feel alive. Then I ghosted him like a coward, slipping out after he fell asleep and ignoring every message he sent afterward.
Yep. I might be the literal worst.
His gaze locks on me from across the room, and I panic, grabbing someone walking past me to use as a living shield. Except the stranger stumbles over my foot and ends up bracing himself against the bar, his arms caging me in and his face far too close to mine.
“You,” he breathes.
His voice is low, full of gravel and something darker. His blue eyes, rimmed in silver, darken as they trace my face. Thick lashes frame them, and a lock of ebony hair falls over his brow. His jaw is sharp and his slightly crooked nose tells me that he’s no stranger to trouble. He wears a charcoal-grey dress shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, the fabric pulled taut across broad shoulders. His skin is sun-kissed and rugged, like someone who prefers the open sky to the indoors.
“One double Moonlit Venom for the lovely lady,” the bartender announces, sliding the glowing drink across the counter like he’s delivering fate itself.
I blink. The stranger doesn’t move.
I take a single step to the side, but something rumbles low in my chest—something I don’t recognize. Instinct coils beneath my skin, uneasy and electric.
Then I shove him because finding a hookup isn’t what tonight’s about.
“I didn’t mean to grab you,” I mutter. “I, uh, thought you were someone else.”
I expect him to move, but his gaze doesn’t waver. It’s intense and focused right on me, making my stomach flutter in ways I’m not sure it ever has. Still, I can’t tell if he’s pissed about my interruption, or if he’s just naturally this overwhelming.
When he doesn’t budge, I turn sharply, using my shoulder to force his arm out of my way and to give me some space so that I can grab the drink without turning my back to him. You know, just in case he’s the murdery type.
The glass tingles within my palm as soon as I grab it, flickering faintly in the dim light.
“Okay,” I say, my voice a little too high. “Well, I’m going to go now.”
Maybe the entertainment room will be more promising.
Or, at the very least, have fewer sexy problems.
