Page 4 of The Demon's Due
She blinked, then forced a laugh, trying to slide her wrist free. “God, Morgan,why would I? You think I’d waste my time-”
His grip tightened, his gaze dark. “You’re a shape-shifter. All you need is a touch. You could take my face. Did you touch my phone?”
Her throat worked as she swallowed. “You’re scaring me,” she whispered, a tremor slipping past her mask. He could feel Alia and her group make their way towards him but he didn't back down.
“Good.” He leaned closer, gold glinting in his eyes. “If you did this-if you hurt her-then you should be scared.”
For a moment, neither moved. Debbie’s usual sultry confidence cracked under his stare. And still, underneath the fury, the thought tore through him . Proof, he needed proof before he let his anger off the leash. If he had his wolf, he would have sniffed out the lies.
Morgan pushed Debbie off him and tipped the cup back, letting the spiced rum scorch its way down to his stomach.His tuxedo jacket was ripped at the seams, one sleeve hanging loose and crusted with theatrical blood. The once-crisp white shirt beneath was torn open at the collar, stained red and grey with ash and dirt smears. A tattered sash of midnight blue, meant for a fairytale prince, slanted across his chest but was shredded in places, dangling threads brushing his hip. She hated him now but he had to convince her that he didn't do it. He was waiting for her, praying she would show. His eyes scanned every mask in the hall until-
There.
Powder-blue silk, ash-dusted at the hem. A Cinderella costume that mocked and dazzled all at once. His throat dried instantly. Her breasts pressed against the bodice in a way that made his cock press urgently against his zipper.Her pale skin glowed under the torches. He could count the scatter of freckles over her upturned nose- could see them even across the room. And that hair… God. That hair was fire. Being around Síofra was embarrassing. Even without her in his sights, his body was in a constant state of arousal. He wanted to hide her away like a dragon with his treasure.
She was standing there at the entrance and he could feel her eyes on him. For a moment, Morgan let himself believe he could fix it. He could make her understand, explain, beg if he had to. But then Debbie’s nails skimmed down his bicep, her high-pitched giggle cutting into his thoughts.
Síofra’s eyes burned into his.
Wide and Hurt. Shining like fragile glass about to crack. And then she turned away. It felt like a slap on his face. Something moved in his chest. Like pain.Like sorrow.
His gaze followed, locking onto Rand with his hand on Síofra’s shoulder. A red mist covered his vision. How dare he? That boy wasn’t safe, wasn’t worthy. He was all over her like a rash. He had tolerated him because he was her friend. But it was clear he wanted more.But Síofra was his.
Morgan’s jaw clenched, and he shoved past a cluster of masked dancers. At six feet six, he carved through the crowd like a prow cutting through waves. Every step was a demand- she was his to hold, his to claim back. He would clear the mess he had made and he would beg her for forgiveness. She had to.
Rand leaned closer, whispering something to her, handing her another drink. She actually smiled at him.
Morgan’s vision tunneled. His wolf might be caged, but rage was still in his blood. Síofra should be careful. Shouldn’t she know what it meant when another man looked at her like that?
Her moss green eyes widened as he bore down on them. For a second, everything else disappeared-the crowd, the music, Alia’s plotting, Debbie’s craziness. Just him, her, and the strange connection that refused to die, no matter how ruined it was.
And then she fled.
Síofra darted into the velvet-draped corridor, Rand hot on her heels.
With no definite plan in mind, Morgan followed.
Chapter 4
The circle was tight, hands clasped around the board. As soon as Síofra sat down, Morgan scrambled to take the last remaining space facing her. His eyes never left Síofra, though she tried to look anywhere else-at the carved symbols etched into the wood, the guttering fire, even the restless twitching elf boy.
Anywhere but him while everything inside him said-LOOK AT ME.
The chanting built in layers, low at first, then pulsing like a heartbeat. It had an odd hypnotic quality to it.
A sting ripped across her finger. Síofra flinched and pulled away, blood rising, splashing dark across the board.
“Oops,” murmured the raven-haired girl beside her. Her pale eyes glinted, her smile did not have an apology behind it. She looked down to see the girl turn her ring.
Síofra wanted to raise her injured thumb to her mouth but the girl wouldn't let go. Morgan pushed up, but the shriek of many voices stopped him.
“Don’t break the circle!”
Reluctantly, he sat again, though it was taking everything in him not to rush to her side. Witch magic made him nervous, elf magic made his hair stand up. His eyes clung to her as she pulled her hand along with the girls to suck her wound, her plump lower lip streaked scarlet. A groan escaped him before he could swallow it, and the pale-eyed girl’s knowing glance slid over him.
Then there was a sudden cold gust of air in the closed room. It swept through the fireplace and the fire immediately died. The candles snuffed and an eerie darkness pressed in.
There was a heavy presence hovering just above them.
