Deadly Sting

4

I leaned forward, until my nose was almost pressed against the glass, and studied every single millimeter of the runes. The pendants weren’t polished to a high gloss like everything else on view was. Rather, the chains they hung on were blackened, and what looked like streaks of soot and bits of ash clung to the surface of the silverstone runes, as though they’d once been in a fire and had never been properly cleaned.

They’d been in fire, all right—Mab’s murderous elemental blaze.

Mab . . . Mab must have taken my mother and my sister’s rune necklaces after she’d killed them that horrible night. I’d thought that the pendants had been buried in the rubble after I’d used my Ice and Stone magic to collapse the mansion on top of us all; or perhaps they had been pilfered by looters later on. But somehow Mab had gotten her grubby, greedy hands on them. She’d had the runes all these years, and now here they were, on display for everyone in Ashland to see, like a—like a damn trophy celebrating my family’s murder.

I’d thought by killing Mab that I was finally free of her, that I was finally done with her, and that she couldn’t shock, surprise, or hurt me anymore. I’d even gone to her funeral and said my piece to her ebony casket. But once again, the Fire elemental had managed to reach out from beyond the grave and mess with me.

Shock, anger, rage, hate. Those emotions surged through my body, matching the sudden, rapid, painful thump of my heart. For a moment, I considered using my magic to harden my fist so I could punch right through the thick glass. It would feel good, so fucking good, to smash the glass and grab the runes. Because they were mine—mine and Bria’s—and I’d be damned if Mab or the museum was keeping them.

But I forced myself to slow my ragged breathing and calm my racing heart. No, I couldn’t do that. There were too many security cameras in here for me to get away with such a crude smash-and-grab job. The guards would swarm me en masse, and I’d end up like the dwarf at the Posh boutique—bloody, beaten, handcuffed, and escorted off the premises by the esteemed members of the po-po.

No, this would require a different approach—a nice, quiet, after-hours visit to the museum. I wasn’t leaving these last few precious pieces of my family behind.

I turned around to find Finn and tell him about the runes—and came face-to-face with Owen Grayson.

* * *

My breath caught in my throat.

Perhaps absence really did make the heart grow fonder, because I couldn’t stop staring at my former lover. Black hair, intense violet eyes, a slightly crooked nose, a faint scar on his chin. I drank in the sight of his rugged features before my eyes traced over his broad shoulders and then down his muscled chest. The tuxedo he wore only made him look even more handsome and perfectly outlined the raw strength of his body.

Owen’s eyes widened, and he almost lost his grip on his champagne flute before he clenched his fingers around it once more. He seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see him.

“Hi,” he finally said in a soft, cautious voice.

“Hi yourself.”

We stood there staring at each other for what seemed like forever, although I was ticking off the seconds in my head the way I always did. Ten . . . twenty . . . thirty . . .

Finally, at the forty-five-second mark, Owen cleared his throat. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

“Finn dragged me along. He said he wanted to come see all of Mab’s treasures, but really, I think he just wanted to socialize with his clients. He’s here somewhere, schmoozing the night away.”

Owen smiled a little at that, and we fell silent again. The other guests swirled around us like dancers, talking, laughing, and drinking champagne, but the trill of their voices and the clink-clink- clink of glasses seemed distant and far away. All I was aware of was Owen. The way the soft white lights brought out the sheen of blue in his dark hair. The faint laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. The warmth of his body reaching out toward my own. Even his rich scent, the one that always made me think of metal. I noticed all that and more—so much more.

We hadn’t spoken since that day at the Pork Pit when we’d agreed to take a break, and there were so many things I wanted to say to him, so many things I wanted to tell him. It wasn’t only our romance we’d put on hold, but our friendship too. I loved Owen, but I also loved just talking to him—telling him about my day, hearing about his, sharing a laugh or a joke or a funny story one of us had heard. I’d lost not only my lover but also one of my best friends and confidants. I missed him, terribly.

“So . . . how have you been?” he asked. “Because you look—you look amazing.”

His gaze trailed down my scarlet dress, and a bit of heat flashed in his eyes. I was suddenly very glad that Finn had dragged me out shopping and made me come here tonight.

“Thank you,” I said. “You look good too. Better than good, actually. It’s nice just to . . . see you.”

Another smile flickered across his face, this one a little brighter. “Well, it’s good to be seen, especially by you.”

We fell silent once more, still staring at each other, both of us wondering what to say, wondering how to break through the polite chitchat and talk about the things that really mattered, the problems we had, and where we went from here—

“Owen!” a voice called out. “There you are!”

A woman emerged from the crowd and strode over to us. She shot Owen a dazzling smile, then smoothly threaded her arm through his like it was something she’d done a dozen times before. My heart clenched at the sight, but I forced myself to stay calm and study her. She wasn’t as beautiful as some of the other women here tonight, but she knew how to play up her features. Smoke-black shadow rimmed her eyes, making them seem darker and larger than they really were, while the soft waves of her dark brown hair just tickled her shoulders, drawing attention to her toned arms and back.

“I thought I’d lost you. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” She smiled up at him again, then turned toward me. “Who are you talking to? You’ll have to introduce me—”

Her words died on her red lips, and she did a double take, her eyes widening with surprise. It took me a second to realize that she wasn’t reacting to how close I was standing to Owen or the tension simmering between us. Oh, no. There was a far more serious reason for her horrified expression.

I had on the exact same dress she did.

Fitted top, cinched waist, flowing skirt. Her scarlet gown was identical to mine, right down to the teardrop- shaped crystals that sparked and flashed beneath the white lights. My gaze dropped to her feet, which were peeking out from beneath the edge of her skirt. She even had on the same color shoes as I did, although she’d gone all out and opted for the four-inch stilettos.

“Owen?” the woman asked.

“Sorry,” he said, finally glancing away from me. “I got . . . distracted and lost sight of you. I’ve been looking for you too.”

Oh. So that’s why he’d been behind me. Some small part of me had thought—no, hoped—that Owen had seen me from across the room and had come over to me on his own. But he’d really been searching for another woman the whole time, and the dress had only fooled him. Well, that and the fact that the mystery woman and I were roughly the same height. I supposed we even looked a little alike from the back, since we both were wearing our dark hair down loose around our shoulders. A simple mistake, but it still made bitterness burn in my throat all the same.

She kept staring at me, and I at her, both of us sizing each other up the way women so often do.

Owen cleared his throat and made the introductions. “Gin, this is Jillian Delancey, a business associate of mine from Atlanta. Jillian, this is Gin Blanco—”

“An old friend,” I interrupted him, and held out my hand to her.