There is no Erlking anymore but as the music sweeps me up, I can’t help feeling my heart beating in my chest like a drum.
The fae part as I slip through them. I want to look everywhere at once. I don’t recognize a single soul, and while I’m sure one of my mother’s guards is following me, I haven’t managed to mark him.
“A drink, my love?” A fae dressed as a leprechaun shoves a golden goblet into my hand and elderberry wine splashes over my wrist.
“Oh, leave her be,” says his woman, slinging an arm around his neck as she looks me up and down. “Unless you want to join us?”
There’s no doubt what she’s suggesting. The forests are woven with lanterns and there are numerous little bowers out there in the woods, decorated with berries and sheaves of wheat—for fertility. I wave them away, thanking him for the drink.
It’s at that moment that I sense someone watching me.
It’s a prickling sensation down my spine. A languid caress.
Sipping at the wine I search the clearing, but there’s only laughter and dancing. A fae lordling draws a woman into his lap as another kisses her shoulder. A garishly painted woman swallows an entire flaming sword. Dozens of gorgeous fae maids are swung into the air as the fiddle kicks in.
The wine glides down my throat, but it doesn’t mask the sensation I’m being watched.
But who?
Night-blooming flowers suddenly burst to life in the sky.
Someone’s hired an enchanter to paint the night bright, and the crack and pop of sound makes me shiver.
A golden head appears between two dancers, a male wearing a lion’s mask. I’d recognize those broad shoulders anywhere.
Etan.
And he’s looking for someone.
Me, if I was to place any coin on it. He’s already claimed my dances. And Mother insisted I allow it.
Gods, it wasn’t someone’s eyes upon me that I was sensing, but danger in itself. If he sees me then I’ll be forced to dance with him, and right now, I’m still furious enough at my mother’s demands that I don’t know if I can bite down on my words.
I turn, desperate to escape, and it feels as though the crowd in front of me parts at my whim.
They’re not parting for me.
Too late, I realize there’s a tide of darkness swimming toward me. A wolf prowling through the dancers, forcing them to yield to him. He’s shockingly tall, clad in leather and black velvet. His short hair is the color of sable, his skin a healthy olive. Unlike the rest of the fae, there’s not a single glittering ring or bead upon him. Just cold, merciless black.
But there’s nothing cold about the look on his face. Nothing merciless about his expression. Only… intensity. Our gazes lock and it feels like time stands still.
The world vanishes.
The music fades.
It’s like we stepped sideways into another world where only the two of us exist. And maybe it’s true. Maybe the Veil thinned in this precise moment.
Is he an ancient god brought to life?
Did I conjure the Erlking with my thoughts?
No. No. If anything, this male is far too mortal to be the Erlking. There’s a vitality to the Erlking, all the stories say. But this male is… a little too coldly lethal. The music flows over him as if he doesn’t hear it. He radiates strength and determination, his focus locked entirely upon me. Or maybe that’s the mask that decorates his upper face.
A hawk.
A hawk that’s caught its prey.
My heart flutters in my chest. I can’t breathe.
I don’t even know why.
“Dance with me,” he says, offering his arm and finally smiling. If the Erlking does exist, then he sounds exactly like this: firm and commanding, the slightest hint of wickedness rolling through his words.
He’s much bigger than he seemed across the clearing. Broad shoulders. Hard muscle. All of it hidden beneath the refined cut of his doublet. Despite the lack of jewelry, I recognize good tailoring when I see it and this is exquisite. Every inch of his clothing caresses his body like a second skin. He oozes sophisticated elegance, but there’s a hint of danger smoldering just beneath the surface.
“Do I have a choice?” I can’t help being on the offensive; he’s just a little too overwhelming.
“You always have a choice.” Taking my hand he lifts it to his lips. “Me? Not so. Fate took me by the heart five centuries ago and tattooed you there on my soul.”
A nervous shiver runs through me as his lips brush against my knuckles.
I can feel his breath.
Feel the heat of him.
“Very practiced line,” I point out.
He laughs a little, almost at himself. “If only you knew the truth.”
“Iskvien?” The sound echoes across the clearing.
Etan’s finally found me and though dozens of dancers separate us, he’s visibly seething as he sees my hand clasped in this stranger’s grip.
Alarm kicks through me.
I have to go.
“Forgive me—"
My stranger catches a fistful of my skirt and I can almost see the unspoken command in his eyes.
Stay.
The word tremors through me, even as our eyes meet.
“Dance with me,” he repeats.
This is a terrible idea. Etan is pushing through the crowd toward us—I can’t even tear my eyes from the stranger’s face to see where my nemesis is, but I saw Etan start this way.
I don’t even know his name. His court. Who he belongs to.
There’s no answer in the unrelenting black of his clothing. Black and silver are the colors of Evernight, of course, but no lord of Evernight would ever approach me. And there are enough black-clad strangers here that the color alone doesn’t make him stand out.
“I shouldn’t….”
Finally, a smile blooms on that dangerous mouth. “No. You shouldn’t. I shouldn’t. But the second I saw you I had to know you. What’s your name?”
“As if I’m going to hand some handsome stranger my name.”
His lips curl upwards. “You think me handsome?”
“You know you’re handsome.” I push at him, snatching a glance behind me.
It’s like trying to shift a mountain.
“Who is
