She didn’t press further, which I was grateful for. Instead, she reached for her drink, took a long sip, and gave me a look that was all warmth. “Well, you’re here now. And whatever your magic is or isn’t—Rune’s got you in his house, and that makes you one of us.”
I nearly choked on my hurricane. “One ofyou? I’ve only been here a week. Half your coven probably thinks I’m a spy or some mail-order bride.”
Adelle grinned. “Both would actually make for excellent gossip.”
I rolled my eyes, but I smiled too. It was strange—this connection I was starting to feel with her. If I wasn’t careful, I would start to believe that I actually belonged here.
“Thanks,” I said after a moment, my voice quieter than before.
She nudged my arm with hers. “You don’t have to thank me. But you do have to dance before the night’s over.”
My eyes went wide. “Dance?”
“Oh yeah. That’s non-negotiable,” she said with a devilish grin, just as the beat of the music picked up and the lights over the bar dipped low.
A person pressed in a little too close, and I tried to shrug out of the way. Adelle shot me a look ofyou go girland I frowned—confused. Until the person spoke loudly over the music.
“I see you already have a drink, but do you mind if I have a dance?”
He was tall, maybe a little over six feet, with a smile that could charm the socks off a statue. His skin was deep bronze, and his eyes crinkled just slightly at the corners, making him seem more sincere than most of the guys who had tried to corner us earlier. His hair was cropped close to his scalp on the sides with long curling tendrils on the top of his head, and he worea shirt unbuttoned just enough to show a glimpse of a necklace that shimmered with something... magical.
“I, uh—” I glanced at Adelle, whose eyebrows were nearly touching her hairline with delight.
“Go,” she mouthed, practically vibrating with excitement.
I turned back to the guy, heart thudding in my chest. “I might step on your toes.”
“I’m willing to take the risk,” his grin stretched wider, and my stomach did a little flip-flop.
I slid off the barstool I smoothed my skirt while trying not to overthink every movement. He held out his hand, and I took it, letting him lead me into the swell of bodies on the dance floor. The music pulsed in my chest, deep and hypnotic, and the lights shimmered in waves of violet and gold.
He kept a respectful distance at first, moving in rhythm with a kind of effortless ease that made me feel like I was doing better than I probably was. I relaxed just a little, swaying to the beat, a soft laugh escaping when he spun me and caught me again.
“Didn’t catch your name,” he said, leaning close enough for me to hear without shouting.
“Maple,” I replied, watching his reaction carefully.
His smile didn’t falter. “Maple.Sweet. I’m Elias.”
“Is this your usual spot?” he asked, not missing a beat as we danced.
“First time,” I said honestly, and then, realizing how that sounded, added quickly, “I just moved here.”
He tilted his head slightly, intrigued. “Welcome to New Orleans, then.”
“Thanks,” I said, suddenly aware of how warm the room felt, how close his hand was to the small of my back—and how my head was starting to feel a little buzzed. I’d never been allowed alcohol back home, and whatever was in that hurricane? It was sweet, sneaky, and hitting hard.
My heel caught on the edge of something—probably my other foot—and I stumbled slightly. Elias caught me with ease, his arms steady and sure, like he’d done this a dozen times before.
But instead of stepping back, he held me there.
His hands slipped down my sides, settling at my hips.
We weren’t dancing anymore.
The music thudded on, the lights pulsed, but my world narrowed to the weight of his touch and the sudden pounding of my heart. His face lowered down to mine, and I rose up on my toes to meet him halfway. I giggled as his lips brushed mine, fully feeling the hurricane now.
His lips pressed fully against mine, and a strong current of butterflies erupted in my stomach. It had been so long since I’d been kissed and wanted. This was nice. It made me feel like maybe New Orleans wasn’t such a bad thing for me, after all. His hands wandered lower, and I wondered, hazily, if it was a good thing to give in and allow him to touch me—possibly take me home.
