Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(98)

Oona wrapped an arm around Sorcha’s shoulders and gave her a shake. “Well done! It’s almost as if you were born a druid priestess!”

“A what?” Sorcha opened her eyes in shock. “What did you call me?”

“Oh, dearie, you have druid in you! I knew there was something strange about you! Only a priestess would know that ritual. And someday I’ll ask who taught it to you, but for now, drink!”

Another goblet of wine pressed into her hand. Holding two, she watched Oona dance a merry jig towards Cian who watched with a sour expression. When the pixie reached him, he sighed and held up his arms. They spun in wild circles around other Fae until everyone in the hall was dancing.

Sorcha stood with her hands full, watching the merriment with shock. A bubble of laughter escaped her lips, effervescing until she couldn’t contain it any longer.

A crystal hand plucked one of the goblets from her grasp. “Well met, priestess.”

“I am no priestess,” she shook her head. “My mother may have been, I’m realizing now. It was from her book that I gathered that knowledge.”

“That kind of precision comes from years of practice.”

“I can honestly say that I have never performed a Samhain ritual quite like that. Do you think it’s because we’re closer to the Otherworld?” She gulped a mouthful of wine as if that might help clear her head.

“No. I think it’s because druids pass knowledge through maternal lines. And because you were born a priestess.”

“My mother said I was a changeling.”

“Your mother was wrong. We’ve already confirmed you’re not Fae. Perhaps there are a few things we might consider.”

“We?” Sorcha glanced up.

His ocean eyes stared down at her, curiosity and kindness reflected in their depths. “If you are so inclined to find out who you are, I offer my services.”

“What help can you provide?”

“There is a library.”

“Here?”

“Yes.”

Sorcha placed her hands on her hips. “When were you going to tell me?”

“When you asked.”

“And if I never asked?”

Stone’s lips quirked to the side. “Then you would never know.”

“You are a cruel man,” she said as she handed her goblet to a passing faerie. “Do you dance?”

“I did.”

“That sounds as if you no longer dance.”

“It is no longer graceful,” he patted his hip. “The crystals prevent much movement. Fighting is one thing, grace is innate when you’re fighting for your life. Dancing does not come naturally.”

“Good,” she said. Sorcha lifted her skirts high enough to show her feet and pointed. “I have two left feet. I cannot dance well at all, and it’s very likely that you will be thankful for the crystals because otherwise I might crush your toes.”

“I don’t have crystals on my toes.”

“Then you will when I’m done with you.” She winked. “Perhaps you would care to look at your dance card for a free space where I might write my name?”

He arched a brow. “Can you even pen your name?”

“Not all humans are illiterate.” She shook her head. “You know I can read, Stone.”

The growl that rumbled from his throat sent shivers down her spine.

Sorcha gasped as broad hands slid around her waist and pulled her against his chest. She splayed her fingers against his heat. His legs framed hers, inner thighs pressed against her hips. Her stomach was flush against his — crystals biting through the thin fabric.

“This is hardly proper,” she whispered.

“Humans do not dance as the Fae do.”

“This is how you dance?”

“Well, not particularly.”

She glanced up and caught the sparkling laughter that danced in his eyes. He cocked his head to the side, lifted a hand, and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingertips were feather-light against her skin. He traced a circle against her neck, trailed down the slope of her shoulder and arm, lifted her hand until it rested against his bicep.

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even think as he followed the same path on the other side of her body and curled his fingers around her hand. His other palm flexed against her spine.

“This is the proper way to dance with a woman,” he said.

“Is it?” Sorcha heard the breathless quality to her voice, the sultry notes that dripped from her tongue.

Heat flashed in his gaze, a blush spreading across his cheeks. “Perhaps you have never danced with a man.”

“Boys, yes. A man?” Sorcha’s eyes followed the ragged edge of crystals, the barbaric braid swaying from the peak of his head to his waist, the linen tunic belted by sheep skin. “Never a man such as you.”

He pressed gently against her spine, and they spun into the crowd. Faeries waltzed around them as a band struck up a tune.

Sorcha would remember none of the fluttering colors and magic sparking in the air. How could she? He stared at her as if she were the world. As if she plucked the stars from the sky and wove them into the strands of her hair.

Stone used his body like a weapon. He spun her in circles until she didn’t know which way was up and which way was down. He only stopped when she stumbled, falling into his arms.