Hotbloods (Hotbloods #1)(74)



“We would love to,” I replied, and Navan could barely contain his eye roll.

“Seriously?” he said, once we were out of earshot. “What have you signed us up for now? This isn’t a vacation; I don’t care how good the hot springs are. We’ve got a shifter tied up back at the ship.”

I slurped up a noodle, and then took a sip of the broth. “Can we find a place to sit? And I know. But you said yourself the shifter was probably going to be out for a long time. And didn’t you also say you didn’t want to be in there staring at it the whole night?”

He pressed his lips together. “Fair point. I don’t dance, though. So don’t get any ideas.”

“Why do I feel like you’re probably a really good dancer?”

“You must have me confused with Bashrik.”

There was an unoccupied bench outside of the tavern, so Navan and I sat down while I finished the bowl of noodles. We walked around for a little while, and then got swept up in the crowd and went a few blocks to where the festival was being held. It was outside, on the green at the center of town. As the sun set, it gave way to a clear, dark sky, a nearly full moon appearing on the horizon. Millions of stars pinpricked the sky. Strings of paper lanterns adorned the low-hanging tree branches, and there were several roaring fire pits. The band had set up near one of the pits—there were several fiddlers, a primitive drum set, an accordion. The music was lively and everyone was in high spirits. Even Navan seemed to relent, and I caught him smiling beneath his hood at the people dancing in front of him.

“This music is great!” I said.

“It’s all right.”

I elbowed him. “Come on—let’s dance. Just one song!”

Navan shook his head, but before he could reply, someone stepped in front of him. He was handsome, with dark eyes and a square cut jaw, probably no older than I was.

“Did I hear someone say ‘dance’?” he said. He extended his hand. “My name is Dolan.”

“I’m Riley,” I replied, shaking his hand.

He didn’t release me though. “And would you care to dance, Riley?”

Navan was standing behind Dolan; in fact, it had seemed as if Dolan hadn’t even registered that Navan was there.

“I do like to dance,” I said, enjoying the annoyed look on Navan’s face. “And this music is great . . .” The smile on Dolan’s face got wider. From behind him, Navan’s scowl deepened. “I’d love to dance,” I said, suppressing a smirk. “This might be my only opportunity to do so tonight.”

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” Dolan said jovially, and Navan made a face like he was about to throw up.

Dolan was a good dancer—the song was fast, upbeat, so he clasped my left hand and put his other hand on my waist. We did a sort of side-stepping skip through the other dancers, and every so often Dolan would twirl me around, or put both his hands on my waist and lift me up. The whole time, I was aware of Navan, standing there on the periphery, his eyes following my every move.

I was nearly out of breath when the song finally ended, and everyone clapped as the band started up again.

“I’m going to take a little break,” I said to Dolan.

“You’re an excellent dancer,” he said. “We must dance again.” His gaze moved past my shoulder. “That guy’s been staring the whole time,” he said. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“No,” I said. “Just a friend.”

“Is he . . . sick?”

I looked at Dolan. “Sick?”

“He looks . . . I don’t know, a little . . . off-color? And pissed. He definitely looks pissed. Is he anemic?”

Navan’s hood was doing a decent job of casting shadows over his face for the most part, but if you really looked, his skin did look odd compared to others.

“He’s definitely not anemic,” I replied.

Dolan continued to eye him warily. “He looks like he wants to kill me.”

“It’s possible,” I said. Dolan gave me a confused look and I laughed. “I’m just kidding. He’s just cranky. I’ll go talk to him.”

Someone handed me a cup of hot cocoa as I made my way back over to Navan, and I took a sip, savoring the rich sweetness.

“Have fun?” he asked, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Lover boy over there looks like he’s got two left feet.”

“Do I detect a note of . . . jealousy in your voice?”

He snorted. “Please.”

“I’d be more than happy to go back out there and dance with you, if you’d like. That offer still stands.”

He looked at me, an amused expression on his face. I set my hot cocoa down and grabbed Navan’s hand, pulling him out to the makeshift dance floor. He was strong enough that he could have easily resisted me, but he didn’t, so I took it as a sign that he wasn’t totally against the idea.

The band had started playing a slower song, though, and the couples dancing stopped cavorting and settled into each other’s arms, moving their feet slowly back and forth.

“Was this part of your plan?” Navan said.

For a moment, I thought he was going to walk away and leave me standing there, but then he moved his hands down and rested them lightly on my waist. I put my arms around his neck, and we swayed to the music.

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