King Tomb (Forever Evermore, #3)(9)

Sighing, I glanced around the room again, which was empty of any Mysticals, and decided I might as well have a seat and wait it out, and hope the owner didn’t return from the festivities any time soon. The room’s walls had a Mage’s sparkling privacy spell on them, so even though I could still hear the riotous partying and mesmerizing music, no one would be able to hear me in here. Because sadly, I had pretty much imprisoned myself in the damn place.

Sitting on the couch, I stretched my legs out on the coffee table’s edge and perused the drugs in the middle compartment of the table. Green pills. White pills. Black pills. Rolling papers. More blunts. A brick of marijuana. I wasn’t sure what the long strips of thin paper were, but I could see there were other little bags filled with drugs that I had never seen before. In other words, it was a druggie’s treasure chest. Not really thinking much of it, since Mysticals couldn’t become addicted to drugs physically, I rested further on the couch and eyed the blunt. I had never smoked weed before, but it had been tempting in my moments of insanity.

That was when I heard a rustling to the left. Startled, I snapped my attention to the back of the tent, my eyes instantly glowing blue. Ah, shit. I hadn’t even thought to check the damn bathroom.

I was now staring at an enormous, six-and-a-half-foot Mystical male with spiked purple hair and glowing green eyes.

He stared back.

A couple of ticks went by, then he raised an arched black eyebrow in question.

Clearing my throat, and quickly thinking on my feet since he was masking as completely as me — and by his size, he was most definitely a Shifter — I stated, “It’s too crowded and loud out there. I enjoy the silence.” Truth. “I was only resting for a moment.” Slowly, I scrutinized his face, coldly studied it, for his reaction. He had skin like chocolate milk, mocha, his vivid purple hair was about three inches long, and his features were perfectly sharp, with arched black eyebrows, high cheekbones, a straight nose, wide red lips, and an angular jaw. God had given this man the best of everything. He was easily the most beautiful Mystical I had ever seen, and I didn’t even include the way his black thermal shirt molded to his rock solid, kickass pecs and biceps, his waist tapering perfectly to the pair of black army cargos he was wearing, which were tight against his muscled thighs. “May I stay for a bit, if I promise to be quiet?”

His head tilted as he crossed his arms, assessing me, as I was him. “Lower your hood.”

It was an order, but I didn’t mind; I had broken into his room.

After I lowered it, again his eyes evaluated me. “I would think you a Com if your eyes weren’t glowing.” His own glowing gaze met mine. “You’re masking.”

I nodded once. “As are you.”

“Practice.”

Again, I nodded, unable to say I was doing it for practice because it wouldn’t ring true since I was past the practice stage, the action easy now for me. “Do you mind if I stay awhile?”

He turned his attention to the tent flap at the entrance to his bedroom. “I don’t normally allow people back here.” He started moving forward, and I decided he was some kind of cat Shifter by the way he stalked so fluidly, and probably a high-powered alpha by the way he carried himself. “But, what the hell? If you promise to be quiet you can stay for a while.”

I nodded, eyes cold, stopping their glow. “Thank you.”

He grunted, fluidly sitting on the other end of the couch, his own eyes ceasing to glow as he glanced at me. They captured mine. Although their color was gorgeous, like spring grass, vivid against his complexion, they were empty. Ruthless. He wasn’t a man to be messed with. And he was letting me know by his silent stare.

Which was fine for me since I wasn’t a woman to be messed with, my own gaze just as empty.

I saw he had gloves like I wore as I watched him pick up the still burning blunt and a few sheets of paper I hadn’t even noticed past all the drugs. The gloves were black leather, to grip a weapon better, but cut at mid-finger to be able to fire a gun easily, pretty much like all the fighters at my old camp wore. Kicking his feet up on the other end of the coffee table, he rested back like I was and took a drag off the blunt while reviewing the papers, which were slightly wrinkled. Decided he was going to leave me in peace, I lay my head back and stared at the sparkling ceiling, not feeling much of anything. I fingered my thumb ring under my black glove, and again, I closed my eyes, trying to remember in semi-solitude.

As happened every f*cking time, nothing came.

I tried again…and nothing.

Except for chilling anger that vibrated through my veins, threatening to drive me crazy.

Sighing softly, I blinked my eyes open, unsure how long they had been closed for. And blinked again, seeing the blunt in front of my face. He wasn’t watching me, or saying anything, but his arm was extended across the space between us, offering to share while he read his papers. I stared at it, wondering if it would help, temptation gnawing. From the sounds outside, the party was still in full swing, so it appeared I was going to be here for some time unless I wanted to risk going out there and be caught trespassing.

Head tilted, I slowly lifted my hand and took the blunt just as mutely as he had offered it. He took his hand back, flipping his sheets. I rolled it between my fingers, my nostrils already filled with its cloying aroma, the room so filled with hovering smoke it was all I could smell.

Well, hell. At this point, I was willing to try anything, and I had time to kill. I took a drag, inhaling heavily and holding it in as I had seen so many others do.