Waking the Queen by Saranna DeWylde Page B

around them, grooves worn into the landscape of his flesh—his experiences a steady stream of rainwater marking a path through granite. In the pools of his irises though, sometimes I thought there was something ancient and haggard looking back at me. Or perhaps I wanted to see villainy like my own in places others would look for comfort? Though I am comforted by him, by his steady presence, the scent of him.
     The orchestra began the first delicate strains of one of Wagner’s quieter pieces and I moved into his arms. His palm was warm on my bare back as we glided out onto the parquet floor.
     I realized I should have worn my hair down because the ghost of his breath over my bare throat caused me to shiver and elicited a sensation I’d never associated with him before.
     “It’s your birthday in four hours, Hill.”
     As if I needed reminding. In four hours, I could read the last letter my father left for me and begin my ascension.
      “Did you get me a present?” I hated how breathless I sounded. I am very fit; I run miles every day, a turn around the dance floor shouldn’t make my heart pound against my ribs—a frightened bird in a bony cage. Yet, it did. It made me sound insipid and perhaps even flirtatious.
     He pulled back, his hard gaze assessing me as if I was some new creature he’d never seen before. “And here I thought you were going to hand me my ass on a platter for getting you a gift.”
     I leaned closer to him. “It’s good that you know I can hand you your ass on a platter, Grimes. Just because I’m wearing a dress doesn’t mean you should forget it.”
      “Wouldn’t dream of it, Hill.” This time his breath tickled my ear and I turned my head away to see Tommy Anderson watching us dance with a scowl on his face and he took my glance as an invitation to come over.
     “Dance with me, Brynn?”
     “She’s already dancing with me,” Grimes answered for me in a proprietary tone.
     I didn’t like that Grimes answered for me. I didn’t like that Anderson called me Brynn. He called everyone else by their last name. It’s like he thought I was some little girl to be coddled. Or that we shared some level of intimacy. He grabbed my ass once when I first joined the squad and I put him on his ass and had a boot on his throat before he knew what hit him. We’d settled into a sort of wary truce, but he obviously still felt he had to conquer me. It fucked with his worldview that he couldn’t. He set off alarms in my head and I knew one of these days, he’d be one of the hunted. He’d go too far and he’d like it. So he’d do it again and again and again. Until I stopped him.
     “Maybe the next one, Anderson.”
     Grimes maneuvered us away from him. “What about your present?”
     “You’re not going to give it to me if I dance with Anderson?”
     “Maybe not. Maybe I have to give it to you now or it will spoil.”
     “Maybe you’re just trying to whip your dick out and show Anderson yours is bigger?”
     A laughed echoed from low in his chest. “It is, but that’s beside the point. I’m an alpha male. I can’t help it.” I knew he’d be smirking, one corner of his mouth turned up in that way that most women find devastating. His last girlfriend said it was just like tequila, it made her clothes fall off. Instead, I was content to leave my cheek on his shoulder.
     “That would imply I’m your territory, Grimes. And I’ve already told you I’m like a female alligator. If I can take you down, I’m not interested. The male has to be stronger to prove his DNA is worthy,” I teased. Even if he were serious, we weren’t even the same species.
     But the idea we could be filled my imagination with a terrible joy and it occurred to me again how similar killing is to dancing, what it would be like—our bodies working together in that synchronicity, a ballet in blood. My mouth went dry.
     “What would you do if I did take you down, Hill?”
     “Die of shock.”