She raised her glass in covenant, wanting him to both notice her but not see her. The emotions swirled through her body—her heart was entwined with who he had become, and what he would make her should she be chosen. But her head still warred with the frailty of her affection—she knew he was bad news and nothing good would come of any relationship between the two of them.
Charisma. It oozed from him, the others consuming it as if it were a drug. The days of waiting, of wanting, of left waning in the wings had begun to take toll. She was tired yes, but still concealed a little fight in her soul. The others could not see it; had not seen it—for their eyes stayed glued to the chiseled chin and raven curls that framed his handsome face.
As the sweet red wine passed over her lips and tongue, her eyes were drawn to one of the others—a brazen whore who left nothing to the imagination. Her hands were on him, touching what wasn’t hers to touch. Anger, as red as the wine flashed across her vision, the hammering of blood in her ears was thunderous.
And then there was silence. His beautiful face held a consuming look. But not one of longing. Panic. Unadulterated horror. As his eyes swept past her face and down her outstretched arm, sound returned.
Screams reverberated off the twinkling crystal stemware. Sobbing was swallowed by the lush upholstery of the set. A strangled choking gurgle wafted from the lips of the whore who had tried to best her, her neck displaying her newest trinket—the round foot of a wine glass.
Copyright © 2017 Julianne Snow