Page 22 of Embers

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While almost every security guard on duty tries to calm the crazed unelemental out front, we join the queue. Absentmindedly, someone scans our tickets, but the spell scanner is obscured by Sarah and her display.

“Shall we wait?” I ask, tipping my head toward the scanner.

“No. Just go,” the guard says hurriedly, ushering us inside. “Less people out here the better.”

I hold my breath until we’re through the foyer and standing in the main hall.

“We did it,” Nova breathes. “We’re in.”

“We’re in.” I squeeze her waist, then she loops her arm through mine.

On stage, a band is playing gentle jazz music. People are dancing, sipping champagne from tall glasses, and nibbling on ridiculously tiny appetizers as they wait for the keynote speech to start.

“What do we do now?” Nova asks.

“Now?” I extend my hand and bow a little. “We dance.”

* * *

Workingour way through the crowd, I lead Nova to a spot near the stage.

“I don’t know how to…” She trails off, looking nervously at the couples around us who are dancing waltz-style in one another’s arms.

Taking her right hand with my left, I put my other hand on her waist and pull her closer. Instinctively, she rests her left hand on my upper arm. “That’s it,” I tell her. “Don’t worry about your feet, just move to the music.”

Instead of looking up at me, as if she doesn’t want to stare into the eyes of someone who doesn’t look like the real me, Nova rests her head on my chest. I sigh as her heart beats against mine. She is warm, and soft, and smooth in my arms. Moving slowly, so I can keep one eye on the large clock above the stage, I breathe in her scent. In another time and place, this would be like heaven.

“You look beautiful,” I tell her. “You’re always beautiful but tonight—in that dress—you are…” I trail off. Nova has nudged her hips forward, and the contact has taken my breath away. “Nova,” I growl, glancing at the clock, “it’s nearly time.”

I’ve barely finished speaking when the band stops playing. The crowd quiets. The lights change to brighten around the room. A voiceover says, “Distinguished guests, we won’t keep you long, we know you want to return to the music and the drinks…” A ripple of laughter moves through the crowd. “But first, it is our great pleasure to introduce to the stage The Supernatural Defense Bureau’s Associate Deputy Director, Annalise Kellerman!”

13

NOVA

Applause breaks out as Mack inches me closer to the stage. He doesn’tlooklike Mack, but he feels like Mack, and he smells like Mack. And the feel of him in his tux, dancing with me, was so intoxicating I almost forgot why we’re here.

There’s a click of heels, a swish of a curtain, and then Annalise Kellerman appears from backstage. Watching her sashay toward the microphone, my stomach drops. She’s stunning—dark brown hair, bright red lips, ice-blue eyes. She’s wearing a black dress that clings to her near-perfect figure. When she reaches the front of the stage, she stops and waits for the applause to die down.

Mack takes my hand in his and squeezes it.

Annalise starts talking, commanding the room with ease and confidence. She thanks the audience, the donors, and names several outreach programs and community projects. When it seems she’s drawing near the end of her speech, Mack lets go of me.

I glance at him. A shudder runs through his body. Then he’s Mack again. His features, his eyes, his hair, his beard. He stares at the stage. My heartbeat quickens. What if she doesn’t see him? What if someone else sees him and recognizes him?

A tense moment passes then, as if something in the air has shifted and she’s trying to figure out what it is, Annalise’s gaze sweeps across the crowd.

When her eyes reach Mack, she stumbles over her words. She blinks several times before correcting herself and looking away from him.

As she finishes her speech, her eyes dart constantly to Mack’s face. The crowd is applauding her, and she’s about to walk off stage, when she catches his eyes and gives the smallest nod of her head.

Instantly, Mack replaces his mask and grabs my hand. He pulls me across the dancefloor, weaving through the audience, following Annalise. We reach the steps at the side of the stage at the exact moment she does. She glides down them, shaking hands with others who are waiting to introduce themselves to her. Mack waits in line, positioning me just behind him. When Annalise reaches him, she shakes his hand like she shook everyone else’s. But then she leans in. Her lips move close to his ear. As she straightens herself, Mack nods. Then she’s gone, disappearing through a door at the back of the room.

“What did she say?” I ask as Mack leads me toward the drinks table.

Grabbing us each a glass of champagne, he stands still and scans the room. “Third floor, ten minutes.”

“What’s on the third floor?” I ask.


Tags: Cara Clare Fantasy