“No, I didn’t know that. Fair enough,” she muttered, shouldered what looked like a backpack stuffed with books, and turned away.
A pang in my gut sent the whistle from my lips before I could stop it.
She flinched and then turned slowly toward me. “What?”
“Come on in, then, Cinderella. I want to see what your change of clothes is like,” I found myself saying.
She bit her plump lower lip and I wondered what it tasted like. “I don’t have a change of shoes.”
“Well, all rules are made to be broken, at least once,” I told her, stepped back, and gestured her in. She approached cautiously, like a filly prone to bolting. She stopped when she was level with me. The doorway narrowed there, making it easier for security to keep an eye on who was passing through. Since I was taking up more than half the space, she had to squeeze past me. She stopped when her hip was firmly lodged against my abs, and I fought the urge to buck into this adorable, stunning stranger. She tilted her head back and looked up at me, taking in my half-shaved head, with the snake tattoo on it, across to the white-blond hair that fell down the other side. I was pale as fuck, and my green eyes were chips of jade.
“I guess this is a good time to point out that you are in fact, wearing sneakers,” she said, her eyes darting down to my lips, as they curled in a grin. She wet her lips, a tiny, involuntary movement that drew my hunger.
“I’m the boss, pumpkin, the rules don’t apply to me.”
“Must be nice,” she whispered, before frowning. “Pumpkin? Oh right, the Cinderella thing.”
She was quiet, studying my face as though she was trying to assess me on an exam I’d never prepared for. The look was disarming. People rarely made eye contact with me, never mind staring me down so openly. She blinked. “I’m going to go inside now.”
“You do that.” My voice was deeper and more ragged than I’d expected. “When you’ve transformed, come and find me. I want to be the first to buy Cinderella a drink.”
The ghost of a grin passed across her lips, and she nodded slightly, and pushed past me, into the club. The ticket girl went to take her cash.
“It’s on the house,” I said to Kashia, who looked at me in askance. “She’s with me.”
CHAPTER3
Hana
Pravda was more beautiful and otherworldly than I’d expected. Low red lighting made it atmospheric, and velvet couches and gold touches made it opulent. What I hadn’t expected, however, was the Russian charm of the place. The small table lamps on every lacquered table. Elaborate mirrors and framed photos clustered artfully behind the bar, while ornate brocade wallpapers made me feel like I might be in a speakeasy in Moscow rather than a club in modern-day Manhattan.
I changed quickly in the bathroom, stuffing my clothes into my bag alongside Advanced Equations. If anything else, the heavy tome would be good for fending off attackers, if it came to that, however, I had a sneaking suspicion that the sight of it might also be enough to fend off potential men. In my experience, potential hookups didn’t like to feel dumb, and I’d spent my entire life being referred to as a bookworm, brainiac, or teacher’s pet. I was used to it and didn’t care usually, however, tonight was different.
What would that man from the door think, if he knew I was top of my class at Columbia studying advanced Mathematics?
I swallowed hard and stared at my reflection in the mirror. It didn’t matter. He was too hot for me to handle, that was clear. Owner of the club, built like a rampaging Viking and charming to boot? Yeah, no. I had no illusions about the kind of guy I might have a chance with tonight, and Mr rich, dangerous and handsome wasn’t one of them.
I pinched my cheeks, and rubbed my lips together, hoping it would remedy my lack of makeup situation.
“Is that really all you’re going to do about your face?”
The woman standing next to me at the sink was intimidatingly beautiful. If the ice queen was real, this woman could play her in the movie. She had waist-length blonde hair, blue eyes, and skin as white as snow. My mother, a woman who’d never met a skin-bleaching product she hadn’t tried, would kill for this woman’s skin. Well, knowing Dami, she’d kill her, and skin her for it, if it would transplant easily.
“I don’t have any makeup,” I admitted. Great, I had never felt more like a nineteen-year-old, sheltered little dweeb than this moment. The stunning woman arched an elegant brow at me, before rooting in her bag.
“Here, for your eyes, and lips.”
She passed over slim gold tubes and turned back to the mirror.
“That’s so kind of you, I really don’t know how to thank you,” I stammered, quickly uncapping the eyeliner and immediately making a mess.
She tutted and took it from me. “Look up,” she commanded, and I complied. “How can a sweet little thing like you come to a place like this without your battle armor?”
“Armor?”
“Makeup, clothes, the right shoes,” she spared a scathing glance down at my sneakered feet. “It’s all armor to wear to war, especially in a place like this.”
“Is clubbing a war?”