Page 66 of Commanding Flame and Shield
I turned around and August was standing, still as a statue in the center of the dance floor, talking to a woman wearing a long cloak, still dancing to the club music that had long replaced the shanty that caught my attention in the first place. I smirked, and then James spoke again, his voice a little bit softer than it had been, revealing the nerves he carefully concealed.
“Did you know he would forgive me for Layla? Earlier?”
I turned and smiled at him as a big sister would. “There were a few outcomes. It was your best chance at a quick reconciliation. I’m sorry I didn’t have a kinder way to warn you.”
The corner of his lip quirked. “It needed to be done. He doesn’t hate me, so that’s something.”
“It’s a big something,” I agreed. “Are we good?”
“We will be...when you grow a pair and tell August how you feel.”
I shot him a glare. James was familiar too, although he smelled entirely human. Perhaps it was just his link to August. But I smiled and nodded. “That’s fair. I’ll send you a note when we can be friends, then.”
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll know. He won’t be able to keep that one quiet for long.” He nodded behind me and took a sip of his whiskey.
I turned to find a grinning August, a gold mask now covering the upper half of his face, holding the cloak he’d evidently bribed off the woman on the dance floor. In his other hand, he had a masquerade mask embellished with crystals and feathers, and a pair of black gloves. He held them out in offering, and I raised my eyebrows. An image of me wearing them popped into his head, and I cocked my head to the side.
“Dance with me?”
The pieced together costume played through his mind—a cloak and gloves to cover my hands and arms, so nobody would touch me. The mask simply fit the theme of the evening. I laughed out loud, and he nodded, encouraging.
“August, the last place I would ever willingly be is a dance floor.”
He shot me a cocky smirk and jerked his head towards the crowd expectantly.
“August, I don’t dance.”
“Luckily for you, I do. And you’ve never liked crowds because you’ve never had me.” He tapped his temple with the mask. He wasn’t wrong. I’d never been able to dance with a shield before. James reached across the table to pat my shoulder and push me up. Little did he know he could push with all the human strength he had and never move someone like me.
Butterflies fluttering in my stomach, I stood to accept the gifts from August’s outstretched hands. I placed the black mask over my eyes, slid the silk gloves onto my fingers, and August wrapped the cloak around my shoulders, smoothly sliding my arms into its long sleeves. They were a little shorter than intended, but between the gloves and the heavy draping fabric, it served its purpose.
He took my now gloved hand in his and led me away from our dark corner. My head didn’t stop shaking, mind swimming in denial and a bit of peculiar awakened human fear, as I followed him into the crowd. Their energy was pulsating, but between the stones and August, my mind was only assaulted by the normal noises outside it.
August spun me in a wide circle, turning me to face him. He beamed when our eyes locked, and he pulled me up against his body, making my heart hitch. His eyes narrowed for a moment, and he dropped my hands to raise the hood over my head. Then, and only then, did he lean down to press his cheek against my shielded temple. He had thought of everything.
His hands found their way to my low back, pulling me tighter still to his hips, and I looped my arms around his neck. I wanted to take the gloves off, to feel his skin against my own, to drop the hood and feel his scruffy face, to breathe him in.
August's fingers squeezed into the back of my hips, like he couldn’t get enough of me, either. The world slowly vanished, and it was just us there, holding onto each other in an empty sea of muffled music. He spun me in circles and pulled me from one side of the floor to the other, leading my steps. I followed his incremental pulls and pushes, and if I didn’t know better, would have thought Aren had taught me to dance at some point. But it was all August, his precision, his control, his ease that led me.
I melted into him, soaking up his energy, seeping into his movements. The way he smelled, the way his hands roamed my body like he held something priceless, gripping my ribs, my waist. My heart thundered, mind spinning as heat pooled low in my belly. August made me feel delicate. Feminine. Like I could just let him take care of me, even if just for this moment.
If we weren’t bowed together, his eyes were always on me, unwavering. We spun in a tight circle, faster and faster until I couldn't contain the shriek of laughter that spilled from my lips. When he pulled me to him again, I could feel his desire, his erection firm against me. Heat rushed through my core, burning in my legs as my thighs clenched together. My breath came hard and fast, and relief washed over me when he put a bit of distance between us, hands going slack where they rested on my hips, his subtle smile telling me he knew exactly what he was doing to me. August made me feel...way too much, and yet—not enough. I craved to let go…to give into him.
When the music changed back to a slow song, he smiled, a bit out of breath, and asked if I wanted a drink. If I was wise, I’d keep that space between us, regain some semblance of self-control. But liquid courage, combined with the aching need filling my body, made wisdom sound like a euphemism for waste of time.
So instead, I fisted the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling him back until our bodies collided. "The drink can wait,” the words whooshed out, my voice breathless as need drowned me.
His eyes darkened, nostrils flaring as his fingers tightened on my waist, swallowing me in his hot palms. “Fucck, Ally,” August growled in my ear, digging his fingers into my back, thumbs sinking into my abs. “I’m really trying to be a gentleman. But keep looking at me like that—I won't be able to control myself much longer.” August reached up to slide my hood down, before wrapping his strong arms around my back. He took a deep breath into my hair—my heart hammering ruthlessly in my throat as I found myself inhaling him too, soaking up his familiar musk.
August reached down to grab my hand, running his fingers over the silk, and stepping back as he brought it to his face. He leaned into it for a moment before breathlessly saying, “You are so damn beautiful, Alvara. I’ve always thought it, but I don’t think I ever said it. At least, not to you.” His lips quirked, and he continued before I could say anything. “I’ll get you a drink.”
August curled my hand around his own and raised it to his lips. He pressed them against the black silk over my knuckles, and then released me, into the crowd.
TWENTY-SEVEN
SARAH
ALVARA
