Hotbloods (Hotbloods #1)

Navan was standing behind Dolan; in fact, it had seemed as if Dolan hadn’t even registered that Navan was there.

“I do like to dance,” I said, enjoying the annoyed look on Navan’s face. “And this music is great . . .” The smile on Dolan’s face got wider. From behind him, Navan’s scowl deepened. “I’d love to dance,” I said, suppressing a smirk. “This might be my only opportunity to do so tonight.”

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” Dolan said jovially, and Navan made a face like he was about to throw up.

Dolan was a good dancer—the song was fast, upbeat, so he clasped my left hand and put his other hand on my waist. We did a sort of side-stepping skip through the other dancers, and every so often Dolan would twirl me around, or put both his hands on my waist and lift me up. The whole time, I was aware of Navan, standing there on the periphery, his eyes following my every move.

I was nearly out of breath when the song finally ended, and everyone clapped as the band started up again.

“I’m going to take a little break,” I said to Dolan.

“You’re an excellent dancer,” he said. “We must dance again.” His gaze moved past my shoulder. “That guy’s been staring the whole time,” he said. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“No,” I said. “Just a friend.”

“Is he . . . sick?”

I looked at Dolan. “Sick?”

“He looks . . . I don’t know, a little . . . off-color? And pissed. He definitely looks pissed. Is he anemic?”

Navan’s hood was doing a decent job of casting shadows over his face for the most part, but if you really looked, his skin did look odd compared to others.

“He’s definitely not anemic,” I replied.

Dolan continued to eye him warily. “He looks like he wants to kill me.”

“It’s possible,” I said. Dolan gave me a confused look and I laughed. “I’m just kidding. He’s just cranky. I’ll go talk to him.”

Someone handed me a cup of hot cocoa as I made my way back over to Navan, and I took a sip, savoring the rich sweetness.

“Have fun?” he asked, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Lover boy over there looks like he’s got two left feet.”

“Do I detect a note of . . . jealousy in your voice?”

He snorted. “Please.”

“I’d be more than happy to go back out there and dance with you, if you’d like. That offer still stands.”

He looked at me, an amused expression on his face. I set my hot cocoa down and grabbed Navan’s hand, pulling him out to the makeshift dance floor. He was strong enough that he could have easily resisted me, but he didn’t, so I took it as a sign that he wasn’t totally against the idea.

The band had started playing a slower song, though, and the couples dancing stopped cavorting and settled into each other’s arms, moving their feet slowly back and forth.

“Was this part of your plan?” Navan said.

For a moment, I thought he was going to walk away and leave me standing there, but then he moved his hands down and rested them lightly on my waist. I put my arms around his neck, and we swayed to the music.

“I wasn’t expecting the music to slow down,” I said. “Really.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. I totally believe you. This isn’t so bad, though. How am I doing?”

“You’re doing great.”

And he was right—this wasn’t so bad at all. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, being out here with him, underneath the dark sky, the music filling the air. I wanted to tell him right then how happy I was, how just being near him filled me with a joy I had never experienced before, but part of me remained afraid of voicing my thoughts aloud. The possibility of being rejected was still enough to paralyze me from acting on the happiness I felt—I couldn’t bear the thought of opening up to him, only to find out he didn’t feel the same way. Part of me did think the feeling was mutual—the glances we’d shared, his open concern for my well-being, the way his look could make me feel like I was the only person on the planet—yet doubt still loomed over me. I knew what it was like to love someone, only to have those feelings not be reciprocated—how many times had my birth parents rejected me because alcohol was more important?

So instead, I just smiled up at him, and enjoyed being so close.





Chapter Twenty-Four





Navan and I stayed at the festival a little while longer, but then he whispered to me that we should head back to the ship.

“Do you think it’s awake?” I asked.

“Yeah, I do. And I know it won’t be able to escape or anything, but I’d still like to get back there before it starts trying to get away.”

We slipped away from the festival, the music, the laughter, the warmth from the fires fading into the distance as we walked away.

“That was fun,” I said. “I’m glad we went.”

“It wasn’t on the agenda, but yeah, I had a good time.”

My arms swung back and forth slightly as we walked, and my hand brushed up against Navan’s. His fingers interlaced with mine, sending a surprise rush of pleasure up my arm. He glanced at me.

“This okay?”

“Yes,” I said breathlessly.

“Good.” He nodded. “I want to keep you close. Can’t risk Donnel trying to whisk you away again.”

I laughed. “It was Dolan.”

“He wasn’t that good of a dancer.”

“Hey, it’s an open invitation—whenever you feel like impressing me with your dance moves, I’m all for it.”

He squeezed my hand. “Don’t hold your breath.”

When we got to the ship, I was forced to let go of his hand and followed him up to one of the ship’s windows. I pressed my face against it and peered inside.

“It’s still asleep,” I said.

Navan stood next to me, a slight frown on his face. “No, it’s not,” he said. “It’s pretending to be asleep.”

“How do you know? It looks asleep to me.”

Navan continued to stare at it. “I can sense its energy. If it were sleeping, its energy would be at a much lower frequency. But what I’m picking up right now is basically off the charts, which tells me this thing is going to attempt to pull off some sort of ambush. Stay right here—I’m going to open the door.”

I stayed by the window and watched as Navan slowly opened the compartment door. The shifter suddenly sprang, though it didn’t get far because of the ropes it was tied up in. Navan gave it a kick and sent it sprawling. I went inside.

“Well, well, well, look who’s awake,” Navan said. “Good morning, sunshine. Damn, you things sure are ugly.”

The shifter growled, and its eyes swiveled to me. Navan was right—it was ugly, like a giant newborn bird, with its pale, wrinkled skin. Instead of a beak and fused-over eyes, though, it had a wide, flat nose, a gaping mouth full of shark-like teeth, and huge red-veined eyes that seemed mostly made up of iris.

“Give me the antidote,” it said. “And I’ll change into something more aesthetically pleasing.”