Pausing by a giant Andy Warhol style portrait of Mack, I type back, Someone figured out how to use the camera option.
Valerian’s court frowns on mortal trappings like technology. In fact, if his father knew he had a phone, he would probably flip.
My screen lights up in response. Why are you walking so slow?
Maybe I want to give you a show.
Holy crap. I stare at my words. Yes, idiot, you just said that.
Whispers: Interactive StoriesMake your own choices and decide what happens next!
I swore when I left school that Valerian was off limits, that the soulbond between us was too dangerous to accept—at least, until I can figure out what I want.
But here I am, flirting like a deranged sex addict.
I shove the phone into my pocket, resolve to control myself, and march toward him, only swaying my hips a little bit. But as soon as I slip onto the balcony, the heat of the New York summer gives way to delicious cold, and something inside my heart—where I feel the bond between us the most—jerks taut.
Whoa. I’d forgotten how intense that is.
My breath frosts out in a crystalline cloud, highlighting the space between us. Each inch feels like a mile.
What would it feel like to finally accept this thing? The one and only time we let ourselves give into it, the experience was beyond anything I’ve ever felt. Like, toe-curling, soul-leaving-my-body, mind-melting pleasure.
I shake the thought from my head. Giving in now, even once, would be like Zinnia opening that bag of barbeque chips.
Once I had one taste of Valerian, I’d lose all reason, all control.
Once I give in, I won’t be able to quit him.
The thought is terrifying.
The walking Fae potato chip smiles at me, his grin practically a weapon. “Hello, Princess. How does it feel to be so . . . young?”
“Technically, I’m your age,” I point out. Thanks to Eclipsa’s lessons over the break, I know as the reincarnated princess from the Summer Court, my soul is actually over hundreds and hundreds of years old.
“Right. How does it feel to be ancient, then?”
That silky, teasing voice reaches inside me, each word that leaves those beautiful lips a spark warming my middle. Smoldering that intense attraction I keep deeply hidden.
Don’t open the bag, Summer. Don’t. Open. The. Beautiful. Sexy. Bag.
“I prefer perfectly aged,” I say, skirting around him to peer out across the New York skyline. “So, did you find the Fae responsible for the attack during the Wild Hunt?”
Whoever used Valerian’s name to bind his power and then set darklings on us is still out there.
In my periphery, I see him shake his head. “Not yet.”
“Eclipsa said you suspect someone in your own court?”
“Perhaps.”
His caginess only piques my curiosity.
“What about Cal?” Just mentioning the Fae changeling’s name makes me shudder. “You couldn’t get anything out of him?” low her suspicious stare to a picture frame on the wall above the couch. The moving picture. Mack stands between Nick and Sebastian, all three trying to floss. The image plays over and over, each time a little bit different.
Note to self: get more video footage of Mack’s dancing skills for future blackmail.
It’s hilarious—and also very much imbued with magic.
As are other items, like the centerpiece of white tulips on the table. Each perfect flower blooms while giving off a perfume too strong to be real. And golden candles sparkle with magic from a three-tiered strawberry cake.