“The Valkryie. I’ve heard of you—well, seen you before.”
I narrow my eyes, studying him. He’s slightly, vaguely familiar. He’s not from Odin’s realm, that’s for sure. “Where was that?”
“At the fights. In the Upperworld.”
Something tickles at my brain. Then it hits me. “You’re related to the Shaman. Is he your father?”
He smiles, happy I’ve figured it out. “My uncle.”
If he’s here, that means he’s royalty. It also means he’s probably next in line. The Shaman is a tricky figure. He buys, trades, and sells souls. He organizes fights among warriors using tricks and illusions. I’d fought in the ring for many years. It’s how I met the Guardians. The Shaman owned the Immortals.
He walks in the shadow between good and evil.
I’m definitely curious about this kid.
“You’re a badass fighter. Maybe we could spar sometime?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Maybe so.”
“You don’t like committing, do you?”
I look into his eyes, dark brown and never ending. “Not when we’re on the cusp of a war, and I’m not sure who’s on what side.”
The expression on his face tells me he’s like his uncle—skating the shadows.
“It was nice to meet you, Darius.” I look over at Rupert, still sitting alone. “Perhaps I’ll see you in the gym.”
“You can count on it.”
I pass him, feeling his eyes following me across the room as I walk toward Rupert. I’m ten feet away when a female beats me to him.
The girl has long, shiny black hair and has on a strapless, tight dress. Her eyes are violet, her incisors sharp. I’m not the best at identifying the different beings at this school. Fae? Vampire? Shifter? Banshee? Her hand runs languidly down Rupert’s arm, and she bends over, whispering in his ear.
A flare of emotion swirls in my stomach, undefinable but strong.
Sweat breaks out on his forehead, and he looks up, his eyes meeting mine. They hold for a beat and the world disappears around us. I feel a tug between us. A call.
Thump, thump.
Our hearts beat.
I lick my lips, tasting the champagne. His jaw tenses, and he stands suddenly, disentangling from the girl. A look of panic plasters over his face, and he bolts from the room, leaving the girl confused, and watching his back as he vanishes.
What the hell was that?
Dammit. Everyone on my team needs to be strong. Whatever is going on with Rupert needs to stop. I drop my glass on a waiter’s tray and head toward the door.
Just before I exit, a body blocks my way.
A long, lean body that I know very, very intimately.
“Leaving already?” Marshal asks, obstructing the exit. “It’s not very gracious to leave the party without thanking your host.” He bends, and I feel his mouth, warm and wet, near my ear. His tongue grazes the shell of my ear. “I can think of a few ways you can thank me.”
“Gods, you’re a pig. A filthy, traitorous, pathetic pig.”
He accepts my words like they’re a compliment.
“Are you mad? You seem mad.”