Ink Exchange (Wicked Lovely 2)

“You are”—he put his hand over hers, capturing it as she pushed angrily at him—“and I’ll look after you well.”

The room felt like it was shifting, tilting, and she wanted to run. She shook her head with effort, and she said, “No. I’m not. Let go.”

Then Niall was beside them, saying, “Stop.”

Irial pressed his lips to Leslie’s in a lingering open-mouth kiss.

She didn’t like him, but she wouldn’t have pulled away for anything. Her anger shifted into something territorial. The dual desire to resist being claimed as property and to claim him as hers surged through her. Irial stepped back, staring at her as if they were the only two people there. “Soon, Leslie.”

She stared at him, not sure if she wanted to shove him again or pull him closer. This isn’t me. I’m not…what? She didn’t have words for it.

Niall was watching, and standing behind him were all of the dreadlocked guys and a larger group of people she’d not noticed earlier. Where had they all come from? The club had seemed mostly empty before; now it was filled. And no one looked friendly.

Niall tried to move her behind him, murmuring, “Come away from him.”

But Irial slid his hands around Leslie’s waist. His thumbs slipped under the edge of her shirt to stroke her skin. Her eyes blurred at the pleasure of that casual touch—not anger, not fear, just want.

Irial was asking Niall, “You didn’t think she was yours, did you? Just like old times. You find them, and I take them.”

Leslie blinked, trying to focus, trying to remember what she should be doing. She should be afraid. She should be angry…or something. She shouldn’t be watching Irial’s mouth. She stumbled as she tried to back away from him.

Niall bristled. Leslie could swear his eyes actually flashed. He stepped closer to Irial, hand clenched like he’d strike him. He didn’t. He just ground out, “Stay away from her. You’re—”

“Mind your place, boy. You have no authority over me or mine. You made your feelings on that quite clear.” Irial pulled Leslie closer until she was right back where she’d been when they danced, in his arms and frighteningly unable—unwilling—to move.

Her face was flame red, but she couldn’t move for several heartbeats.

“No,” she said, forcing the word out. “Let go.”

Then Niall stepped forward. “Leave her alone.”

His eyes did flash.

“She’s a friend of

our court, of Aislinn’s, of mine.” Niall moved as close as he could to Irial without touching him.

Court?

“My girl claimed by your family?” Irial pulled her up so they were face-to-face and gazed at her as if there were secrets written on her skin. “She’s not been claimed by yours.”

Claimed? Leslie looked at him, at Niall, at the strangers around her. This is not my world.

“Let go of me,” she said. Her voice wasn’t strong, but it was there.

And he did. He let go of her and stepped away so suddenly, she had to grab his arm to keep from falling to the floor. She was mortified.

“Get her out of here,” Niall said. From somewhere in the crowd behind him, Seth stepped forward. He reached out for her hand, an uncharacteristically friendly move for him, and pulled her away from Irial.

“Soon, love,” Irial said again as he bowed from the waist.

Leslie shivered. If her legs had been working, she would’ve run from the club. Instead the best she could do was stumble alongside Seth.

CHAPTER 13

Leslie and Seth had gone several blocks before she felt able to look at him. They weren’t friends—by his choice—but she still trusted him more than she trusted most guys. She still valued his opinion.

They were almost at the Comix Connexion before she spoke. “I’m sorry.”