Page 56 of To Dance with Death

His viridian gaze is like the flat of a dagger under my chin, his tone edged with warning. “Care to elaborate on that?”

I spear a round of purple melon with my fork. “I admit you spend one hour, maybe two, each day doing something somewhat useful, with the appeals you entertain. But what about the rest of your time? You lounge about, doing little more than indulging in pleasures thatbarelypique your interest.”

An assumption, but it shuts him up—for a whole two seconds.

“Then come to me tonight,” he says. “Show me what I am missing.”

I nearly choke. “Excuse me?”

“Pique my interest.”

I take a moment to dab my lips with a napkin in an attempt to gather myself. “I have already piqued your interest, Sire, or else I would not be here.”

“All the more reason to join me tonight.”

He…

He is trying to lure me into his bed, the dolt. I resist the urge to ball up my napkin and chuck it at his face. “Why? So I can be a fleeting indulgence like everyone else? So you can add me to the notch on your bedpost and forget me thereafter?”

“I don’t think I will forget the only mortal among the dead. And besides, I find you quite ravishing. Do you deny yourself pleasure the same way you would deny me?”

“Unlike you, my life does not center onpleasure.”

“But why not let yourself have even a little? Life is meant to be enjoyed.”

“This isn’t really life, now, is it?” And yet, secretly, the temptation sinks in—more so with the way he leans in, the scent of him filling my nose. I can’t remember the last time I ever really enjoyed myself for more than a few minutes.

He investigates my hesitation. “You find me attractive, yes?” Despite my best efforts, he sees the agreement on my face, the heat splotching my cheeks. “Whatreallystays your pleasure, then?”

“Your persistence is aggravating and is—quite frankly—not a desirable quality—”

“Give me one reason,” he says. “Be honest, for once.”

At my wit’s end, I clank down my fork. “I do notshare,Sire.”

The truth, as simple as that. Others can. I wouldn’t judge them for it. But Anton…

I couldn’t bear to open up to him again, only to see him move on night after night, even knowing it’s a coping mechanism. He told me that himself. He spoke of how hollow he felt afterward, how empty.

Yet I am selfish. My heart beats for him, but I can’t be his second choice the way I would have been for Copelan. I would rather be alone.

“Greedy, are we?” he says, grinning. But behind that grin is something dark, oppressive. Something that reveals the hurt that time has yet to heal—from the years of rejection, the betrayals. The lies he now believes.

“Can you blame me for protecting myself?” I ask.

“I suppose not,” he says, rolling up the sleeves of his robe. “But I’d ask you to reconsider. You have nothing to fear from me. Give me the chance to prove it.”

I do not fear you.

I fear only that I might not succeed in bringing you back.

“Besides,” he adds, his gaze touching the stiff line of my shoulders, “nothing relieves tension like a night spent being adored ineveryimaginable way. And adore you I would.”

My lungs refuse to breathe for a solid three seconds.

“My,what a spectacular setup you have here.”

The voice nearly jolts my heart from my chest. Both Anton and I shoot a glance toward the arch, where Sundar—Sundar—waltzesin.