King Novel novel Chapter 70

Chapter 70

I need air.

Not just because I’m about two minutes away from wringing Celeste Vaelor’s scrawny little neck, but because my dress reeks of wine, my shoes are cutting into my feet, and I feel Enoch’s gaze like a goddamn brand on my skin–even from across the ballroom.

The music is loud enough to shake the floor beneath my heels, but I barely hear it over the rush of my own thoughts. It’s been two hours since I danced with him. Two hours since I dared to raise my hand like a damn challenge in front of everyone, since his hands were on me, since we were too close and too obvious and too much.

No. No more thinking about that man.

I should be smart and stay where Liam can see me. Should blend in, act normal, and let this night pass without more unnecessary bloodshed.

But when have I ever done what I should?

“Liam, I’m going to step out for a bit,” I say, already shifting my weight toward the nearest open balcony door.

Predictably, he stiffens. “Yeah, no, not happening.

“Why?” I feign innocence, picking at the wine stain on my dress. “Scared I’ll throw myself off the railing out of sheer boredom?”

Liam doesn’t laugh. He levels me with his signature you’re–a–goddamn–menace look, crossing his arms. “I don’t trust you alone for five seconds, Sinclair.”

Zoe clears her throat beside us, looking everywhere but at us. Weird. Usually, she’d be backing me up, adding a dramatic “Let the girl breathe, Liam!”

But now she’s red–faced and quiet, stealing glances at Liam like he’s suddenly grown three heads.

What the hell?

I squint at her. “Are you okay?”

“Yep!” she squeaks, grabbing a champagne flute from a passing tray and downing half of it. “Just peachy!”

That’s suspicious. I file it away for later. Right now, I have an escape plan to execute.

“Look,” I say, turning back to Liam. “You and Zoe should dance.”

“You two should dance,” I say, mostly to shut them up.

Zoe startles like I suggested something illegal. “What? No. Why would I-‘

“You’ve been stuck with me all night, I’m giving you a chance to

looking anywhere but at Liam.

Huh.

Weird.

“Excuse me?” he deadpans.

escape.” I nudge her, but she just presses her lips together,

“Dance,” I repeat. “You know, two people moving to music? Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

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Chapter 70

Liam glares. “Sinclair-”

“Oh, don’t be a killjoy, Calloway,” I cut him off. “Zoe, tell him you want to dance.”

Zoe turns the color of a ripe tomato. “I–uh–well, I mean-”

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Liam sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Whatever. But you-” He jabs a finger at me. “Stay where I can fucking see you.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” I sing–song, already slipping through the nearest exit.

He mutters something about regretting ever hiring me. Zoe, still visibly flustered, lets Liam pull her onto the dance floor, and I finally–finally–escape.

Jand

Zoe is still pink in the face. I store that weird reaction for later before slipping away through the grand doors.

The balcony is empty, thank fuck.

It’s a welcome relief from the suffocating ballroom. Cool air, the scent of rain in the distance, the distant hum of the city beneath us.

I exhale. Relax. Let my mind drift to something other than Enoch. Other than his hands on me, his mouth against mine, the way he looked at me across the ballroom as though I was a goddamn feast laid out for him-

Nope. Not thinking about that.

I press my hands against the railing, sucking in a deep breath. The city stretches below in a glittering sprawl, endless lights flickering like a second sky. The moon is hanging low, like it’s watching.

I glare down at the wine stain on my dress, the one that Lady Celeste fucking Vaelor so graciously gifted me

God, I should’ve said more. I should’ve done more. I should’ve knocked her straight into the punch bowl when she dumped that glass onto me. My brain is doing that thing where it rewrites the entire encounter, this time with me being a hell of a lot

meaner.

“Oops,” I mutter, mimicking an innocent voice as I rub at the stain. “My bad, did I trip and accidentally push you into the fountain? Damn, what a shame.”

I rub more at the wine stain, muttering under my breath. “Next time that prissy little bitch comes near me, I’m throwing a whole bottle at her face.”

My jaw clenches. I should’ve shoved her into the punch bowl.

I snort at my own fantasy and shake my head. The adrenaline from earlier has mostly faded, leaving me exhausted but jittery.

I sigh, shaking my head, letting my gaze wander to the city below.

For the first time tonight, I feel calm.

And then-

A shift of light. A shadow stretching long behind me.

I go rigid, every nerve in my body pulling tight.

Slowly, I turn.

He’s there.

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Enoch.

Leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, watching me. A smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I swallow. Hard.

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Leaning against the doorway, watching me though he has all the time in the world. That smirk is dangerous, lazy, knowing. His tux is crisp, his posture relaxed, but there’s something in the way he looks at me–like I’m the only thing worth seeing- that sends my pulse slamming against my ribs.

My stomach flips violently.

I want to run. I want to punch him. I want to crawl into his lap and bury my face in his throat.

He looks unfairly good. The kind of good that makes it hard to breathe, hard to think. The come–fuck–me look that mkaes you thank the heavens you’re a woman. Dressed in black, sharp angles and broad shoulders, eyes like the deepest part of the forest–dangerous, endless, impossible to escape.

And that smirk. That fucking smirk.

“What’s the matter, Cinderella? Lost your slipper?” The night is suddenly too warm.

The night is suddenly too warm.

I roll my eyes, feigning indifference even though my heart is currently trying to beat its way out of my goddamn ribcage. I turn back around to face the moon as I hear his steps move closer from behind me.

A gasp rips through me when I feel his hand on my waist. My knees are beginning to melt and I try to act cold, begging my legs to stay standing. As if I don’t feel like I’m about to burst apart just from the way his thumb brushes absently over my hip bone.

Silence.

His eyes are locked on mine, unblinking, unreadable.

That fucking mask.

I hate it.

I hate that I can’t see his face. That I can’t tell if this is the same Enoch who held me in the dead of night, whispered my name like it was the only thing tethering him to that ballroom earlier. Or if this is the Enoch who left. The one who tore himself from my arms and walked away, leaving me to pick up whatever shattered pieces were left.

Then–suddenly.

His hands flex against my waist.

Then–he moves.

Fast. Unforgiving.

A sharp gasp rips from my throat as my back arches instinctively, my hands clutching onto his arms. My heart is slamming against my ribs, adrenaline surging at the realization that if I lean back even a little, I’ll plummet stories down to the marble floor below.

The drop behind me is high enough to break bones, but it’s not the fall that terrifies me. It’s him. His touch. The way his scent crashes over me like a drug, pulling me under.

But I don’t move.

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Because I know exactly what’s happening.

The way his chest heaves. The way my thighs instinctively clamp around his hips. The way his breath, hot and unsteady, fans against my lips. My breath is ragged, my chest rising and falling too fast, too much, but all I can focus on is the way his gaze devours me. Unapologetic. Intense.

We are both starving

The silence between us is deafening.

Our gazes are locked, pulses pounding, our bodies close enough that I can feel the unyielding heat radiating off him. His fingers tighten on my waist, his grip firm, commanding. His presence is so overwhelming it feels like the entire world has narrowed down to just this moment. Just us.

Then, he dips his head, brushing his nose against the curve of my neck.

A shudder wracks through me, my fingers curling into the fabric of his tux as his breath ghosts over my skin. His voice is low, rough, vibrating straight into my bones.

“I’m not letting you escape me again.”