Chapter Three

In the club, the music pounds against the speakers like an angry woodpecker trying to demolish a tree. Al yells her order over the noise, and the bartender hands her two shots in return. She shoves one in my direction, and before I can decline, a guy jumps in front of me and shoves the glass filled with dark-gray liquid away. “She's not allowed to drink that,” he says to the bartender, who nods and reaches for the glass.

I grab it before he does and turn to stare at the boy with the audacity to tell me what I can and cannot drink. I immediately recognize him. It’s the same guy Gaston fought earlier. Holy mother of all that is hot! The boy—excuse me, man—in front of me looks even more gorgeous than he did earlier. Under the flickering lights, his face is chiseled to perfection, with a square jaw, high cheekbones, magnetic sapphire-blue eyes, and a set of full yet firm lips pressed into a tight line. I avoid staring at the muscular torso hiding behind the gray shirt and dark jeans he's wearing. Get a grip, Mar! Good looks aside, I won't have anyone boss me around—even if he looks like a walking centerfold model.

“What's in this?” I ask Al, whose eyes are bugged out in apprehension. 

“It's a potion—an herbal drink—called Edge. He’s right. You probably shouldn’t drink it.” She glances at the jerk in front of us with unease. His presence has her looking like an anxious kitten. I look him up and down again and notice he's even taller than I’d thought. His thick and wavy short hair looks more like the color of milk chocolate. It’s that rich and silky. A gratuitous second glance tells me that his body isn't just toned; it's moored with large and tightly wound muscles that would easily break any opponent in half. The ones on his left arm flex behind his gray shirt when he spreads an open palm, waiting for me to place the drink in his hand. 

“Give me the glass. It's an order,” he adds, as though that's supposed to make me jump. I nod and smile because I find the words more amusing than anything anyone has ever said. He relaxes, thinking I'll comply.

I chug the entire drink and smirk at him. I slam the glass on the bar, but not before staring him down as I lick the rim of the glass and then stick my tongue out at him. The drink tastes like rancid toilet water, and I swear I'll barf at any moment, but I won't give him the satisfaction. “Mmm, delicious! Oh, and in case you were wondering what just happened—I don't take orders.” I shove past him. “Let's go dance,” I say to Al. Her mouth pops open in shock, and there's a hint of fear in her silver eyes. I pull her toward the dance floor and don't bother looking at the jerk behind me.

“Are you insane? Do you know who he is?” she whispers harshly.

“Yeah, he’s a guy used to telling people what to do. Stop worrying so much, and dance. We came here to have fun,” I remind her. She eases up after a few minutes and bops to the beat.

“I knew you were different, but I had no inkling you were crazy.” Al twirls toward a guy already dancing with another girl. I watch her successfully cut in while the girl whose dance partner she stole scowls at her. A large guy, about a foot taller than my five feet four inches, approaches me.

“You're bold,” he says with a smile. “No one talks to Phantom that way.”

“Are you asking me to dance, or are we using the dance floor to discuss little things that don't matter?”

The guy smiles and takes my hand.

“Let me answer that for Josh. You will decline the offer to dance and disappear before I make you disappear.” Recognizing the voice behind me, I roll my eyes. My potential dance partner drops my hand like it’s covered with lethal wasps and vanishes through the crowd.

“Do you always boss people around, or am I getting the royal treatment tonight?” 

“You are getting the royal treatment, princess.”

I sigh and turn around to rid myself of his presence but stop dead in my tracks when he says, “Your hostility is excessive toward me—have we dated?” There's enough mirth in his facial expression for me to know his words are sarcastic.

Annoyance fills my chest. “Trust me, had we dated, you definitely would have remembered. Besides, you're not even close to being my type.”

He cocks an eyebrow at me and guffaws—he actually guffaws. “Now I know you're lying. Princess, I'm every girl's type.” He flashes an arrogant smirk. I seriously hate good-looking guys who know they’re good looking. “Besides my irresistible charm and my excessive good looks, I'm royalty—I’m, in fact, next in the line of succession.” He all but spells it out. 

“Okay...”

“Okay? That's it?” He seems astounded I'm not impressed—maybe even offended. Typical royal. They expect praise for having a title most of them don’t even merit.

“I'm sorry, should there be more? Would you like a cookie, grand applause, or will a pat on the shoulder suffice for a title you didn't earn?”

He gazes at me, puzzled, but a heart-stopping playful grin marks the edges of his lips. I stare back at him, and for the second time tonight, I notice he is unrealistically good looking. His description of himself—excessively good looking—may be accurate. Seriously, he's a little more than beautiful, which won't be a problem, because I'm not in the market for a boyfriend—or a jerk.

“Are you always this feisty, or am I getting the royal treatment?”

A surge of dizziness followed by nausea washes over me like an angry tidal wave. I open my mouth to answer him but instead stumble. My vision blurs with scattered red dots that make it impossible to see. What the heck was in that drink? The pleasant smell of sage and cedar engulfs me as someone with powerful arms lifts me off the floor. I try to claw at their shoulders, wanting to get them off me. The last thing I need is to end up at a deranged weirdo's house with all of my clothes missing. Panicked, I gasp, struggling to suck in air. Whatever was in the drink is making it impossible to breathe. I swallow the knot in my throat and use my last breath to call for Al. The tiny red dots consuming my vision turn black, making the weight of my body vanish.