Frowning, she smelled the other drink. It didn’t hold the nostril-stinging intensity spirits did. She twirled it between her fingers and studied the thick liquid clouding the sides of the glass.
Face flushed, Destonne emerged from the throng of people with his tunic nearly unbuttoned to his navel.
“It’s an eager crowd. I barely made it out alive,” he said, his deep voice carrying over the music. He fixed his shirt buttons and rolled his cuffs to his elbows. “I think I—” When he caught sight of the two glasses in her hands, his eyes narrowed. “What sort of mischief have you gotten up to? And without me?” He tsked softly. “I was only gone a moment.”
Her cheeks flushed a deep shade of scarlet. “I needed a bit of a boost.” Actually, her face tingled too, like tiny stars crackled along her skin, within her blood, and spread with each passing second.
“I didn’t take you for the type,” he said, a little breathless. “But, then again, with your scandalous taste in literature, I shouldn’t be surprised.”
Emmery rolled her eyes and set the empty glass down. “Just because you don’t drink doesn’t mean I need to be sober for this whole ordeal.” But as she went to throw back the second, Dez caught her wrist.
His lips twitched. “You don’t know what that is, do you?”
At the amused twinkle in his eye, her stomach churned. “Tell me.”
“You were half right. It’s incredibly strong liquor.” He grinned like a demon. “With a hearty dose of celestial trumpet.”
Her world spun and she couldn’t breathe as she clutched the glass hard enough to shatter. Because she recognized that name. She and Vesper had retrieved a celestial trumpet from the Sacred Lands. And he’d said—oh gods, people had used it for an entirely different reason. Vesper’s words rang through her head like a warning bell.
It’s a potent aphrodisiac.
“No,” Emmery breathed. Her vision swam with her thundering pulse and she grabbed Destonne’s sleeve. “I needyou to stick your fingers down my throat. I can’t make myself throw up.”
Dez’s nose scrunched. “What? No.” He gently removed her grip from his shirt. “It only amplifies your desire. Makes things a bit hot and hazy, but that’s part of the fun, right? You’ll be fine.”
But she wouldn’t be. Her blood already hummed and heat rushed to places it had absolutely no business being. Between that damn throbbing space between her legs, and her tingling lips and tongue, she was in so much trouble.
He studied her pinched brows, steadied her with his hands on her shoulders, and leaned down to meet her gaze. “It’s going to be alright. I promise. Breathe with me?”
But she couldn’t pull air into her lungs as her chest convulsed.
His gaze flitted between her eyes, and he sighed, then seized the glass from her hand, and poured it down his throat before she could stop him.
He swallowed, winced, then set the glass down beside hers on a nearby table. “There. Now we’re in this together.”
Emmery gawked at him in utter disbelief.
“You can do this,” he said softly and took her hand. “We also don’t have a choice. We need to get this done and leave this forsaken place.”
He was right. They couldn't turn back now, especially since the fever waited to take him again, and noveramintleaves remained.
Emmery nodded and followed him.
As they descended farther into the club, several rooms lined the walls, some with glass doors and others opaque for privacy. In one room, a woman in only sheer gold stockings indulgently rode her partner, their bodies entwined, and tongues shoved down each other’s throats. A feral sound tore from her as her head fell back and her body shuddered.
Emmery willed herself not to look, though the vision with Dez filled her mind and she couldn’t shake it free. Especially when she peeked to find him already watching her. Her cheeks warmed, and between the sounds surrounding her, the temptation thick in the air, her hand in his, and the celestial trumpet ravaging her body, she was already coming apart.
Dez drew her from her thoughts as he pointed to a staircase. On the upper floor sat a gossamer tent. The strange red smog illuminated a man’s silhouette with a sweep of curly hair. He was seated on a settee and surveyed the dance floor, his legs spread in dominance and arms rested on his thighs. From where she stood, Emmery couldn’t make out his features.
She stretched onto her toes, her lips at Dez’s ear. “That’s him?”
Dez nodded as a shiver visibly worked its way through his body. Was the drink taking hold? He appeared far more composed than her as sweat pricked the nape of her neck and the caress of his hand radiated through her. Even the graze of her corset and undergarments made her skin pebble and breasts ache almost to the point of pain.
He pulled her toward a dance floor, or a stage of sorts, with seven others on it. His warm breath skimmed over her ear. “Do your thing, angel.”
“Wait—where are you going?” she asked, desperation in her voice.
“I’ll be right over there.” He nodded to an alcove across the room with a bench and wall space to lean.