As if on cue, the auxiliary lighting came on, casting a romantic glow around her.
"No one should know you're here. We gotta get out of here," Kris said.
His hand gripped her neck loosely. A pulse of warmth dispelled the tunnel vision that had begun to form.
"We'll take a shortcut."
He took her hand and led her through the crowd at a steady pace. She looked over her shoulder, uncertain where the men with tattoos were. She didn't know what they --or he --wanted, but if the man before her was worried, she should be terrified. Kris reached an alcove out of sight of the crowds and faced her.
"Close your eyes," he ordered.
She stared at him. He gripped her arm. Before she could shove him away, the sounds of their world fell silent. She looked around, stunned. Their surroundings looked as if someone had left a fog machine on too long in a gym. Several doorways glowed around her, and Kris yanked her toward one. She opened her mouth to speak and then clamped it shut, her stomach turning. He all but dragged her through one of the glowing doorways before she vomited.
Kris muttered curses and touched her shoulder.
Warmth and cold shot through her, righting her stomach but bringing intense pain to her head. She pushed his hand away, unable to stabilize the hot and cold racing through her blood. Her teeth chattered and her body felt so hot she wanted to scream.
"Stop it!" she all but shouted. "God, my head!" She gripped it, vision blurred and balance precarious atop the four-inch heels. He reached for her and she stumbled back, holding up her hand to ward him off. He snatched both hands in one of his, balancing her with his body as he placed his other hand against her forehead. The sensations stabilized and then dissipated.
"Enough, enough, enough!" she belted with a shove.
Her vision cleared to reveal she now stood in a luxurious living room with several people in front of her displaying varying levels of alarm on their faces. She wiped the tears from her face, feeling more torn up than she had the day before. Tattoos flared on the arms and necks of the people in front of her before fading and growing invisible again.
"Whiskey?" Ully was the first to speak.
"Two," Kris replied.
She caught her balance against the arm of a sofa.
"Your rescue mission went well," one of them commented with a half smile.
He was built like Kris with dark hair. The similarities stopped at their tanzanite eyes and chiseled features; the speaker's skin was as dark as night.