Without bothering to collect her bright red cashmere coat or her Gucci purse, Ursula flounced to the door, shoved Neal aside, and left.
Neal stared after her, speechless.
“Claire. What the fuck just happened?” Gareth tried not to shout at me, but he was clearly agitated. He stared at me just like Ursula had. As if I was a freak. And I was.
Andre appeared at my side with breathtaking abruptness. The man moved like a fucking cat. He had a bar napkin in one hand which he used to mop Ursula’s spit from my face. His stunningly gorgeous face was fiercely protective and he shot Gareth a death glare.
“I’m serious.” Gareth’s tone took a placating edge, but his eyes were filled with agitated confusion.
“Did you see that?” Neal’s voice shook. “Ursula got stabbed. She was mortal. It was like watching a fucking film or something. Did you do that, Claire?”
“Of course she did.” Parker answered for me. He’d recovered himself for the most part and an amused smile quirked his lips. He was still pale though and his extraordinary blue eyes were a little glassy. He gave a small laugh. “Nice going, sweetheart, picking such a mortifying blast from our Ursula’s past.”