I smiled bitterly. So this was what men wanted—fragile tones, trembling lashes, and the illusion of sweetness.
Nothing like me.
Lyra’s POV
The Bloodmoon Club throbbed with bass and heat—music pounding like a heartbeat gone feral. The air was thick with sweat, perfume, and lust, heavy enough to choke on. I’d drained three glasses of flaming whiskey, but nothing silenced the howl clawing its way up my chest. The room spun in streaks of crimson and silver, but through it all, I only saw them.
Kael. My knight. My ruin.
He stood in the VIP booth, posture rigid, expression unreadable—until she leaned close. Elowen. Her fingers brushed the edge of his jaw as she whispered something in his ear, and I saw it—his ears flushed red. A blush. Genuine.
My glass shattered in my hand.
I swallowed the rest of the burn and stalked toward the dance floor, letting the music devour my fury. My red dress clung to me like armor, a declaration of defiance. Wolves watched. Then they swarmed—young, drunk, entitled. One slid a hand down my hip.
“Back. Off.” My voice dropped to a growl.
They laughed. Another reached for me. I didn’t think—I bared my fangs. But the liquor dulled my reflexes.