The werewolf disappeared into the crowd with a disgruntled whine.
Rhavor gave Sylvie a brief, reassuring smile, his eyes sweeping over her as if checking she was all right.
Then he turned to Vera.
“Come on, Auntie. Enough mischief for one night. I’ll take you home.”
“I’m not going anywhere just yet, my boy,” Vera replied, lifting her chin with a stubborn glint. “But our girl here has had enough excitement for one evening. You walk her home. We don’t want any other moon-stricken fools bothering her.”
“Sure,” Rhavor said.
He turned his gaze back to Sylvie, and the intensity of it made her breath hitch.
“Ready?”
Outside, the moon was magnificent—a silver eye watching the quiet streets of Honeybay.
“So,” he said, glancing at her as they walked, “you bid on me.”
“I did,” she admitted, warmth humming in her veins despite the loss. “But it looks like you’ve got a fan who outbid me.”
“I guess I have,” Rhavor muttered, looking thoughtful.
“Aren’t you curious who won?” Sylvie asked.
His gaze dipped.
He looked like he already knew.
She stepped closer, her fingers brushing the firm muscle of his chest through the tight blue fabric.
His breath hitched.
“Since I lost… can I at least have a consolation prize?”
His brow lifted.
“And what would that be?”
She smiled up at him, feeling bold—she wasn’t sure if it was Myrtle’s drink or the moonlight.
“You could fly me home.”
He didn’t hesitate.
His arms wrapped around her and he pulled her flush against his chest, lifting her effortlessly.
“Hold on,” he commanded, his voice vibrating deliciously against her ear.
Chapter 12: Rhavor
Rhavor’s wings snapped open with violent force, air detonating beneath them as he launched into the night.
Sylvie shrieked—
—then laughed.
Her small hands locked around his biceps, nails biting into the hard, uncompromising muscle of his arms as they cleared the rooftops in a rush of wind and predatory heat.
