My heart is still racing, my mouth still tingling, my wolf still singing inside me with a joy I don’t know what to do with.
But underneath all of that, underneath the shock and the confusion and the lingering heat, there’s anger. White-hot, burning anger that starts in my chest and spreads through my entire body until my hands are shaking with it.
Who does he think he is?
He told me he doesn’t remember me. Told me the mate bond is dead. Told me I’m nothing more than a coworker and whoever I thought he was doesn’t exist anymore.
And now, he’s kissing me like that? Acting like some jealous ex-lover who thinks he has the right to an opinion about whom I spend my time with?
I push off the car, my legs unsteady, and fumble with my keys. It takes three tries to get the door unlocked because my hands won’t stop trembling. I slide into the driver’s seat and grip the steering wheel hard enough that my knuckles turn white.
The drive home is a blur of traffic lights and stop signs that I barely register. My mind keeps replaying the kiss—the way his hands felt on my waist, the way he pulled me against him like he couldn’t get close enough, the way he tasted, the sound he made when I bit his lip.
Stop it. Stop thinking about it.
But I can’t. It’s burned into my memory now, every second of it, every sensation. And the worst part is how much I wanted it. How much I still want it even though I should be furious with him.
By the time I pull up to my apartment, I’ve cycled through shock, confusion, anger, and back to shock at least five times.
I barely sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I feel his mouth on mine. Every time I start to drift off, I wake up with my heart pounding and his words echoing in my head.
“I bet David could never make you feel like this.”
Morning comes,too early and too bright. I drag myself through my routine on autopilot—shower, coffee, makeup to hide theshadows under my eyes. The drive to headquarters feels longer than usual, every red light an eternity.
I’m dreading seeing him. Dreading the moment when I have to look at those amber-gold eyes and pretend last night didn’t happen. Dreading the way my wolf will react when his scent hits me.
But when I get to my floor and settle in at my desk, he doesn’t appear. Not in the morning, not during my coffee break, not when I take my lunch to the break room and force myself to eat even though my stomach is in knots.
It’s almost worse, this absence. This waiting for the other shoe to drop.
My phone buzzes mid-afternoon, pulling my attention from the spreadsheet I’ve been staring at absently for the past twenty minutes. It’s a text from David.
Can you meet me on the roof? I have something for you.
I stare at the message, my thumb hovering over the screen.
David.
Guilt settles in my chest. He’s such a sweet guy; he got me flowers and offers me safety and clarity. We’re supposed to go out tomorrow night. But should I even be talking to him after kissing Kain like that last night?
I’m still staring at the text. I should say no. Tell him I’m busy or that meeting on the roof is inappropriate. Make up literally any excuse to avoid him.
Instead, I type back: I’ll be there in five minutes.
I get to the top floor and push through the door, stepping out into the bright sunlight. My mind immediately flashes back to the moment with Kain when he threw my cigarettes away, and I do my best to squash the thought.
David is already there, leaning against the half wall that edges the roof and looking out over the city. He turns his headwhen he hears the door close behind me, and his face lights up with that boyish smile of his.
“Hey, Anne. Thanks for coming up.”
“You said you had something for me?”
He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out an envelope, which he holds out to me. “I hope you don’t think this is too much, but you mentioned that you love the play that’s coming to the theater downtown. The one about the star-crossed lovers?”
I take the envelope carefully, my fingers brushing against his. Inside are two tickets to Moonlight Sonata, the romantic tragedy I mentioned in passing while we were talking at the club. It’s been sold out for weeks.
“David, these must have cost a fortune.”
