I knew he was up there.
Don’t ask me how I knew, I just did. Felt it all the way down to my bones. Part of me didn’t want to climb those stairs and find him wrapped up in someone else.
He’s not yours anymore.
You don’t want him.
I didn’t.
Shaking off the feeling, I skirted the edges of the dance floor, gaze darting this way and that as I searched for anyone from the photographs.
No one else.
The music was good here. Song after song designed to lure people onto the dance floor, and I was by no way immune. The crowd had thinned enough that it was no longer packed, but busy enough to get lost in. I wanted to lose myself for a moment, shake off the worry and the frustration and the guilt that threatened to overwhelm me if I let it.
We were almost done for the night anyway.
One dance wouldn’t hurt.
A shiver crept down my spine the second I stepped foot on the dance floor.
He’s watching.
Call it fae intuition or gut instinct. Whatever it was, I felt his gaze on me like hot fingers dancing over my skin.
Fuck you, Rys.
Catching the eye of the built guy opposite me, I smiled at him and crooked my finger. He came willingly, circling behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist, pulling me against him. Corded forearms held me tight, with the broad expanse of his chest at my back and the unmistakable bulge pressed into my arse.
Shifter.
It was reckless and courting disaster, but I didn’t care. He’d ignored me all night, and I wanted him to notice me.
He hates you.
Probably.
But a switch had flipped inside me, replacing the guilt I usually felt around Rys with something stronger, more primal, and I liked this feeling a whole lot better.
I counted down in my head.
Five, four, three, two…
“Leave.” Rough and commanding, the curl of alpha power evident even to me.
Arsehole.
My dance partner left with a parting kiss to the back of my neck, and when I opened my eyes, Rys stood in front of me. Six foot three inches of pissed-off alpha wolf.
“Thanks for that,” I said, sarcasm heavy in my tone. “What the fuck is your problem?” I didn’t give him time to answer, turning my back on him instead and carried on dancing. It took all my effort not to back up into him, the pull towards him unnerving in its intensity.
Maybe my alcohol tolerance was lower than I thought. Why the fuck else would he be affecting me like this?
I bit back a moan as his solid warmth came up behind me, his chest like a brick wall against my back. The urge to lean into him was hard to resist, but no way was I giving in to him.
“You,” he whispered, warm breath ghosting over my ear, eliciting a shiver. “You are my fucking problem.” Strong arms wrapped around my waist, his hold surprisingly gentle. I could easily get free if I wanted.
I should.
