To understand exactly what it means.
"Cyprian," she murmurs. "People are staring."
"Yes."
"Like. A lot."
"I am aware."
"It's making me feel like I have something stuck in my teeth."
"You do not."
"How do you know?"
"Because I would have removed it."
She blinks.
"That's... weirdly sweet."
"It is practical."
"Same thing."
An alpha shifter approaches—tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of predatory grace that marks him as a high-ranking pack leader.
He stops a respectful distance away, his eyes flicking between me and Tamsin.
"Thorne," he says. His voice is rough, gravelly. "I did not expect to see you here."
"Marcus invited me personally," I say.
"Did he."
It is not a question.
The shifter's eyes linger on Tamsin.
On the choker.
His nostrils flare slightly, scenting the air.
And then his expression shifts.
Recognition.
Understanding.
Fear.
"Congratulations," he says quietly. "On your mating."
"Thank you."
He nods once and steps back, melting into the crowd.
Tamsin looks up at me.
