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Kane glances over his shoulder.

“Fly us home,” I command the broom.

It jerks forward, pulling me with it.

Kane curses as I slip through his grip. It’s not my proudest moment, scrambling to drag myself onto the wooden handle and away from Kane’s determined hold.

I’ve just gotten myself firmly on it when the broom launches forward, and now I am cutting through the party, bowling people over.

“Sorry! Sorry!” I call out as I go.

Kane strides after me, but Sybil’s magic is pouring out across the beach, likely to stop the shifter from getting any closer to me. My heart swells; she’s such a fucking amazing friend.

“Selene!” Kane bellows, his lupine eyes glinting when I glance back at him.

So much for not causing a scene.

I will the broom to rotate around so I can face the lycan head on.

“Screw you, Kane!” My voice rings out. “No one orders a witch around.”

The crowd around me must agree because, despite running into several of them, I hear whoops and cheers.

My broom lifts higher into the sky, above the reach of Kane and everyone else there, and then I’m zipping away.

For one exhilarating minute, I enjoy the absolute victory of besting the determined lycan.

Then I realize one huge, glaring error—I spelled my broom to flyhome. I don’twantto go home. I simply wanted to get away from Kane.

I’m about to order my broom to turn around when a gust of wind blows my broom sideways and nearly unseats me. When I right myself, the world spins.

I blink several times, trying to clear my sight, but the world is still spinning, and my broom is still climbing higher and higher into the air. I’m now fifty feet or so above the ground and very, very intoxicated. Impossibly so.

I grip the broom handle tightly, feeling nauseous.

I had less than one full drink. Even if the vodka was really strong, it shouldn’t affect me this intensely. Not unless?—

Unless it was spiked.

Devil’s dick. Did someonespikemy drink? Or Olga’s drink, since she gave it to me? Didshedo it?

Fuck, Kane must’ve been right after all to worry about me, even if he went about it in the most atrocious way possible.

I call on my power. “Lower me to the ground,” I command in Sarmatian.

My magic comes out of me in sluggish spurts, but rather than lowering, my broom jerks beneath my grip, nearly throwing me off.

“Seven hells,” I curse, righting myself.

It bounces again, and my body tips sideways. As I tip, the world spins.

Shit, shit, shit.

I desperately wrap my arms and legs around the broom as I’m fully unseated, clinging to the underside of my airborne broom.

This is fucking unfortunate.

I glance over my shoulder only to see the earth passing by fifty feet below me. My broom bounces again and again and again, eventually dislodging my feet. I’m too terrified to yelp out as my legs slip off the broom, leaving me hanging from it by my hands.