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He had eaten way, way too much food. He’d taken Jewels on a date to the Lakehouse—a restaurant not far from Werewolf Territory—and now they were gorging on ice cream at a tiny parlor just down the street.

Aunty May’s, it was called. Ice cream flavor? Cookie dough. His favorite.

“How’s the bubblegum?” Travis asked Jewels, who sat across from him at one of the outdoor tables. It was a nice night—almost warm enough to not need a jacket. Darkness was falling, so aside from a few families packing up in the parking lot, they were the only customers left.

“So good,” Jewels gushed, taking another giant lick of her cotton-candy colored ice cream. Travis fought the filthy urge to imagine she was licking something else.“This was my favorite ice cream when I was a little girl. I can’t remember the last time I had it.”

Travis finished off the last bite of his waffle cone and wiped his sticky hands on a clean napkin. Jewels was almost done too, though she kept having to fend off strands of her hair that were stirred by the wind.

Another one floated into her face and glommed onto her ice cream. “Ugh,” she grumbled, peeling the purplish-blonde strand off the dessert. Travis couldn’t help but laugh. “Sometimes I hate having long hair.”

When Jewels was done, they stood, taking their napkins to the garbage bin by the front door.

“I gotta say,” Jewels began, rounding on a heel to face Travis as the street lights in the parking lot flared to life. She looked up at him, coming close enough that Travis could feel her aura. “That was a great date.” A smile played with her lips; the sight of it made Travis’s heart speed up.

“Dinner and ice cream? Seems pretty cliche, if you ask me.”

Her smile grew, the sight so pretty it made Travis’s blood thrum. “Did you just insult yourself?”

Travis shrugged. “I’ve never done the dating thing. I’m more of a…” He gave a little smirk. “Maybe I should stop insulting myself.”

Her eyes sparkled, and she stepped closer, walking her fingers up the zipper in his jacket. “I think I like you.”

Travis’s heart began to pound. “How much?”

She held up her thumb and forefinger, a small gap between them. “This much.”

He gave a low whistle. “Wow. That’s a lot—” Travis stopped talking, a prickle climbing up his spine.

Something wasn’t right.

Jewels’s eyes locked on something behind him. “Travis.” Her hand drifted toward the pistol tucked into the back of her jeans.

Travis got his own gun out, and Jewels got out hers, both of them moving blindingly fast.

But Travis couldn’t turn to see what had caught her attention, because something else had caught Travis’s. He pointed his gun behind her—at the men approaching, their own guns raised—while she aimed hers at something behind him, covering his back just like he covered hers.

More men. He could sense them now, felt their auras.

Travis’s heartbeat staggered into a sprint.

They were surrounded.

Surrounded and out-fucking-numbered.

The silence that followed the initial collision was severed by the deafening crunch of metal on cement.

The SUV flipped through the air, striking the busy highway on the other side of the barricade repeatedly.

Tires screeched.

Horns blared.

Dallas screamed, the sound drowned out by the smashing of glass and the earsplitting compression of metal.

Icy shock speared through Max’s body, his hellseher reflexes kicking in barely on time.

His magic belled out with an umbrella of protection, softening the last few strikes of the SUV as it kept flipping.