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Kenna would be well within her rights to call me out as the bastard I am for that remark, but it only riles her further, has her leaning in close and hissing at me under her breath.

“Answer the damn question.”

My dragon hisses his own approval in response. He likes her jealousy, apparently, and I’m hardly unaffected as a shot of heat spreads through my veins, making my palms twitch and my cock ache.

“Her name is Ari, and she’s the President of the Paranormal Advancement Society,” I say. “She’s been advocating for paranormals for nearly as long as I have. We connect every so often to discuss how the Bureau can help support her organization’s interests.”

“And that includes drinks in a hotel bar late on a Saturday night?”

“Sometimes, yes. Does it matter?”

“No,” Kenna says lightly, picking up her drink and taking a sip. “I suppose it doesn’t. I’m just trying to figure out what I’m dealing with here.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“What I mean,” Kenna says, setting her drink down, “is I’d like to know if I’m about to become a part of some sort of roster, or something. If I’m just another notch in that belt of yours.”

About to become. So she’s thought about this. Maybe even knew full well what she wanted and what she was doing when she accepted my invitation for drinks.

“And it would matter to you, if you were?”

Her eyes flash, and her next words have a bite to them that stirs something dark and possessive in the bottom of my soul. “I don’t do well with sharing.”

“Neither do I.”

Beneath the table, Kenna’s hand lands on my thigh, nails digging into me. “Good.”

My body responds immediately to that proprietary touch. Fire, pure fire spreading from where her nails press into me, all the way to my half-hard cock and the ache between my shoulder blades where my wings want to break free.

If I could get her out of this bar I could shift, gather her up in my claws, and take her somewhere far from here. Somewhere safe and hidden where I could keep her tucked away.

Kenna, though, isn’t finished.

“What is this?” she asks in a hushed voice. “You… me… all of this. What is it?”

“Hell if I know.”

The words are out of my mouth before I can think better of them, and Kenna’s eyes flicker a little at the honesty.

I… can’t read her right now. Not like I’ve always been able to. My ember’s always been an open book for me—eyes wide and hopeful, or narrowed with temper, or glazed with desire—but right now she’s blank, calculating, thinking over what I just said in a way that leaves me with no idea how she’s going to react.

“It’s obviously a shit idea for us to be… anything,” Kenna says casually.Toocasually, but I don’t call her on it. “At least anything more than…”

She trails off, but I’m not about to let her off that easily. I’m a reckless idiot for it, but I want to hear her say it. I want to hear that Kenna wants me, too.

“More than what, ember?”

She scoots closer to me on the bench seat, leans sideways to rest her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand, looking up at me through her dark, thick lashes.

“More than a good fuck, Blair.”

Everything about those words sounds wrong. The sentiment. The name.

But when she’s looking at me like that… when she shifts until her thigh is pressed up against mine, they lose some of their sting.

“And is that what you want, Kenna?”

If she says no, this can be it. We can go our separate ways. I can stay away from her. I’m sure I can stay away from her.