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And Savvine.

Fokk, Savvine.

He was still trying to decode what the hell had shifted between them.

One minute, mewling and hungry for him, limbs wrapped around his waist, holding on like he was her whole universe.

The next, cool detachment and polite nods like he was a stranger she hardly knew.

It burned.

He stared into hiskahawa, jaw flexing just as the air shifted.

He didn’t even need to turn. He sensed her enter the mess.

Unable to resist the temptation anymore, he glanced her way.

She was dressed in Signet black, tactical, tight-fitted, efficient.

Fokk,she was stunning.

The suit hugged the curve of her tits and hip, and molded to her waist like it had been cut for her alone.

Her hair swept back into a twist and was immaculate, with a few tendrils brushing her jaw.

Her makeup was minimal, just enough to highlight her jade eyes and define the arch of her mouth.

She appeared commanding, her energy closed off and unreachable, in max Chief Bianchi mode.

It wasn’t just her beauty.

It was her bearing. The way she carried herself with confidence and command.

Even the strongest among the Signet guard, men who walked through fire with him, stepped aside as she passed. Not out of fear, but reverence.

Heads turned, and Xander caught each flick of a gaze, every respectful nod that lingered a second too long.

Hell, it sparked a primal savagery, a possessiveness that surged and roiled inside him.

He gritted his jaw, hands flexing at his sides, tamping it down.

Although he’d marked her, she wasn’t his, not until she chose to mark him too.

Which meant there was no label to describewhateverthefokkthey were.

Still, the sight of her, moving through his domain like she’d always belonged, struck him like a gut punch.

It was too soon, yet he wanted to raise his head and howl to the ceiling, to claim her publicly as his, despite his fears and doubts.

The looks she drew churned up a territorial instinct inside him that compelled his soul to ache.

Xander couldn’t take his eyes off her, so he stood and prowled toward her.

She was at the buffet line when he approached.

‘Savvine,’ he rasped, catching her elbow.

She turned, offering him a smile. Cool. Controlled. A perfect diplomatic mask.