Page 2

All I know is, I can never go back.

And I’ll never forgive him.

Maybe that would explain why I find myself in this bar—one of the rare werewolf-friendly places in the city, hidden in plainsight from humans but known in our circles for being the place for the best hookups.

The neon glow of “The Rusty Nail” sign pulses with a sickly yellow light, reflecting off the tears on my cheeks.

The whiskey burns a path down my throat, but it does nothing to stop the feeling of betrayal still raging inside me.

The world behind me buzzes with chatter, but to me? It sounds like static to my ears.

I stare at the amber liquid in my glass, more tears slipping free.

I came from nothing, a street rat who worked her way to the top to get what she wanted and all for what? To be used? To be discarded? To hear the man I gave everything to, say I was just a means for him to pass the time?

The pain is suffocating.

I tip my glass back and finish the drink in one swallow. It doesn’t help numb the pain.

The bartender, a burly man with weary eyes, watches me with a mixture of pity and annoyance. “Another one, sweetheart?”

I force a smile. It’s weak, but it’s all I can manage, “I want the whole bottle.”

He hesitates, like he’s about to tell me no man is worth drinking myself into oblivion over. He’s probably right but I never hear his words.

Because a chill rolls down my spine.

It’s not the kind that makes you shiver, it’s the kind that warns, that awakens. A slow curling heat spreads in my chest, throbbing, consuming, and burning. It feels foreign yet familiar, as if my mind recognizes something my soul hasn’t.

And then I feel it.

A presence so strong, it curls around my body like an invisible tether, powerful and dominant.

The air shifts. The noise in the bar fades.

My pulse stutters, then slams into overdrive.

I lift my head.

And I see him.

He’s a figure in the shadows, standing at the far end of the bar. He’s half-shrouded in the dim light, yet the world itself seems to bend and kneel around him, almost as if he doesn’t exist on the same plane as the rest of us.

He’s tall. Broad shoulders stretch beneath a dark, fitted jacket, and his stance is relaxed but alert, almost like a predator who knows he doesn’t need to chase because his prey will come to him.

The air around him crackles, the quiet storm of energy accompanying him making my breath hitch in my throat.

And his eyes?

Dark. Piercing. Smoldering.

They aren’t just looking at me. They are devouring me, stripping me bare, unraveling something deep inside me I didn't think could unravel. A shudder rips through me, heat pooling in my stomach as his gaze drags over my flushed face and my parted lips.

He tilts his head slightly and the action makes my chest feel too tight.

Goddess, he’s handsome. Sharp jawline, high cheekbones, lips that look like sin itself. He has short, dark hair that looks a little bit tousled, like he ran his fingers through it.

My fingers itch at the thought of running them through his hair.