“No.”
“Anyone? Someone to warm your bed? To cook for you? To?—”
“No.”
She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “You need someone. A man alone is a man incomplete. Unbalanced.” She poked his ribs. “A lion needs a pride. A pride needs a heart.”
Leo bit back the response clawing at his throat. The beast rumbled in what might have been agreement with the meddling woman.
Traitor.
He extracted himself from the Marinis and retreated to a less populated corner of the room, positioning himself with his back to the wall and clear sightlines to all exits. From here, he could observe without being observed. The pack dynamics were interesting—Theo Vance commanded respect without demanding it, his authority so natural that others deferred instinctively. His mate, Avine, wove through the crowd like she belonged, touching arms, trading whispers, making connections. They’d integrated well. It was impressive, actually, how quickly she’d become part of the pack structure.
The witches were harder to read. They gathered in shifting groups, their conversations punctuated by bursts of laughter and the occasional spark of magic. He recognized a few from the files—the candle witch with silver-streaked hair, the storm witch with wild dark curls and dramatic gestures, the baker with flour still dusting her sleeve.
A cream-colored cat caught his attention, weaving between table legs with suspicious purpose. The baker’s familiar, according to the files. Marzipan. It paused, looked directlyat him with unsettling intelligence, then continued on its mysterious path.
Then the crowd shifted. Parted. And Leo forgot how to breathe.
Red hair. Not auburn, not ginger—red, like flame given form, like sunset bleeding into fire. It caught the light as she moved, shifting between copper and crimson depending on the angle. She was small, barely tall enough to reach his shoulder, but she took up space like someone three times her size. Hands gesturing wildly as she talked. Feet never quite still. A mouth that curved into a smirk even when she wasn’t speaking.
She laughed at a comment from the storm witch, and the sound cut through the noise of the room like a blade. Sharp. Bright. Impossible to ignore.
The predator surged forward with a force that nearly knocked him off his feet.
Mate.
The word thundered through him—not a thought, not a question, a certainty so absolute, it felt like being struck by lightning. The beast clawed at his restraint, demanding he cross the room, claim her, mark her, make her his?—
No.
Leo locked every muscle in his body. His hands curled into fists at his sides. His jaw clenched so tight, his teeth ached. The pressure building behind his ribs was almost unbearable—want, denial, and need crashing against each other.
No. Not happening. Not possible.
The woman looked up, green eyes scanning the room, and for a heartbeat her attention locked with his. Recognition sparked in her expression—not mate recognition, just awareness. Ah, the visiting lion. She tilted her head, hair sliding over her shoulder, and lifted one brow in clear challenge.
Then she was moving again, pulled into conversation with the baker, and Leo could breathe.
Barely.
“That’s Junie Reed.” Beck Driscoll materialized at his elbow, holding two bottles of beer. Theo’s beta was tall and rangy, with sandy hair and an easy smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes as he watched the red-haired witch. “She runs the potion shop on Main Street. Moonrise Mixology.”
Leo accepted the beer without thinking. His hand was steadier than it should have been. “One of the businesses affected by the surge.”
“Among other things.” Beck’s attention lingered on Junie with an emotion Leo recognized: longing. Familiarity. A possessiveness that made the beast growl low in warning. “She’s one of us. Pack-adjacent. Talented as hell.” He took a swig of his beer. “You’ll need to interview her at some point. About her magic. For the investigation.”
The words were helpful. The tone was a warning.
I’m not going anywhere near her. I can’t. I won’t.
The beast snarled its disagreement.
THREE
LEO
Twenty minutes later, Leo was still stationed in his corner, nursing his beer and watching her.
