He couldn’t stop. Every time he tried to focus on another conversation—the Elders, the pack dynamics, the architecture of the room—his attention dragged back to her like a compass pointing north. She was everywhere and nowhere, bouncing between conversations, trailing chaos in her wake. At one point, she demonstrated a spell with her hands that resulted in a small shower of flashes, which she laughed off while her friends rolled their eyes.
A snake materialized on her shoulder—her familiar, iridescent scales shifting between purple and green as it draped against her neck. It watched the room with unsettling intelligence, tongue flicking out to taste the air.
Ours.
She is not ours,he argued silently.She’s a stranger. A witch. A complication I don’t need.
The predator didn’t care about his objections. It never did.
He was so focused on keeping the beast contained that he didn’t notice the cream-colored cat until it was too late.
One moment, the path between him and the red-haired witch was clear. The next, Marzipan had positioned itself directly in Junie’s path with suspicious precision. The cat sat there, grooming one paw with studied innocence as she approached.
Junie tripped.
Time slowed. Leo watched her stumble forward, arms pinwheeling wildly, a glass vial clutched in one hand. Purple liquid sloshed inside it. Her eyes went wide. Her mouth formed a word that might have beenshit. Her familiar hissed in alarm.
She crashed into him like a small, chaotic meteor.
The vial shattered against his jacket. Purple liquid splashed across his suit, soaking through the Italian wool to his shirt beneath. The fabric immediately began to smoke.
“Oh shit—” She patted his suit coat frantically, which only spread the liquid farther. “Oh no, no, no, that’s experimental, that wasn’t supposed to—the heat component wasn’t active yet?—”
The smoking intensified. Leo could feel heat building against his skin, uncomfortable but not yet painful. The beast was purring—actually purring—at the contact, at her scent surrounding him, at the feel of her hands on his body even through layers of fabric.
Shut up,he told it.
“Stop.” He caught her wrists. Mistake. The contact sent electricity racing up his arms, the predator roaring with satisfaction. Her skin was soft, scattered with faint freckles. Her pulse hammered against his fingers. She smelled like herbs and honey and a scent uniquely, devastatingly her?—
Focus.
“Let go.” His voice came out rough. Wrong. He cleared his throat and tried again, forcing ice into his tone. “You’re making it worse.”
Those eyes snapped to his face. Up close, they were even more striking—bright and sharp, with flecks of gold around the pupils like sparks in a fire. The snake on her shoulder hissed at him, scales flashing warning colors.
“I’m trying to help.” She yanked her wrists free, and the loss of contact felt like a wound. “That’s a neutralization potion. It was supposed to be for—it doesn’t matter. Hold still.”
She pressed her palm flat against his jacket and murmured under her breath. The words hummed with power, vibrating against his skin. The smoking stopped. The heat faded. The beast purred so loudly, he was surprised she couldn’t hear it.
He took a deliberate step back, putting distance between them. His jacket felt cold where her hand had been.
“Thank you.” Cold. Clipped. The voice he used in boardrooms when negotiations weren’t going his way. “I trust you’ll replace the suit.”
Her expression flickered. Hurt, quickly masked by anger. “Replace the—” She laughed, but there was an edge to it now. “Sure. I’ll just write a check from my experimental potion disasters fund. How much does a suit like that even cost?”
“Three thousand dollars.”
Her jaw dropped. Then snapped shut with an audible click. “Three thousand dollars. For a suit.”
“It was custom-tailored.”
“It’s fabric.” She threw her hands up, nearly dislodging Glimmer. The snake hissed in protest, tail tightening around her neck. “Who spends three thousand dollars on fabric they wear to dinner?”
“People who value quality.”
“People who have more money than sense.” She was fully wound up, cheeks flushing pink, green fire blazing in her eyes. “I said I was sorry. It was an accident. That cat”—she pointed atMarzipan, who was grooming itself with studied innocence near the dessert table—“came out of nowhere.”
“And the experimental potion you were carrying to a dinner party?”
