"I need to use the restroom," I announced after my second drink. The alcohol was hitting harder than I'd expected, warming my blood and loosening my inhibitions. "Don't follow me. I'm a grown woman. I can pee unsupervised."
Three sets of eyes tracked me as I stood. Selene just laughed.
The restroom was down a narrow hallway lined with posters for supernatural events—a full moon gathering, a solstice celebration, something called "The Blood Moon Brawl" that featured artwork of two werewolves tearing each other apart. I took my time, touching up my lipstick in the mirror, enjoying the brief moment of solitude.
When I emerged, I didn't go straight back to the booth.
The bar was crowded now, the floating lights dimmed to a sultry glow, and the music had shifted to something with a deeper beat. I found an empty spot at the counter and leaned against it, watching the bartender work. He was tall and lean, with deep red hair and intricate tattoos that glowed faintly as he moved. Fire elemental, I guessed, based on the way the flames in the nearby candles seemed to lean toward him.
He caught me watching and grinned. "Evening, gorgeous. What can I get you?"
I smiled back. It was harmless. Just flirting. I was allowed to flirt. "Surprise me. Something sweet and strong."
He set about mixing a drink with theatrical flair, tossing bottles and catching them, making the liquid inside glow and spark. When he slid the finished cocktail across the bar, it was a deep crimson with tiny sparks dancing on the surface.
"Crimson Kiss," he said, leaning closer. "My specialty. Careful—it bites."
I took a sip and nearly moaned. It was perfect—sweet berries and warm spice and something that tingled on my tongue. "That's amazing. What's your name?"
"Rowan." His grin widened. "And you are?"
"Lizzie." I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the bar. "So, Rowan the fire elemental, what's your secret? Magic or just excellent bartending?"
He laughed. "A little of both. I infuse a touch of my element into the mix. Gives it that spark."
I was about to ask another question when the temperature around me dropped several degrees.
I didn't need to turn around. I could feel them—three distinct presences converging on my position like sharks drawn to blood. The mark on my thigh pulsed with warmth, and I knew Azrael was close. The hair on my arms stood up, and I knew Lucien was right behind me. And the air itself seemed to thicken with authority, and I knew Darius was about to make a scene.
"Lizzie." Darius's voice was ice. "We were wondering what was taking you so long."
I turned, painting an innocent expression on my face. "Just getting a drink. Rowan here makes an excellent Crimson Kiss."
Rowan, to his credit, didn't immediately flee. His eyes flicked between the three men surrounding me—Lucien's murderous glare, Darius's cold fury, Azrael's unsettling stillness—and he swallowed hard.
"I was just serving the lady," he said carefully. "No harm intended."
Lucien's hand closed around my upper arm, not painfully, but firmly. "We don't share."
The possessiveness in his voice sent a shiver down my spine. I should have been annoyed—I was an adult, I could talk to whomever I wanted—but instead, I felt heat pooling low inmy belly. The mark on my thigh pulsed again, brighter now, and I saw Azrael's golden eyes flicker toward it, his expression shifting.
Darius leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. "You wanted to see what would happen if you flirted with someone else. Fine. You're about to find out."
He guided me back to the booth, his hand a firm pressure on the small of my back. Lucien flanked my other side, his body a wall of heat and menace. Azrael followed silently, his presence a cool shadow at my heels. Selene watched us approach, her emerald eyes sparkling with amusement.
"Having fun, darling?" she asked.
Before I could answer, Darius pulled me into the booth beside him. Lucien slid in on my other side, his thigh pressing against mine. Azrael sat across from us, his golden eyes fixed on my face with an intensity that made my breath catch.
And then, under the table, the touching began.
Lucien's hand found my inner thigh first. His fingers were rough, calloused, and he pinched the sensitive skin hard enough to make me jump. I bit my lip to stifle a gasp, and his amber eyes glittered with satisfaction.
"Stay still," he growled, low enough that only I could hear. "Don't let them see what I'm doing to you."
On my other side, Azrael's cool fingers found my arm. He traced a single line from my wrist to my elbow and back again—slow, deliberate, maddening. The demon magic hummed beneath his touch, amplifying every sensation, making the simple caress feel like foreplay.
"You're soaked," he murmured, his voice barely above a breath. "I can smell it. The mark is glowing, Lizzie. Everyone can see."
