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Her green eyes widen, sweet lips part, and a car bomb goes off in my gut.
“Reese?”
One taste of my name on her lips and black-manicured claws lock down my heart.
I clench my fist, crush glass, and barely feel the slicing shards. Pink liquor and blood drip through my fingers. “You know my name?”
Bish snickers.
Jin sighs.
Bracing for rejection, I scream the only word that comes to mind.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
His game video was already a war crime.
Real-life Reese waterboards me in hazelnut butter.
I suck shallow breaths, trying not to devour the silken cocoa scent that’s ten times as deadly as I dreamed. “Why are you here?”
“For you,” he rasps, rough and raw.
My heart quits, giving a pathetic, stuttering thump before I remember his words aren’t meant for me.
They’re for Serafina.
Reese is for Serafina.
I need to rally.
Shove down my real self and go all-in as the gangster princess, because I’ll lose what’s left of my light if I’m rejected as myself.
It helps that my instincts don’t react.
No mate response. As if I needed that confirmed.
No rejection either.
When Reese moves into the room, I step back, ready for the clockwork flush of revulsion that leaves me shuddering every time an alpha comes too close.
But there’s no disgust.
No fear.
Because it’s Reese.
The boy who taught me how to throw.
Grown-up Reese with fire in his eyes, and a heart-ripping smile hidden behind his beard.
He’d never hurt his mate.
My door guard snarls, “Back the fuck up, cocktail boy.”
Terror and rage and twisty hormones tempt me to take down the threat.
No one hurts Reese while I’m here.
