I turn toward the voice, and there’s Kane, looking larger and stronger and altogether hotter than my memories of him.
“Hey back,” I say. I’m proud the words actually came out because I am drowning in adrenaline. I’m pretty sure the same people responsible for heels and iron maidens and the Spanish Inquisition also invented crushes because there is nothing pleasant about this feeling. Which, to be fair, is probably why it’s called a crush in the first place, because I’m positive Kane is about to pulverize my giddy little heart beneath his boot. I can’t imagine this ending any other way.
“Selene, right?” he says, those lupine eyes a little too intense this close. I can practically feel the power radiating off him. Now I do want to bare my neck and look away.
Surprise has me raising my eyebrows instead. “You know my name?”
I can’t believe Kane Halloway knows my name.
His own brows furrow. “Of course I remember your name.”
I’m screaming inside.
He’s so much bigger than I remember—not that my memory is to be trusted. And his voice goes straight through my ears and down to my pussy.
Why are you thinking about your pussy? Pull yourself together, woman!
“I’m glad you came,” he says. “I remember you from Peel Academy.”
I nearly drop my drink. “You do?”
I feel like the entire history of my infatuation with him shifts on its axis. I always assumed I blended in with the wallpaper.
Kane gives me a strange look, then leans in conspiratorially. “I did ask you out on a date,” he says. “But you never showed.”
“No,” I say, my voice hushed with horror.
I never showed? Why, universe, why?
“You don’t remember?” he says.
I’m still agonizing over the fact I could’ve been dating this man since high school.
“Um, about that…” How to explain my power? “I have this thing, with my magic—”
Before I can finish, some of Kane’s friends come up to him, one of them slapping him on the back.
“Kane, man, great party.”
One of the other shifters with dark hair lifts his chin at me in greeting. “Hey,” he says, flashing a smile.
Hand to the goddess on high, Kane growls. It’s so low, I’m not entirely sure I heard correctly, but then Kane’s friends back off.
“Easy, boy,” the man with dark hair says, even as he backs away. “I meant no harm. Just wanted to tell the witch she has nice eyes.” He winks at me, even as Kane growls again.
I guess that’s how you fuck with your friend if you’re a shifter—you make him seem weirdly possessive of a girl he just started chatting with.
And maybe if I hadn’t been pining for Kane for years, I would’ve let those growls scare me off. But my happy little heart finds the whole thing thrilling, self-respect be damned.
It helps that Kane is grimacing, as though frustrated with his own reaction. He glares after his friends as they walk away.
“I’m sorry,” he says, turning to me. “There are things about being a lycan…” His jaw works a little as he tries to find the words.
Kane struggles with people accepting parts of his identity? I didn’t expect that.
I wave it off. “Believe me when I tell you, I understand.”
CHAPTER 23
The next several hours blur by as I chat and drink with Kane. By the time the two of us move to the dance floor, magic has thickened the air, the various colors of it swirling and blending. I breathe it in, the power calling to my own magic, demanding I let go of my inhibitions.
This is one of the aspects of witchery they don’t talk about that often. The wild, nearly frenzied nature of our magic that exposes itself when we gather under a night sky.
I can feel that primordial need for release as I dance with Kane. My clothes feel too heavy and constricting, and I have the urge to strip myself of them. I need…more.
Empress…I hear your call…
My blood heats at the sound of Memnon’s voice in my head, and my need rises. I don’t know when I went from dreading the sorcerer to having this reaction.
I mean to look for Memnon, but my eyes catch on Kane as his nostrils flare, like he scents something. A moment later he cups my cheek on the dance floor, our sweaty bodies sliding against each other.
He stares down at me, and again, I see the lupine glint of his eyes. He leans into my neck, running his lips and nose along the skin there. Whatever he’s doing, it feels…animalistic—like perhaps he’s smelling me or marking me.