“Seraphina Blackthorne!”
I paused, my mouth pressed against my straw. I’d withdrawn into myself so much that I hadn’t noticed the man on stage-a raffle box in hand, his black suit shimmering under the lights, silver threading through the dark curls of his hair.
He must have been talking for a while, but I’d completely phased out, and now-
“Seraphina Blackthorne,” he repeated with a grin, his eyes sweeping over the bar. “Where’s our lucky winner?”
My stomach lurched. No. Surely not.
The crowd clapped and whistled, and the bartender gave me a nudge, her smile a little more genuine.
I wanted to sink through the floor, but my legs carried me toward the stage, propelled by a strange mix of foreboding and curiosity.
But then-halfway up the steps-I came to a halt.
Because standing at the other end of the stage, summoned, no doubt, by fate-aka cruelty-was Kieran.
KIERAN’S POV
At this point, Sera was probably convinced I was stalking her. And, with how we kept running into each other in the most unlikely places,
I wouldn’t blame her.
To be clear, I wasn’t.
Byron was an old friend. He’d been pouring me drinks long before I was Alpha, long before I thought myself untouchable.
He also didn’t know the details of who I was, and something about the anonymity always lifted a weight off my shoulder when I was with him.
When he invited me to his bar’s anniversary celebration, I told myself I’d show up, shake his hand, maybe buy him a congratulatory drink, and leave.
I wasn’t in the mood for crowds or chatter, not with the gravity of the responsibilities I’d accepted at the LST, and my head buzzing with conflicting thoughts and emotions.
And not when Celeste had returned home last night from the last Trial in a foul mood-even more so than usual.
She’d spent the entire day slamming doors and muttering angrily about “insolent leaders” and “unworthy rivals,” whatever the hell that meant.
Usually, I would have sought my peace and quiet at Luna Noire, but tonight, I felt the need to be far removed from everything wolf- related.
Which was ironic, seeing as even the human world was immersed in OTS and the LST.
Byron spotted me the moment I walked in. His dark hair had more grey now, but his brown eyes still carried that familiar gleam of mischief as he sidled next to me.
He clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Been a while, old friend. Finally decided to crawl out of your cave, eh?”
“I don’t live in a cave,” I muttered.
“You might as well,” he chuckled. “Come on, sit. Have a drink. You look like you need it.”
He wasn’t wrong.
I let him usher me across the room to a seat tucked in the corner where the shadows were thick enough that I could barely make out the other patrons, and they couldn’t see me. Just what I wanted.
He slid me a glass of scotch before I could even order.
“On the house,” he said. “And lose that scowl. You look like you’ve been chewing glass all week. Tonight’s about fun, Kieran. Leave whatever responsibilities you have and lighten up.”
Easier said than done.
Byron didn’t push, though-he never did. It was one of the reasons we’d stayed friends for so long despite our differences in age and species.
He kept the drinks coming and the conversation easy, until I felt some more of the tightness in my chest ease.
For a moment, the role I would have to fulfil tomorrow ceased to exist. The ire and angst waiting for me at home faded away. Intrusive thoughts of a certain cerulean blue-eyed enigma slipped from my mind.
And I could just…be.
But Byron had other ideas.
“Come on,” he announced after about half an hour, standing as he threw back the rest of his whiskey.
I arched a brow, nursing my third glass of scotch. “Excuse me?”
He grinned and leaned forward, gripping my forearm. With a firm pull, he tugged me out of the booth.
He was surprisingly strong for a man in his mid-fifties, and although I could have easily resisted him, my curiosity let him continue pulling me.
And then, before I could process what was happening, he steered me toward the stage and nudged me firmly, leaving me facing the crowd.
“What the fuck, Byron?” I snarled lowly.
He ignored me and began talking into the mic.
“Twenty years ago today, my wife and I opened the doors of this very bar,” he started with a fond smile. “And the reason we picked this day is because it was also our tenth wedding anniversary.” He chuckled. “We figured-why not celebrate both at once? A marriage and a bar. She always said they were both about love, trust, and a bit of stubbornness to see them through.”
My chest clenched when his smile wavered just slightly, touched with memory, before he straightened.
“So every year on this night, I like to raise a glass to my Lillian and to all of you who’ve kept this place alive with laughter and stories. And as tradition goes-this is the part you’ve been waiting for-it’s time for our anniversary raffle draw. Let’s see who’s walking away lucky tonight!”
My brief moment of sentiment faded away, and I rolled my eyes, debating walking right off the stage.
As soon as Byron started calling out other winners of the raffle draw to join us on stage, my gaze fixed on the exit, and I was two seconds away from making a run for it when I heard her name.
“Seraphina Blackthorne!”
My breathing stilled. Surely I’d heard wrong. He couldn’t possibly have said-
“Seraphina Blackthorne,” Byron repeated. “Where’s our lucky winner?”
The lights in the bar were dimmed. The spotlights on the stage made it hard to see the crowd, but even then, my eyes found her, like a magnet to shillings.
She sat at the bar, looking as startled as I felt, and hesitated for the barest fraction of a second. But then the crowd’s applause and whistles and the gentle nudge of the bartender pushed her forward,
She moved through the crowd like a vision conjured by the gods. The lights bounced off her pale hair, setting it off in mesmerizing red and blue hues.
Thanks to her training at OTS, her figure had toned considerably, and the romper she wore showed it off like a fucking prize.
It took all of my willpower to shove away thoughts of my hands on that body-in my battered car, on the yacht, on the floor of the villa.
‘Get it together,’ I chided myself.
And then she looked up, and our gazes collided.
Her steps faltered, those gorgeous eyes widening.
For a heartbeat, the bar disappeared, and we were the only two people in the room, in the whole damn world.
Just like when I’d run into her in the OTS cafeteria, there were a hundred things I wanted to say to her.
And just like then, I knew nothing I could say would matter. Not anymore.
Boundaries.
For a moment, I thought she’d turn on her heels and leave. That would have been the sensible thing, the thing she’d been trying to do for the months since our divorce-keep her distance, keep me at arm’s length.
But she didn’t. She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and stepped onto the stage.
A dozen emotions warred inside me-relief, dread, hunger, guilt.
I clenched my fists and tried to remember what it meant to breathe.
***
The first challenges were harmless enough-icebreakers and party games disguised as competitions-a trivia round, a quick-fire reflex test where you had to slap a button before your opponent.
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