LUKAS’S POV
Her lips still burned against mine, soft and fierce, pressed to that damn tree in the basement. I’d kissed her hard, hands gripping her waist, trying to drown out the way her face had twisted when Gwendolyn spat out Ryker’s affair with Dr. Callista. The flinch, the way her nails dug into her palms, blood beading—it hit me like a punch. She still felt something for that bastard, the prick who’d gutted her, and it clawed at me, jealousy hot and bitter in my throat.
We climbed the stairs from the basement, her ahead, Callan behind, the air shifting from damp metal to the warm cedar of my house. My legs shook, weak from the curse’s latest jab—a dull throb in my chest, a whisper of the Beast stirring—and I gripped the banister, knuckles whitening. Selenea’s shoulders slumped, her
