Julian POV
"Look at her, Julian."
Khalani rammed his elbow directly into my ribs, his breath smelling of stale gin and panic.
I did not want to look. I did not want to follow his shaking finger toward the glass partition of the private VIP booth, but my eyes moved anyway.
Down there, right in the thick of the neon-soaked dance floor, a woman was cutting through the crowd.
Penelope.
She was not wearing the heavy, suffocating silk gowns I had paid for during our three years together. She wore a tight black leather outfit that caught every strobe light, outlining the sharp curve of her hips and the long, pale line of her throat. Her dark hair whipped through the air like a loose banner. She was laughing. She was laughing with a male werewolf who stood a head taller than her, a thick-jaw
