I laugh, lightheaded, heart thudding in a rhythm that isn’t just from the dance.
“Careful,” I whisper. “Someone might think you’re flirting.”
“Oh, I’m flirting.”
His thumb strokes along the edge of my ribs. “And I think you like it.”
I shouldn’t. Not here. Not now. But with his eyes on me like this, I forget the enemies in the room. I forget the Queen. Politics. The risk. For just a moment, it’s just him and me and this impossible warmth threading between our wolves.
We finish the first dance and fall straight into a second. I barely notice the crowd anymore. Only him. Only the way his breath hitches when I smile, the way his fingers tighten when other males get too close.
He spins me once more—
“Mind if I cut in?” Camille.
Keith’s jaw ticks. I know he hates this. I glance at him.
