The laughter across the hall gnawed at me. It was bright, almost shrill, a sound that felt designed to slice through the quiet churn of my thoughts.
Daemon leaned down toward the black-haired she-wolf, his lips close to her ear, and she tilted her head back, smiling wide enough to show every tooth. My jaw clenched before I realized it.
“Your drink, my lady.”
Clara’s voice drew me back. She handed me a glass, the red liquid sloshing just shy of the rim. Wine, rich and thick, smelling faintly of spice and oak. I took it, hoping it might settle the twisting in my stomach.
It didn’t.
My eyes still flicked back to Daemon, no matter how much I told myself to stop. The way his hand rested lazily against the woman’s hip, the careless tilt of his grin, the fact that he wasn’t looking at me any
