After she finished her fruity mixed drink, Syri abandoned them for the dance floor. The socialite wandered after her once he realized that he would get nowhere with Toria. The next man who approached the alcove was in direct contrast to the previous visitors. Instead of deferring to Archer regarding what level of interaction the water mage was willing to provide, the stranger dropped into Syri’s empty spot and draped an arm over Archer’s shoulders. “You must be the warrior-mages.”
Even without her magesight active, Toria could tell he had werewolf written all over him. He sat with preternatural stillness, except for the fingers toying with the back of Archer’s neck, and his amber gaze darted from Toria to Kane and back again, not subtle in the way he eyed their weapons. She could see the
