Dazed, I followed Jax into the room, my pulse a wild drumbeat beneath my skin. The air felt heavy, charged with secrets, as if the walls themselves held their breath.
It took every shred of control to keep my face a mask—serene, unshaken—as I wove through the bar’s buzzing crowd to the shadowed staircase. My heart thundered, but I refused to let it show, each step a silent vow to hold my ground.
Yet when I glimpsed Jax—his muttered words frantic, his movements jittery—I found an anchor. His unease steadied me, a strange calm settling over my nerves.
“Here,” he said, voice low, gesturing to a plush chair. “Rest.” He wrinkled his nose, sniffing his jacket with a grimace. “These Rose Pack she-wolves—too much. Pressing themselves against me, tangling my scent with theirs. It’s foul.” He tug
