Page 59 of Wings of Shadow
The music surges around us, and for a moment, I let the beat carry me, the steady thrum of bass a balm to my restless thoughts. My mind remains half-trapped in that private room, replaying every touch, every word, every charged glance exchanged with Kaisner.
Sam leans in, voice pitched low so only I can hear. “We’ll talk about this later,” she mouths. I nod, knowing there’s no escaping it.
For now, I let the music wash over me as I dance with my friends, laughter spilling from my lips even as Kaisner’s parting words echo in my mind: “No matter what happens out there, no matter who you’re with, you belong to me.”
We lose ourselves in the music, bodies pressed close, moving in time with the relentless beat. For a fleeting instant, I almost feel normal—just another woman in a club, cloaked in flickering lights and fleeting glances.
Then Sam’s voice breaks the spell, laced with worry. “Shit. I have to go. Gavriil’s in one of his moods. Apparently, he’ll send the entire Elite team if I don’t head back home.”
A protest rises to my lips, but her apologetic smile stops me. “It’s okay,” I say softly. “Go. I’ll be fine.”
She pulls me into a tight hug. “Call me if you need anything,” she murmurs before melting into the crowd.
The club closes in around me, the air thick with heat and sweat and the electric promise of the night. Bodies sway to the music, laughter rings out, and yet, beneath it all, something cold coils at the base of my spine.
A gaze—hungry, intent—lands on me. Not Kaisner’s. His is a possessive heat, one that claims and protects. This is different. Colder. Hungrier.
I keep dancing, pretending not to notice, though every nerve in my body is on edge. Human guys watch me with lust, curiosity, admiration—mundane desires with no real danger behind them.
Something darker lurks in the shadows. Predatory. Calculated. Waiting.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise. My skin prickles. I’m not only being watched, I realize.
I’m being hunted.
I sharpen my senses, my gaze scanning the edges of the dance floor. And then, I see them.
A bear shifter reclines in a secluded booth, amber eyes gleaming with feral interest. Near the bar, a warlock tracks my every move, the flicker of magic playing at his fingertips. And a vampire—utterly still—watches me with ancient, predatory calm.
They aren’t drawn to beauty. They’re drawn to influence. To me.
The truth of it crashes over me. I am not just a woman in a club tonight—I am Clarissa Draken, a prize to be claimed. A stepping stone to power.
A hand brushes my elbow, and I flinch.
Alexei’s low voice cuts through the music, a smooth invitation. “Shall we dance?”
His expression is easy, but his nostrils flare, catching the faint scent of Kaisner on my skin. He tucks that knowledge away, a card to be played at the perfect moment.
Before I can respond, he guides me back onto the dance floor, his hand firm at my waist. The bourbon on his breath mingles with expensive cologne, his every move a study in controlled dominance. The music thrums through my veins as we dance—a push and pull, a performance for the eyes that watch.
“Buenas noches, bella,” a voice purrs, cutting through our dance like a blade through silk. The words roll off his tongue with a lazy sort of charm, though somewhat slurred.
I turn to find León Regalis, the lion shifter alpha, disheveled and reeking of whiskey. His smile is arrogant, but there’s a wild edge to it. “Mind if I cut in?” he says, reaching for my hand. And when he speaks, he does it with the entitled ease of a man who’s never been denied anything in his life.
Alexei’s hold on my waist tightens like a vice. “I mind,” he growls, his voice a low rumble.
León’s smirk widens. “Come on, Clarissa,” he says, ignoring Alexei. “Ditch this mutt and dance with a real man.”
Tension sparks between them, electrifying the charged air.
“León, don’t—” I start, but the crack of a fist cuts me off.
León stumbles back, blood trickling from his split lip, fury burning in his eyes. “You’ll pay for that, wolf,” he snarls, snapping his fingers.
Suddenly, we’re surrounded.
León’s men step from the shadows, bodies tensed, eyes hard.
