Her eyes met mine.
Brown.
Warm.
Too clever.
Too alive.
So f*****g able to pull me under that I forgot the garden for a moment. Forgot the music. Forgot the pack moving around us in bright, laughing currents. Forgot everything except the way she held my gaze as if she was still angry, still unsure, still stubbornly collecting evidence, and yet no longer looking for the nearest exit.
Then a sharp clink cut through the music.
Once.
Twice.
A knife against a champagne glass.
I blinked, dragged unwillingly out of Martha’s eyes, and turned toward the stage.
Alaric stood there with Aria beside him, one arm around her waist and a smile so wide and bright that I genuinely worried for my vision.
“My mate and I have an announcement to make,” he boomed.
The garden quieted almost instantly,
