I lingered alone near the club's shadowed rim, arms folded tight and gaze locked unblinking upon the archway where Draven had vanished into shadow and noise.
Music pounded heavier now — too loud, too bright, every beat throbbing against skull. But my thoughts roared far louder still.
What exactly is he doing back there?
Brows drew tight and sharp. Those women had practically draped themselves over him the instant he appeared: smiling… leaning close… hands drifting… eyes glinting hungry — as if he were prize already marked and theirs to take.
Stomach twisted sour and hot.
"Are they truly touching him?" I muttered low through clenched teeth. The thought alone sparked sharp irritation.
No. Draven would never permit such liberty.
…Would he?
Restless pacing began across polished floor. "He remains a man after all," I whispered in weak defence to myself. "Men have wants… weaknesses…"
Short pause — and correction came firm and fast:
"But this is Draven."
