The music was still pounding behind him as the door shut, but it felt like it belonged to another world now. Inside had been loud—too loud. Hunter's voice, his snake, his eyes. They'd all felt louder than the bass.
Now, Stacey sat alone at the table, cold glass sweating against his fingers, heart still fluttering against the inside of his chest like a bird caught between the ribs.
Kaylen wasn't back yet. The table around him was in chaos. Spilled drinks, half-eaten garnishes, the leftover scent of sweat and perfume, and laughter and bad decisions. But for now, it was just him—and the ghost of Hunter's breath against his skin.
He rubbed absently at his collarbone, the same spot Naestra had brushed with her tongue. It had been cool. Wet. Too brief to matter and yet…
It still tingled.
God. What was wrong with him?
The door creaked, and Kaylen slid into the booth beside him with a puff of air and the scent of gin. "You look like you just got back from a war zone."
