"That's enough."
A hand reaches out, smoothly lifting the wine glass from my fingers before I can take another sip. Tristan. The rich, woodsy scent of him fills the air, and my breath catches—my wolf stirring awake, instantly alert. I turn to face him, a grin tugging at the corner of my mouth.
"I decide what's enough for me," I say, daring to meet his intense brown gaze. It's a game we've perfected, one I play a little too well—seeing how long it takes to get under the skin of the man with the smoldering eyes and a jawline that looks carved from stone. His jaw clenches just like I expect, and I can't help but feel a flicker of victory. Cute.
"You know you can't handle alcohol well," he replies, his tone steady but holding that familiar, reprimanding edge.
"Hmmm," I murmur, my eyes drifting over his lips, down to the dark stubble that shadows his jaw, then lower to the suit that clings to every inch of his well-built frame. He wears it like armor, layered to hide the strong, solid form beneath. But I know what's under there; I've caught enough glimpses before. Just the memory of that quick, fleeting sight when he shifted one day is enough to send a thrill through me, recalling just how… well-equipped he is. You would think he was horse shifter. Are there even horse shifters?
"Nathaniel." He growls my name, low and firm, and a shiver runs through me. Damn, if that isn't the sexiest sound in existence.
"What?" I look up at him, giving my best innocent blink, pretending I don't notice the way he's all but bristling. In one quick movement, he drains what's left of the wine in my glass and hands it off to a passing waiter.
"You've got to perform the ceremony later today. Can't have you messing it up." His tone is firm, and I can hear the concern under his gruff words.
I roll my eyes, but I feel a wave of dizziness creeping in. He's right—I know it, and he knows I know it, and that annoys me more than I care to admit. I glance away, forcing myself to ignore the solid presence beside me and scan the crowd.
And then I see them—Ember and Kellan, their heads close together as they laugh at something, a small, private moment amid the sea of people. My lips curve into a smile I don't even try to hide. They look good together, Kellan's large frame almost wrapping around her, an unmistakable possessiveness in his stance. His hand rests protectively on her back as they move through the crowd, as if daring anyone to even think of touching her. And no one would, not with his brooding, storm-like presence shadowing her every step.
Their chemistry crackles, and I feel something warm settle in my chest.
***
My wolf stirs inside me, clawing restlessly, a sensation that jolts through me like a shock. This isn't typical. He's always been reserved, a quiet presence that barely stirs beyond a flicker of interest here and there. I fancy men, sure, but I've learned to keep it buried deep, a part of me I've chosen not to indulge. I like women too—just enough to find comfort in their company. And for years, I was content, convincing myself that's all I needed.
Until him.
From the corner of my eye, I sneak a glance at Nathaniel. He's beautiful, and I don't use that word lightly. Male wolves don't have beauty, not really. They're built like stone walls, solid and sturdy, every inch of them pure masculinity and raw power. But Nathaniel... he defies all of that. His frame is lean, graceful, with that effortlessly boyish charm. He's radiant in a way that's disarming—just enough softness to make you want to protect him, enough bite to remind you he doesn't need it.
My beautiful Nathaniel. My temptation.
I hate that I feel this way. I've always prided myself on my control. I'm the calm one, the logical one, able to shove emotions aside like old boxes in a basement. But here I am, watching him, and I feel possessiveness rippling through me, dark and all-consuming. It's maddening, how every set of eyes that strays to him sets me on edge. How dare they? I want to tear out the gazes of those who linger on him, who admire him too openly.
I'm not supposed to be like this.
"Tristan," Nathaniel's voice pulls me out of my thoughts. He nudges me gently, his soft smile breaking my tension. "It's time."
I blink, disoriented, barely processing the shift around us. The crowd has started to filter outside, gathering in silence by the pond in front of the estate. It's a beautiful night, the kind that feels like something from an ancient fairytale. The scene is alive with a certain kind of magic, the pond glistening under the moonlight, and at the center, Lady Kaia stands by a makeshift altar, her white robes flowing in the evening breeze as she tosses herbs into a crackling fire, in a metal bowl.
I feel Nate's warmth as I guide him forward, placing my hand at his waist. It's a simple gesture, a steadying hand on his side, but a thousand sparks shoot through me the second I feel him there. He's close, close enough that his scent wraps around me, and I try not to let it show, but I'm savoring every inch, every second of this contact. His presence fills me like nothing else. And yet I remind myself—he's not mine to hold.
The silence settles deeper as Lady Kaia's voice rises with the chant, the fire flaring, sending soft tendrils of smoke into the night. Each flicker of flame, each incantation, feels like a thread pulling us toward something momentous.
As we reach the center, I keep my hand on his waist a moment longer than necessary, convincing myself it's simply to steady him.