Sneaking out was a great idea.

On Leyla's back, we fly through the forest. It's a whole different experience from when I rode on Blake's back.

Sure, it's still a little unstable, and Leyla is smaller and slower, but the night sky blurs around me. I can't help but look up at the sky, watching the stars as we race between trees.

After a few minutes, she slows. In the distance, I can hear the thumping of music. More than that, I can smell food, drinks, and a lot of people.

Exactly how big is the Lunam Silvam pack?

I slide off Leyla's back and she instantly shifts back into her human form, pulling her sundress over her head.

"No offense, but are we really dressed for a party?" I ask, frowning at our outfits.

She giggles. "You're in for a shock."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, think about it. Most werewolves get here by shifting," she says slowly. "And when they shift back..."

"They're naked," I say with a gasp. "Don't tell me this is a nudist party."

"No!" she exclaims, guffawing. "Just that, a few wolves like to take liberties with their fashion. You'll see."

She leads the way through the woods. It's a winding path and my bare feet sink into the cold grass. I wrap my arms around myself, shivering, though Leyla doesn't seem affected.

Right. Wolves don't get cold. I clench my jaw to stop my teeth from chattering. I need to blend in.

Finally, the trees part and we enter a clearing.

It's like entering a whole new world.

Fairy lights are strung through the trees, illuminating the small field. I haven't seen this many people since—since high school, I guess.

There are people everywhere, drinking, dancing, chatting. A few wolves are scattered throughout the crowd, and...oh.

I see what Leyla was talking about now.

It's obvious who arrived here as a wolf. A few people in the crowd have...questionable outfits. Some men wear nothing but briefs, and even a few women are completely topless.

I blush and look away. Something stirs in my stomach, and I'm suddenly very glad that Blake doesn't attend these parties.

"Let's get a drink," Leyla says, her mouth close to my ear.

I nod and follow her through the crowd. She's clearly done this a lot, because she knows the exact route to the drinks table.

I've never been much of a partier. By the time I was old enough to want to go to parties, Bianca was shoved into my life, and she made certain I never went to any.

As we walk through the party, I gaze around, my eyes wide, trying to take it all in. I almost forget how cold I am.

"Here," Leyla says, lifting two glass bottles and passing me one. "Try it."

I take a sip. It's sweet like sugar water. "What is this?"

"Some werewolf alcohol recipe," Leyla says, taking a swig herself. "They make it all themselves. Some kind of mead, I guess."

"Oh." I take another small sip. The sweetness isn't as overbearing the second time. "What do we do now?"

"What do you think? Dance!" she says, laughing. She grabs my hand and takes a step back, swaying her hips. "Just don't get too close to any of the pack. One wrong word and they'll sniff you out."

I nod and she smiles, taking another sip as she dances to the music. Around us, most of the pack are dancing too. I try to follow her lead. I can't even remember the last time I danced—at least, where other people could see me.

I danced all the time while doing chores alone. I'd pop my old earphones in and play music, swaying as I swept the floors, and wiped the walls, and did whatever other pointless chore Bianca could dream up.

It's different here. Here, I feel aware that people could be watching.

I try to ignore it, taking a long drink from my bottle. The sugary liquid slips down my throat and my blood warms.

Is alcohol supposed to work this quickly?

The world sways around me. The fairy lights almost twinkle brighter.

I twirl and a giggle erupts from my throat. Leyla whoops and we clink our bottles together as we take another swig together.

It becomes easier to bob along to the music with the alcohol flowing through my veins. I spin again, but this time, find myself face-to-face with a man.

He catches me and laughs, flashing his big white teeth.

"Hello there," he says.

I blink at him, trying to stop the world from spinning. A giggle bursts from my lips.

"Hi!" I chirp.

He's handsome. It must be a requirement to be a werewolf, or something: You must be extremely attractive. His jaw is chiseled, and his dark skin looks smooth, spotless.

I want to reach up and touch his jaw, see if it's as sharp as it looks, but something about the thought makes me feel sick.

"You look like you're having fun," he remarks.

I nod quickly. "I am!"

"Let's have some more fun?" he asks.

That sounds like a great idea to me. I lean towards him, and he grips my lower back, swaying his body against mine.

Butterflies erupt in my stomach, and instantly die. Something feels wrong about all this.

I close my eyes. If I try, I can almost pretend this is Blake. I can imagine that it's Blake's hand, pressed against my back. Blake's chest, pressed against mine. Blake's lips, brushing my ear.

I blink my eyes open. It's not Blake's face in front of me. My heart sinks a little, but I smile anyway.

"I..." my voice trails off. My tongue feels heavy. "Stop moving."

"I'm not moving," the man says. I think he frowns at me, but it's hard to tell when he keeps swaying like that. "Are you okay?"

His words are muffled, like there's cotton stuffed in my ears.

"You're shiny," I say. I lift a hand up to his face and stroke his jaw.

He is shiny. Something silver reflects off his skin. I try to catch the shimmery light with my fingertips, when I inhale sharply.

This isn't just any light. This is the string that connects Blake to me, which means...

He's here.

"I need to..." The words don't come out, and the thought is wiped from my mind. What did I need to do?

An image floats in my mind. Long dark hair. Leyla. I'm supposed to go somewhere. Where did I need to go?

But then the man leans forward and brushes his lips against mine, and the image vanishes.

"Oh!" I gasp, and he captures my mouth with his own. His fingers trail lower down my back, catching on the waistband of my shorts.

It's objectively nice, but something doesn't feel right about this.

"Wait," I murmur, pushing at his chest.

He pulls back. "What's wrong?"

"I..."

I turn slowly—or at least, it feels slow. Everything feels slow. It's like my body won't obey my brain. I tell my head to turn, and it takes every bit of energy to make that happen.

My eyes land on the silver rope that juts out of my chest, and I follow it across the clearing. It shimmers in the night, through groups of people, until I find where it ends.

Blake stands on the opposite side of the party, his icy gaze on me.

My whole face turns hot, and I'm filled with the distinct feeling of being caught. He steps forward and moves towards me, past all the dancing bodies and topless women.

My stomach turns. He doesn't look at them, but I don't want him to even be near them. Near any woman but me.

"Hey," the man says, wrapping an arm around my waist.

I still. I forgot he was here.

"Hands off, Mick," Blake says, his booming voice cutting over the music. Like Blake's voice has possessed him, the man's hand instantly leaves my waist.

"Yes, Alpha," he says, almost robotically.

Blake turns his gaze back on me. I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off.

"Not here," he barks.

My mouth snaps shut. He leans forward, one arm moving behind my back, the other behind my knees. In one swoop, he lifts me from the ground.

"Wait," I say, slurring. "Leyla."

"I already sent her home," he says. His voice is so sharp, it scares me into silence.

With that, he turns, and we leave the clearing.

My head spins. Everything spins. My stomach heaves and I think I might spew all over the grass.

I rest my head against his chest, letting him carry me without protest. His grip on the bottom of my thighs tightens.

"Like fucking ice," he mutters, pulling me closer. I'm grateful for the touch of his skin against mine. It grounds me. Warms me.

The swirling in my stomach gradually eases, and I close my eyes, focusing on nothing but the touch of his skin against mine.

I must doze off a little, because before I know it, he's setting me down.

I blink my eyes open. He's placing me on a bed, but this room is much bigger than his one at the cabin.

It's a bedroom that I'd place in a mansion—no, a manor. That's the kind of grandeur it holds. It needs an equally fancy word to go with it.

Huge, arched windows line the wall, with immense white curtains drawn over them. The room is so big that it's got its own little sitting area, with a fancy-looking chaise in one corner, complete with a table and vase full of fresh flowers.

The bed he places me on is bigger than a king sized one. I didn't even know that was possible. What would it be called? Emperor?

The second he sets me down, he staggers back, ripping his hands off my skin. I mourn the loss of his touch, my heart lodging itself into my stomach.

Shoving his hands into his hair, he paces back and forth for a second before whipping his head towards me.

"What the fuck were you doing there?" he shouts.

I freeze. Memories of Bianca yelling at me flash through my mind. I shrink into myself, sliding further back on the bed.

"You could have gotten hurt!" he continues, yelling. "Someone could have—done something—"

My throat feels so dry, it's almost impossible to get any words out, but I manage to squeak, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry's not good enough!" he yells. "What if something happened to you?"

"Leyla was with me," I say. My tongue is still heavy and uncooperative, and my words slur slightly.

"Leyla doesn't realize you're still human," he says. He shakes his head, frowning deeply. "That alcohol—it's stronger than what humans drink. Our werewolf metabolism burns it off quickly, but you..."

"Oh," I say stupidly. No wonder it hit me so hard. No wonder my tongue still feels thick in my mouth.

"And that man—he was touching you," he growls, tugging at his hair.

I've never seen Blake like this before—so angry. So concerned for me.

"Blake," I say. My voice is too quiet. He doesn't hear me.

"I should go back," he snarls. "I should kill him for touching you like that. His lips—"

"No!"

He turns to me, as if remembering I'm here. His glare strikes me, and my breath catches in my throat.

Slowly, the anger melts off his face.

"He didn't know," I say. "He thought I was a wolf."

"Argh!" he shouts, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He shakes his head hard, then steps closer. "I know. I know. I'm not thinking straight. I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"It's okay."

"It's not okay. You're allowed to leave the cabin. You're allowed to have fun."

"It's fine, Blake," I say. Clearly, he's tearing himself apart over all this. I shift onto my knees and crawl to the end of the bed, kneeling before him. "You're right. I shouldn't have gone."

He towers over me, watching me with such gentle eyes. Slowly, he raises his hand. I think he's about to cup my cheek, but he freezes, his hand hovering over my skin.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice quiet.

"I'm fine," I say. I lean my head to the side, pushing my cheek into his hand, as if to prove it.

I feel his muscles tense up, the way they usually do when we touch, but he doesn't move away.

"You're not fine," he says, narrowing his eyes. "You're slurring your words. You can barely sit up without swaying."

"Well, I'll be fine after I have a nap." I pause, glancing around. "Where are we anyway?"

"It's my house," he replies.

"You have a house?"

He nods. "I lived here, before I met you."

The way he says it, it's like I came into his life and shook his whole world up. Which, I suppose I did. The shining rope that connects is proof enough of that.

"Did you live here alone?" I ask.

"Mhmm." Absentmindedly, his thumb moves and strokes a pattern on my jaw. "It's where the Alpha lives."

"Where did you live before that?"

He blinks at me, surprise flashing in his eyes. "I lived in the commune, with the other wolves."

"Commune," I echo. "What is that? Like a dorm?"

He laughs quietly. "No, it's just a fancy word for our community. I guess it used to be like a real commune, but over the centuries, it's become a small town of its own. I lived in my house with my parents."

I like hearing him speak. I don't want him to stop, but I'm tired. My eyelids are feeling heavy.

"You need to sleep," he says, sensing my exhaustion. "You're freezing. Let me turn the fire on."

"No," I protest. "I'm warm. Tell me more."

"Lie down." He starts to pull his hand away, but I grab his wrist and hold him there.

"Don't," I say. He sighs loudly.

"Alright," he says after a long pause. "But you need to lie down. Let me warm you up."

He steps towards me and, with one hand still cupping my face, he places his other hand on my shoulder. Slowly, he starts to push me down.

I fall towards the mattress, and he hovers over me. I can feel the heat from his body, radiating onto me. When my back hits the sheets, he's practically straddling me on the bed.

My heart pounds in my chest and my stomach flips, but most of all, it feels right.

This is where we should be.

I never want to leave.

"Close your eyes," he murmurs.

I have no energy to protest. My eyes flutter shut, and his hand slides up, pushing my hair back. His other hand fixes the sheets over me, then withdraws.

My eyes shoot open, and I grab the sleeve of his shirt.

"Don't go," I say. I tug him closer. "Tell me about—about the dinner tonight. How was it?"

He exhales loudly and pauses. I give his sleeve another tug and it's like breaking the wall down.

He shifts, settling into the mattress beside me. He turns on his side and my hand slips from his sleeve to his hand, and I intertwine our fingers.

I want more. I want to feel all of him against all of me, but Blake tenses at the slightest touch of skin. I don't want to push it further. I'll take whatever I can get.

His hand is so hot against the cold touch of my skin. Blake frowns and curses under his breath.

"How could Leyla let you out there like this? It's freezing outside," he murmurs.

"She just wanted to help me forget," I say, the words taking effort to get out.

"Forget what?"

I shake my head. I don't want to be the one talking. I want him to talk. I want to hear his voice. "How was the dinner?"

He hesitates for a moment, until his grip on my hand relaxes. "It went fine. It'll be good to have more eyes looking out for anything suspicious," he says.

I nod. Slowly, my eyes fall shut again, but I don't want this night to end.

Tomorrow, I might wake up alone again. We'll go back to our awkward distance. Our unspoken no-touching rule, even though every fiber of me craves it. Even though the silver string between us practically demands it.

I force my eyes open again, gazing at Blake through my lashes.

"Do you think you'll catch them?" I ask, my voice growing drowsy.

"I know I will," he replies. There's a pause before he adds, "Do you have any suspects?"

I still. "What do you mean?"

He's quiet for a moment. I blink rapidly, trying to keep my eyes open, when he shakes his head. He exhales slowly through his nose.

"Never mind," he says. "Go to sleep. The alcohol is still in your system."

"But—"

"Sleep," he says. "I'll stay here."

It's like he knew exactly what I needed to hear.

I nod and finally let my eyes shut. With Blake's hand in mine, I fall asleep.