SIENNA'S POV
It was cold outside—too cold—and I had fled without a coat.
The night air bit into my skin as tears slid down my cheeks, one after the other. I didn't sob. I didn't even sniffle. I simply let them fall in silence, my chest aching with everything I refused to let out.
I rubbed my palms over my bare arms, trying to create warmth where there was none, my breath coming out in thin, shaky clouds. I swallowed hard as I crossed through a werewolf district I had once walked through with Edward.
Edward had been the one to introduce me to the werewolf world.
When he first confessed what he was, I hadn't believed him. I'd laughed, thinking it was some elaborate joke. But then he showed me—his hidden world, his people, his customs. He introduced me to Mara. To Neve.
After that, I hadn't known how to stop loving him.
He had won my heart slowly, patiently—with kindness, gentleness, unwavering care. He never rushed me, never made me feel small for being human. That man felt like safety.
A far cry from the man I had just run away from.
If he hadn't loved me from the beginning, why bother?
Why go through all that effort just to play with my heart?
The question burned unanswered.
I tilted my head up, swallowing again as I stared at the vast, uncaring sky above. The stars looked distant tonight.
When I thought about all the time we had shared—the laughter, the whispered promises, the warmth—it suddenly felt fake. Unreal. Like a cruel satire I had been foolish enough to believe was real.
My feet slowed when I noticed the bar.
I recognized it instantly. One of the places Edward had always warned me never to step into.
I walked in anyway.
The stench hit me immediately—alcohol, sweat, thick male testosterone tangled with sharp werewolf scents. It was overpowering, but I had expected nothing less.
Maybe it was paranoia from everything that had happened tonight, but I felt eyes on me the moment I stepped inside. Many assessing eyes.
I ignored them.
I made my way to the bar and climbed onto a stool, my fingers curling against the counter.
"What would you like to have?" the bartender asked.
I glanced behind him at the neatly stacked bottles lining the shelves. I didn't recognize a single name. I'd never really been much of a drinker.
"Anything strong," I whispered.
My voice didn't sound like mine.
The bartender studied my face for a second, then gave a knowing nod. When he returned, he placed a bottle filled with golden liquid in front of me.
I didn't ask what it was.
I uncapped it, poured myself a glass, and filled it to the brim. It probably wasn't wise—for a human, especially one who hadn't drank before—but I didn't care.
I downed the glass in one go.
The liquid burned its way down my chest before settling heavily in my stomach. Bitter. Far too bitter.
I poured another. Then another.
I was tipsy—lightheaded—but not drunk. Not nearly enough.
As I downed my fourth glass, I heard the whispers.
"Isn't she ashamed to be here?" a female voice chuckled.
"I doubt it. Isn't she the human mate?"
Laughter rippled around me.
I tightened my grip on the glass, my knuckles whitening. What was so amusing?
"I don't know how anyone would want a human mate."
"What is she even doing here when her wedding is tomorrow? Shameless."
The glass slammed against the counter before I realized what I was doing.
Gasps followed.
I stood, turning sharply toward them. "Enough," I growled. "You don't get to talk about me like that. Not ever."
Their expressions twisted into irritated scowls, but I refused to be intimidated.
"The fact that I am human doesn't mean I deserve less love than any of you."
"This bitch," one of them muttered as they began to stand.
"Do you really think so?" the female sneered, stepping into my space. "You're nothing but a human who came here to whore herself. I don't see your fiancé anywhere."
The two men beside her opened their mouths—then froze.
Their gazes lifted over my head. Their faces drained of color. The room fell silent.
I didn't need to turn around to know why, I felt it.
The unmistakable presence of a powerful werewolf—the weight of his aura pressing into the space, commanding attention. One by one, they stepped back and bowed.
My heart stuttered as I turned, and walked straight into what felt like granite.
Except it wasn't granite. It was the solid chest of a tall man.
An arm wrapped around my waist, steadying me, keeping me close—shielding me from the danger of the other werewolves, even though he himself radiated it.
His scent invaded my nostrils and flooded my senses. Warm cedarwood. Clean leather. Something dark beneath it all.
My thoughts dissolved.
The man chuckled softly, his chest rumbling beneath my palms, sending a shiver straight through me.
"Is she wrong?" his deep, authoritative voice asked. "Why should she deserve lesser love for being human?"
My heart leapt. Was he… defending me?
"N-no, Sir Daniele," one of the men stammered, fear trembling in his voice.
Sir?
My breath caught. Had I just ended up in the arms of a high-ranking werewolf?
Still tipsy, still reckless, I pulled back slightly to look at him.
He was devastatingly handsome, older, rugged, with a chiseled jaw and sharp cheekbones. Dark hair framed his face, brushing just over piercing blue eyes.
A visceral attraction struck me. Goosebumps erupted across my skin. My lips parted as we stared at each other, the world narrowing to just us.
This wasn't the wine. This man had an effect on me.
He turned his attention back to the others and gestured for them to leave. They scattered instantly. When he released me, I had to steady myself to keep from falling.
He turned and walked away.
My feet moved on their own.
Definitely the wine.
I followed him until he stopped in front of the men's restroom.
He glanced over his shoulder, one brow lifting, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. "You sure you want to follow me inside, girl?"
His voice wrapped around me like warmth.
Neve's face flashed through my mind. Edward's betrayal followed. My chest tightened.
I stepped closer anyway. I grabbed his collar, rose onto my tiptoes, and kissed him.
Hard.
Lust crashed through me. I bit his lower lip, demanding entrance.
He didn't pull away, he grabbed me instead, kissed me back with a hunger that stole my breath, and we stumbled into a stall together, the door slamming shut.
He pulled away just long enough to press me gently against the door, his eyes dark with restrained desire.
Mine held no restraints.
I pushed into him.
"You sure you want this?" he murmured against my lips.
"Yes," I whispered.
If this was the wine, I'd regret it tomorrow.
He chuckled, his hand tracing the exposed skin of my V-neck dress. "Once I start, I won't stop."
I tugged him closer, our noses brushing. "Then don't call me girl," I purred. "Let me decide for myself."
"Feisty," he said softly. "I like that."
He fisted my hair and kissed me again.
And I knew—oh, I knew—that night was going to be passionately splendid.