KILLIAN'S POV
The music pounds louder by the second inside the hall. I can feel it through the golden glasses glasses, clinking silverware, and the laughter of nobles who've drunk too much and think too little.
Women swarm me like moths to a flame.
They laugh too loud, lean too close. Their fingers keep brushing against my arms, my chest, trying to earn a glance, a favor. One bold brunette practically climbs into my lap, curling herself around me like she owns the damn right to breathe the same air. I don't even remember her name. Don't care to.
I barely hear a word any of them say.
Because my mind—my entire being—is elsewhere.
It's with her.
Layla.
My little omega.
The only person who can disarm me with a look. The only one I want, even though I shouldn't. Even though the very thought of her makes my blood burn and my wolf stir like he's waking from centuries of sleep.
She's the only one who ever dares challenge me.
