Lucian's POV
A soft smile tugs at my lips, the kind that feels foreign on my face. Alina. Just the thought of my mate sends a strange, steady pulse through my chest. I should hate this. I should loathe that a single woman can anchor my chaotic mind, but I can't. The mere memory of her scent makes the room stop spinning, and the ache to see her again is a physical weight in my gut.
"Lucian!" Ragnar's voice cracks like a whip, snapping me back.
Suddenly, the heavy bass of the club slams into my ears, vibrating through the floorboards. I'd forgotten where I was.
"What are you doing? There's a line of beauties waiting just for you," Ragnar says, leaning in with a sharp wink. "I picked them myself. Extra lethal, extra sexy."
"Oh," I mutter, the word falling flat.
"Oh? What the hell is 'oh'?" He looks at me like I've grown a second head.
"Ragnar, I'm just not in the mood tonight. Maybe some other time."
