Chapter 69: Heat

Chapter 69: Heat Kaya Gloria flashes a bright smile at me, her sparkling eyes almost demanding that I accept the glass. I hesitate––reasonably so–– but as I do, she bursts into laughter, nearly spilling both drinks. "Oh, come on!" she pleads, "It’s a party, and I do not mix my drinks. I saw you having a martini at the bar, so I got you another one." "Now you are just making me look silly," Gloria insists, sporting a fake pout. I yield, reluctantly so, and finally accept the drink, throwing a subtle, cautious glance at the transparent liquid with a lemon twist. What’s up with that sudden kindness? "Oh, don’t give me that look!" She snarls, yet her tone is rather dismissive than annoyed. "It’s a peace offering. It’s me trying to say... well, whatever peace offering is supposed to say." "Yeah... right..." I drag the words like they are heavy sacks of rocks, but deep inside, I hope that Gloria really means it. I had a lot of enemies in Dark Wood––romantic rivals, so to speak. Every party was like a battlefield to us all; we fought for Damien’s attention, even though everyone knew that the winner would always be the same. Me. Peace offering? Damien’s mistresses wanted nothing but death for me. So this? Yeah, I hope she really means it. "Thank you," I finally squeeze these words out of myself, clinking my glass against hers as she raises it for a toast. "Let’s just enjoy ourselves tonight, okay?" With that, Gloria takes a small sip from her drink and walks away, waving at her usual company of friends. I down my drink embarrassingly fast, and surprisingly, I kind of wish there was more of it. It tastes better than what I had at the bar, so I can’t help but wonder whether the hired servers made their own drinks. Enjoy yourself, I urge myself inwardly, scanning the crowd once again, hoping to see another lonely soul like me to try and make a connection. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like that will be the case tonight. Letting out a long sigh, I turn around, prepared to return to the bar, when suddenly, I catch a whiff of something so familiar and warm, that I instantly pause, feeling as if my body took root right here and right now, without my permission. It’s him. And as expected, he is not alone. The room spins slightly as I catch sight of them—Magnus and Cecilia, standing far too close for my heartbeat to remain steady. Her hand grazes his forearm in a way that’s far too familiar, and he doesn’t move away. My fingers tighten around the cool glass in my hand, pulse fluttering beneath my skin as if every single pore in my body has a heart of its own. I hate that I’m watching, that I can’t look away. A bitter knot coils low in my stomach, spreading warmth—too much warmth. My breath catches. It’s not anger that rushes through me, but something far more treacherous. All of a sudden, my legs feel unsteady, heat blooming under my skin like wildfire caught beneath the surface. His scent drifts through the air—pine, earth, something sharp and masculine—and suddenly it’s everywhere, wrapping around me like a noose. My chest rises and falls faster, and it feels like there is no more air for me to breathe. I try to swallow the ache tightening in my throat, but my body won’t listen. The noise of the party blurs, my thoughts hazing with that same spiraling sweetness I once imagined in a dream. No. No, not now. But it’s too late. The scent of my heat begins to unravel from my skin, delicate and damning. And Magnus isn’t even looking at me. It hurts. The silk of my dress clings to my skin, suddenly too hot, too tight. I press the glass against my cheek, hoping the cold will ground me, but the chill does nothing to soothe the growing blaze unfurling in my belly. It’s not just heat anymore—it’s need. A low, aching kind that licks along every nerve and coils between my thighs like a slow, burning fuse. I try to steady myself, force a breath through clenched teeth, but then I hear it—the sudden drop in conversation, the shift in the room’s energy. The way heads turn, eyes narrowing and nostrils subtly flaring. Wolves—always attuned to scent. And mine is no longer subtle. It’s sweet and unmistakable now, a scent that doesn’t belong in this place, not like this. Heat. Oh Goddess. How can I be in heat? A startled laugh echoes somewhere to my left. One of the gammas whispers something sharp and smug to his friend, and the girl beside them bites back a grin, her eyes glittering as they settle on me. I want to disappear. My heart punches against my ribs, breath coming faster. I move toward the exit, but my legs barely respond, liquid and weak beneath me. Every inhale brings more of that rich, pine-laced scent—Magnus—and the way it seems to sharpen in my system makes the ache worse, makes it unbearable. I can feel him looking at me before I even see it—his gaze slicing through the crowd like a sharp blade. When I finally lift my eyes, I find him halfway across the room, frowning, his expression dark with concern. Cecilia says something to him, but he doesn’t hear it. His gaze is locked on me, as if he already knows what’s happening. No. No, no, no. He takes a step toward me. My entire body clenches in response. I can’t let him get closer. The shame twists deeper than the heat now—deeper than the need. What if he thinks I did this on purpose? That I’m trying to draw him in like some desperate whore he knows I am? That I want him to see me like this? I know who you are, his voice rings at the back of my head, and now I’m scared that this is all he really knows about me. I don’t understand what’s happening to me anymore. My wolf is dormant, suppressed, so how can this be happening now? My vision blurs with a hot sheen of tears. I shove past the nearest group of partygoers, my shoulder brushing someone’s arm, someone laughing, and then someone else murmuring my name with a note of surprise. But I don’t stop. I can’t. I bolt for the doors, heels clicking against the polished floor in erratic stumbles, my dress tangling around my legs like it wants to trap me here with all of them—all of their stares and knowing smirks and whispered comments. "Kaya!" Magnus calls, but I don’t turn back. I just run. Because if I stay, I might shatter into something I won’t be able to put back together. And worse than that... if I stay, I might beg him to touch me. Beg. Like I used to do.