As it turned out, the opportunity was well in Alana’s favor.

Of the two warlocks, Damon was the one who’d unsettled her waking hours with his virulent warning. Jaxon, she’d yet to figure out, beyond the insane amount of attraction she felt whenever he was near. It tugged on her, and begged her to throw herself at him - against all conventions that demanded otherwise.

Warlocks never mixed with others, especially not someone like her.

With Taylor busied at the sight of the explosion, she spent hours at the apartment setting up wards to keep her safe. They were far from foolproof, but knowing the barrier was there to protect her in her absence gave her a false sense of security.

She’d cling to it as much as possible.

Jaxon hadn’t given her many details of where they’d be headed. Instead, he’d simply teased her with the notion that the event was one warlocks simply couldn’t resist. He hadn’t needed to fill in the blanks that that would include his brother, Damon.

Having turned down his offer to pick her up at her place, she agreed to meet him outside the building they’d be spending their late evening at. Unfortunately, it seemed the asshole wasn’t very punctual at all.

Having foregone a coat entirely so she wouldn’t be forced to carry it around with her all evening, she stood outside the entrance of a high-rise shivering in the cold. Her t-shirt barely offered any protection against the chilled wind, and a wrap of her arms across her chest only helped a bit more.

“Goddamn asshole,” she muttered beneath her breath as more people meandered past with a curious side-glance at her. Whatever they wondered, remained unsaid as they slipped inside and on to the event she was waiting for.

Loudly, Alana groaned in frustration after fifteen minutes had already passed by before a sleek, black car pulled up directly in front of her. She’d nearly given up hope Jaxon would even show, and barely paid it any mind as the back door swung open.

She paid very close mind though when he was the one to step out in jeans that hugged his hips and a dark t-shirt that drew her eyes adrift across the form of his muscles.

“My eyes are up here,” he purred, forcing her attention to rise in a slow crawl up the front of his chest.

“Have I offended you?” She teased while finally settling on the mischievous squint of his eyes.

“If I got offended every time someone stared at my chest, I’d never stop being offended. I’ve got better things to worry about.” His head nodded toward the door, “come on, it’s cold out here.”

“I know,” she muttered while hurrying along with him inside, “I was stranded out in the cold waiting for your fucking highness.”

He said nothing of her choice nickname, given the wicked grin he wore spoke for him. Within the confines of an elevator they stepped, while she watched with a deep curiosity as he hit the button for the top floor.

“Really? A penthouse party?” She wasn’t certain whether to be impressed or completely placid over the idea. It sounded rather cliché.

“So judgmental,” he cooed with a lean back against the far wall. “Tonight, is the Warlock Glaring. Once every fifty years or so, a dormant current of magic awakens. The location is never the same, and as far as I’m aware, this is the first time it’s been this far off the ground. It took some time to find a suitable place to tap into it.”

Alana’s mind raced with the possibilities of such magic, and couldn’t help but wonder whether how it would affect her, or if she could even use it at all.

“Oh,” he amended with a curled lip, “we warlocks can’t resist it attending. My brother, included.”

“Mm, you mentioned as much, though now it makes sense why.” Mostly.

The elevator’s ding had him pulling himself lazily from the wall, and with a hand at her back, he urged her out and into the awaiting gathering. The skin beneath her thin t-shirt flushed with the heat of his hand, but it was hard to focus on that one connection when there was so much to see ahead.

A low thrum of music reverberated through the space, lending to the darkly seductive atmosphere. Awash in the dimmest of lights, it was difficult to make out many details, but the moment she stepped out with Jaxon at her side, it was clear to her she may have been onto something in calling him your highness.

All along their path, people seemed to give him the right of way, stepping clear of his direction and nodding their heads out of respect. He took it all in stride, though not without a prideful lift to his chin. Alana was also pulled in the fray, and was bombarded with curiously side-swept glances.

The asshole seemed to love every second of it.

“Over there,” he motioned with a nod of his head.

Across the room several people stood with their palms up amidst a buzzing funnel of energy. Even from afar she could feel the tinge of magic in the air and felt compelled to taste it for herself.

That is, until Damon stepped across the forefront of her vision. She stilled, prey to her swirling thoughts that settled on the face that had never once left her darkened dreams. She may have been the one to start the betrayal, but he’d threatened not only her, but anyone that had ever touched her heart as well.

For that, she’d kill him herself.

Hell-bent, she strode forward, only for Jaxon to yank her back with a firm grip on her arm. He pulled her back hard, slamming her against his chest while his lips dipped close to her ear. “Don’t.”

She fought against him with an angered, but futile wrench of her arm. “What the hell did you bring me for if you aren’t going to let me go after him?”

“I’m saving your ass, you should be thankful. That talisman he’s wearing, it-”

“Saving my ass? If I don’t get to that asshole first, he’ll kill me, and my sister.”

With a gruff expression, he dragged her away from the crowd, much to her upset. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Keeping you alive,” he grumbled before shoving open the first door they came to. Swinging her inside the narrow study, he followed close behind and slammed the door at his back, sealing them in, free of prying eyes.

“Let me, the fuck out,” Alana growled as he stood firm before the door like a brick wall.

“You’re being rash, and ridicul-”

At him she lunged with a lightning fast flick of the knife she’d earlier tucked into her pocket. Toward the meat of his arm she aimed, her teeth grit with her dark intent. She’d get out of that damn door if it killed her.

Set off course by his swiftly raised defense, she found her forward momentum halted as a thick arm wrapped in a coil around her waist. Against her back the strength of his form pressed, flooding her with an undeniable heat as she swung in a perfect arc backward at his still stance.

In an instant she was freed and spun back in with another attempted attack. Through the fabric of his shirt her knife sunk, ripping a lengthy gash just over the top of his shoulder. A thin line of crimson blossomed against his skin, and in her split moment of distraction, he latched onto her knife-wielding wrist with an iron grip.

Shoved backward by his imposing stride, she grit her teeth against the tightened squeeze that soon had her weapon falling free of her hand. “Asshole,” she breathed, before his focus changed entirely.

Around the back of her neck his hand slung, and in the span of a single exhale, he dragged her hard against his lips.