One second, the women were circling Charléne with their fake smiles, and the next, their eyes widened, their voices failing as they scrambled to clear a path.
Charléne didn't need to turn around to know why. The air behind her grew heavy, and the fine hairs on her arms stood on end. Then came the weight—his arm slipping around her waist from behind, his palm broad and warm as it locked her against his chest.
Lucien leaned down, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He took a long, slow breath, inhaling her scent like he was starving and she was the only thing that could satisfy him. Deep inside him, the beast stirred; his eyes darkened to a void-like black before bleeding back to amber, and a sharp, nagging itch flared in his jaw as his teeth ached to mark her skin.
Charléne's fingers dug into his forearm, trying to pry his hand off her waist. "Lucien, let go. Everyone is watching," she hissed.
