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The room smelled of pleasure, she thought, and pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth, blocking the scent from her sinuses.I am done, she told him, deliberately ignoring the shift in his expression. I am sorry to have kept you.

She put her head down and walked across the room, opening the door. He followed behind her, she knew, always aware of his presence, the shift of fabric, the sound of the soles of his shoes against the concrete, his breath, heavy behind her. That sense that had betrayed her in telling her that he was her One also telling her where he was in proximity to herself.

Jane, he said again, sounding puzzled as she opened the door into the club, but she stepped out, ignoring him, into the swell of music, and the scent of alcohol and cigar smoke.

She threaded between the busy, distracted people, oblivious to them, feeling only his eyes on her. She saw Angelique before her, and the she-wolfs reaction, the sharply indrawn breath, the reassessment, before Jane caught a glass of champagne off a passing waiters tray and took it out onto the dance floor with her.

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