Page 47 of Satisfaction Guaranteed

A low groan forms in the werewolf’s throat. His fingers pick at the plastic of the armchair, claws twitching beneath the bed of his nails.

“Are you doing okay?”

Cyrus jumps in his seat. A pair of small bats flutter in front of his nose. One ash-grey, the other white as fallen snow. They shift, each landing gracefully in a set of patio chairs. The vampire friends. He hadn’t seen much of them today, but now that the sun was gone, he supposed it made sense to catch them mingling more. The tension in Cyrus’ shoulders eases in their presence. He much prefers them over Alana’s grandmother. Every once in a while, he feels the weight of her stare, cold and calculated and worsening his current state.

Had she come over here, he’d be half tempted to tuck tail and flee for the first time in his life.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I’m alright,” Cyrus says, his voice more strained than he likes. “Just a little hot under the collar, I guess.”

“We can see that,” says the paler one, Lilith, if he recalls correctly. She chuckles and throws her leg across her lover’s lap. “Well, don’t mind us. Just wanted to check on you.”

Nakita nods in agreement, then pushes a few of her jet-black braids behind her ear. “Seemed like you took a pretty big hit back there.” She flashes a fanged smirk, tapping at her nose.

“I’ve been hit with worse,” he says with a crooked smile. “Besides, I heal faster than most. I’ll be fine before the night is over.” His attention shifts over to the crowd, eyes locking onto Alana, on the glow of the hanging fairy lights against her skin and the echo of her laughter. The idea of this night ending at all weighs heavily on his chest.

“Before the night is out? Are you staying that late? Wow.”

Lilith’s voice bounces with humor. “You have some resilience. You’ve lasted a lot longer out here than we thought you would. Must really be smitten with our birthday girl, huh?”

Cyrus blinks. “What do you mean I lasted longer?”

The pair exchange a look. Then, Nakita simply stares at him with a finger pointed upwards. When he follows it, he’s greeted with the sight of a very bright, very full moon.

The color drains from his face.

“You wolf types tend to have a hard time when the moon is like this, right? Glamour or not?” There’s an innocence in Lilith’s question, her head tilted in genuine curiosity.

But it goes in one ear and out the other. A low curse leaves Cyrus as he scrambles for his phone to check the time. He’d missed all his reminders, all his alarms. About a quarter till midnight on a full moon. No wonder he’s acting like such an idiot. He’d been so hyper-focused on Alana and the party that he hadn’t even realized he was in a—

“Cyrus?” Lilith snaps her fingers, worry evident behind her ghostly white lashes.

“Huh? Yeah. Shit, sorry.” Cyrus rakes a hand through his hair, Lilith’s previous question finally registering. “I’m fine. I’ve dealt with this before, it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Which isn’t a total lie. He’s experienced plenty of full moons in his day. None has ever felt this intense, but it isn’t anything he can’t wrangle in. Because the very idea of leaving Alana makes his bones ache and sends dread settling in his core. He looks out into the crowd again, watching her curl her arms around shoulders that aren’t his, and his jaw tightens. This was his last chance. It’s either now or he loses her.

“Excuse me.” Cyrus stands and dusts off his shirt. “I have to handle something.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CYRUS

Cyrus approaches Alana as soon as the next song begins. It’s slower this time, softer, with saxophones and bass notes that speak life into his tired old

bones.

The woman singing holds a low, soulful quality to her voice that feels hard to find in this day and age. It carries a steady resonance from decades ago—something that sends the younger individuals off and welcomes the older generations in their place. The aunties and uncles of Alana’s family pair off into couples, arms wrapped around each other as they sway in easy tandem below the night sky.

The shift in atmosphere sends Connor on his way, too. The bull whispers something in Alana’s ear before excusing himself, and he makes eye contact with Cyrus when he does. A quick glance, yet Cyrus can see the flicker in his expression when he flips his hair out from his face. He ignores it, ignores the low growl that forms in the far back of his throat, and the way his hackles prickle with the compulsion to rise. But he turns his attention to what actually matters. To the patches of ivory skin and a presence with an uncanny ability to feel just like home.

When he approaches Alana, she beams, and the thin lines around her eyes crinkle, making the muscles in Cyrus’ legs go as weak as a stumbling fawn. Gods, when had he fallen so hard? Was this all really because they slept together? Or had these feelings happened so gradually he hadn’t even realized until nature had to intervene? He stumbled upon Alana’s bakery one day, took one look at her, and decided there was nowhere else he’d rather spend his time. His excuse had always been her food, telling himself it’s just too damn good to pass up. But there were many bakeries in this humble little town—maybe it’s always been more than the lemon squares that brought him back each time.

“Hey,” Alana greets with a breathless laugh. Her chest rises and falls with the leftover exertion from dancing, though she makes no attempt to sit or rest. She stays put, lingering in front of him with a gentle sway of her hips.

Looking at her, Cyrus feels like a boy at prom trying to ask his crush to dance, what with his sweaty palms and the nervous lump settling in his throat. “Hi.”

Another quiet bubble of laughter leaves her. So sweet, it sends an ache in his molars. “How are you feeling? Are you having a good time?”

The music continues around them, slow, soothing. Alana’s body continues to sway with it, and Cyrus takes a step forward. “I am.”