Noah shouldn't be here.
The moment he stepped into the grand ballroom—gold chandeliers dripping with light, the air thick with cigar smoke and expensive cologne—he knew this wasn't his world.
It was Theron's.
And right now?
He was surrounded by predators.
Wealthy Alphas prowled the space, their gazes sharp and assessing. Noah could feel their eyes on him before he even took a full step inside.
And then?
A voice. Smooth. Amused. Dangerous.
"Well, well," a deep, unfamiliar tone murmured behind him. "Who let something this tempting in unclaimed?"
Noah stilled.
The voice was close—too close.
Before he could turn, a hand brushed his lower back. Possessive. Testing.
"Careful." The warning rumbled from behind him, and this voice?
Noah knew this voice.
Theron.
And he didn't sound amused.
He sounded lethal.
Noah turned his head slightly, just enough to catch the storm in Theron's gaze—the way his jaw ticked, the way his broad frame tensed like a beast barely leashed.
The other Alpha chuckled, stepping back with his hands raised in mock surrender. "Didn't realize he was yours, Theron."
Theron's grip on Noah's waist tightened.
"He is."
Noah's breath hitched. That voice. That absolute, unwavering certainty.
The other Alpha smirked. "Funny. He doesn't smell like it."
Silence.
Heavy. Sharp. Electric.
And then?
Theron's lips brushed Noah's ear.
"You will by the end of the night," he murmured, dark promise laced in every word.
Noah shivered.
And Theron?
He smiled.