He wasn’t on Aux duty that night.

Didn’t have a single mission in his queue, didn’t owe a godsdamned thing to anyone—not the city, not the Asteri, not even the angels above or the devils below. The war had been won. The city saved. Peace, for now, reigned.

So, naturally, Bryce decided it was time to throw a party.

And of course, she dragged Hunt along—whatever-the-hel he was to her now. Ruhn didn’t ask. Didn’t want to. Their relationship was its own storm. And Bryce... Bryce had a gravitational pull few could resist.

He wasn’t immune.

But tonight wasn’t about playing overprotective brother. Not when she waved him in with a grin, already three drinks deep, surrounded by half the city’s who's-who and half-dressed, drunk as sin.

The club was packed—bass thudding through the floor like a second heartbeat, lights slicing across sweat-slicked bodies. The air reeked of spilled liquor and sex and freedom.

Ruhn Danaan lived for it.

He had a drink in his hand, his tattoos on full display in a sleeveless shirt that clung to his broad chest, his jeans riding low on his hips, and not a single intention of behaving tonight.

He hadn’t felt this alive in months.

Then he saw her.

And gods, did it knock the breath from his lungs.

Dancing beside Bryce—laughing, spinning, glowing like starlight and shadow. His best friend's little sister. Except she wasn’t little anymore.

He hadn’t seen her in nearly a decade, not since she’d packed up and left for another city, another life. She’d been smart. Kind. Too good for their mess. Bryce’s designated babysitter half the time, and his own personal tormentor the rest. Because Ruhn Danaan had wanted her.

Even back then.

She was forbidden, off-limits. Bro code and all that bullshit. But that hadn’t stopped him from stealing one kiss. One drunken, reckless taste under the haze of party lights when no one was watching.

And it haunted him still.

Now—now she was back.

All grown up. Wearing a dress that looked like it was painted onto her, hair loose and wild, those lips still just as tempting. She moved like she knew exactly what kind of hell she was dragging him into.

A devil, he thought.

She danced like a devil who wore the face of an angel.

He finished his drink in one long swallow. Then he moved—through the crowd, toward her. He didn’t think about her brother. Didn’t think about what the fuck he was doing. Just felt the music in his blood, felt her eyes on him, felt the years burn away between them.

She turned to him with a slow, wicked smile.

"Been a long time, Danaan," she said over the music, voice syrup-smooth and dangerous.

He grinned, the piercing at his brow catching the strobe light. "You know what they say, sweetheart—absence makes the heart grow dangerously horny."

She laughed, low and lethal. "Still full of shit, I see."

"And you’re still the best damn mistake I never got to make properly.”

Her brows rose. “You think this would’ve been a mistake?”

Ruhn stepped closer, mouth brushing the shell of her ear.

"I think it still could be. And I think I’ve waited long enough to find out."

Gods help him. He knew better.

But in that moment, under the pounding bass and swirling lights, Ruhn Danaan didn’t give a fuck about better.

He just wanted her.