The party in the Room of Requirement pulsed with life, a chaotic mix of flashing lights, laughter, and the scent of firewhisky. Costumes ranged from the eerie to the absurd, though some girls—bold, shameless—had seized the opportunity to flaunt their figures rather than frighten.

But Evan Rosier noticed none of it. His world had shrunk to one person. Her. The wicked little devil in a red dress that clung indecently to her figure, high boots accentuating the sinuous length of her legs, and that hair—twisted into horns, as if to mock him.

She was laughing at something, lips painted the same shade as the forbidden kiss they had shared in the shadows of the library just nights ago. His jaw tensed. That kiss had not been gentle; it had been fire, possession—dark, desperate hunger that had left him reeling, needing more.

And now, here she was, untouchable, surrounded by admirers who did not deserve to breathe the same air as her. Evan exhaled sharply, tipping his drink back, but the burn of alcohol was nothing compared to the one she had branded onto his skin.