The dimly lit bar pulsed with the low thrum of music and murmured conversations. Trystan leaned against the polished wood of the counter, his fingers wrapped loosely around a half-empty glass of whiskey. The burn of alcohol dulled his senses, a rare moment of respite from the constant vigilance that defined his existence.

Zahari's throaty laugh cut through the ambient noise. "Looks like Jake's found himself some entertainment for the night," he remarked, nodding towards the far end of the bar.

Trystan's gaze followed, landing on the hulking form of Jake, the bar's human bouncer. The man had his meaty hand wrapped around a woman's arm, forcefully dragging her towards the back storage area. A flicker of unease cut through Trystan's alcohol-induced haze.

"Bet you won't interfere," Akshay goaded, his dark eyes glinting with mischief. "Too drunk to play hero tonight, eh?"

"Really, Akshay? Trystan is anything but a hero," Demyan said, not looking up from the phone he was typing away on.

Under normal circumstances, Trystan wouldn't have given a damn. It wasn't his business, and he wasn't one for unnecessary heroics. But the whiskey had loosened something in him, a recklessness he rarely indulged.

With a low growl, he got out of the booth they were all sitting at. "Watch me," he muttered, ignoring the surprised looks from his associates.

Trystan's boots thudded against the worn floorboards as he made his way across the room. The world tilted slightly, his steps not quite as steady and stealthy as usual. He reached out, grabbing Jake's shoulder just as the bouncer was about to disappear into the back room.

"Let her go," Trystan growled, his voice low and dangerous despite the slight slur.

Jake turned, his face contorted in anger. "Mind your own fuckin' business—"

The words died on Jake's lips as Trystan's grip tightened, threatening to crush bone. But Trystan barely noticed. In that moment, everything changed.

It hit him like a physical blow, knocking the air from his lungs. The alcohol evaporated from his system in an instant, leaving him painfully, brutally sober. His heightened senses went into overdrive, overwhelmed by a barrage of stimuli.

The Mating Call...

No. It couldn't be. Not here. Not now. Not him.

Trystan's gaze snapped to the woman Jake had been dragging and met with wide, frightened eyes. The scent hit him next, an intoxicating mix that made his mouth water and his pulse quicken. Every instinct screamed at him to claim, to mark, to possess.

A low, rumbling growl built in his chest. His fingers flexed, claws threatening to emerge. The urge to shift, to let his beast take control, was nearly overwhelming.

Mine, a primal part of him snarled. MINE.

Jake must have sensed the change in Trystan's demeanor. The bouncer's face paled, and he quickly released his grip on the woman. "S-sorry," he stammered, backing away. "Didn't realize she was with you."

Trystan barely heard him. His entire world had narrowed down to the woman before him — his Fated Mate. The one he'd never believed he'd have. The one he'd never wanted.

Anger and confusion warred within him. This couldn't be happening. He was a killer, a monster. He didn't deserve a Mate. He didn't want one.

But the Mating Call couldn't be denied. It sang in his blood, demanding that he claim what was rightfully his.

With a snarl of frustration, Trystan grabbed the woman's arm, his touch far gentler than Jake's had been despite the turmoil raging inside him. "You're coming with me," he growled, leaving no room for argument.

He needed to get her out of here. Away from prying eyes. Away from the temptation to claim her right here and now in front of everyone. He needed to put her in a taxi and have it drive her far away from him even though he knew that no matter where she would go, he would always find her. He would always be drawn to her. He would never be able to escape her. His Fated Mate.

As he led her towards the exit, ignoring the startled looks from his associates, one thought echoed in Trystan's mind: This changes everything.