Page 4 of Horns for the Holidays

I paced the length of the terrace, fingers clenched around my phone. This was the last thing I needed with the Elysia partnership hanging by a thread. Andreas was already wavering, and if word of this reached him...

A string of curses fell from my lips. I needed damage control, and fast.

The dining hallstretched out before me, full of chatter and holiday cheer. Heads turned, conversations halted mid-sentence. I strode in, horns held high, my hooves echoing against marble.

Fuck, I hated this.

Every eye latched onto me, hungry gazes raking over my body. I could practically hear their thoughts.Look, it’s him. The minotaur. The last of his kind.

As if they knew a fucking thing about me.

I stalked past table after table, the murmuring growing louder. I breathed deep, trying to center myself.

Wait. What was that?

A scent. Faint and elusive. It wove through the air, cutting through the miasma of perfume and overcooked lamb. My nostrils flared, trying to pinpoint its source, and came up empty.

I shook my head, forcing myself to focus. I had bigger problems than some mystery aroma. Like the fact Devlin was trying to poach my users right under my nose. Or the last-minute trip to convince Andreas to sign the damn partnership papers. Or some crazy woman pelting people in the balls with citrus.

One wrong move and everything I’d built could come crashing down.

A flash of a camera went off in my face. I blinked away the spots in my vision, pasting on what I hoped was a polite smile.

“Oh my god, it’s really you!” a woman with more plastic than flesh squealed. She clutched her phone to her chest, bouncing on her toes. “Can we get a selfie?”

Her friends, clearly already three sheets to the wind, descended upon me like a flock of perfectly manicured vultures. I bent slightly so we could all be in frame. Their perfume assaulted my senses, itching at my nose and throat. Nothing like that other scent...

“Sign my shirt!”

“Are you single?”

I plastered on my practiced smile, the one that showed just enough fang to be intriguing without scaring the masses. “Ladies, please. I’m just here to enjoy dinner like everyone else.”

That scent drifted past again, stronger this time. My head snapped up, scanning the growing crowd shoving pens and phones at me. Where was it coming from? And why did it make my blood sing?

“Mr. Mavridis, over here!”

“Kotos, darling, you simply must join us for drinks later!”

“Is it true you’re expanding into the were market?”

The voices blurred together, a constant barrage of demands wrapped in sickly sweet adoration. I felt my control slipping, irritation bubbling beneath my carefully crafted mask.

Another overeager fan reached for my arm. I jerked back instinctively, colliding with something warm and solid behind me.

“Oof!”

A feminine yelp rang out, followed by the sound of a plate shattering against the floor.

And that scent. Stronger now. So close I could almost taste it.

I spun around, apology already forming on my lips, but the words died in my throat.

It was her. The woman from the balcony. My orange-wielding assailant.

Our eyes locked, and the world tilted on its axis.

Mine.

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