Page 106 of Yearning For Her

“Kind of hot, too,” the second replied.

He knocked on one of the closed doors, prompting a startled cry from within. Not Willow. Not his mate. As he moved on to the next stall, ice formed in his veins, spreading a slow, sinister cold through him.

He knew she wasn’t in here. She would’ve said something. She would’ve emerged to usher him out, cheeks burning red with embarrassment.

“Fuck,” he growled.

“Yes, please?” the woman at the mirror said.

“Maybe go get security instead of trying to climb on his dick?” called someone from within a stall.

“You’d be trying to climb on his dick too if you were seeing what I’m seeing.”

Kian didn’t give any of them a backward glance as he exited the restroom. He unlocked his phone and called Willow, eyes raking across the club as the line rang.

New, terrifying possibilities invaded his mind with each ring. What if she’d had an accident? What if she’d been taken? What if—

Not fucking helping yourself!

After five rings, he heard her voice.

“Hi, you’ve reached Willow Crowley at With Love Photography. I can’t take your call right now, so please leave me a message with your name and number so I can get back to you as soon as possible. Have a wonderful day!”

“Damn it, Willow, where are you?” he demanded before he ended the call.

As he made his way to the front of the club, he found only more faceless mortals, whose existence he was aware of only because of the emotions they pumped into the air. He shoved past them, neither hearing their protests nor seeing the looks they cast at him.

The front door slammed against the wall when he pulled it open. He strode out onto the sidewalk, turning his head from side to side to look along Central Boulevard. Even when the door swung closed, the music continued pulsing around him, a reminder that escaping into the cool night air had not resolved his situation. His glamour threatened to drop, and his wings itched to be free, to give him flight, to hasten his search.

Kian looked at the bouncer working the door. “The woman I came with—purple hair, purple and black dress. Did you see her leave?”

The bouncer lifted a hand to halt the line of people waiting to enter before turning his head toward Kian. “Yeah.” He jabbed a thumb to the left. “She went that way.”

“Was she alone?”

The man nodded.

Kian didn’t waste another breath. He ran in the direction the bouncer had indicated, weaving around and between the groups of mortals strolling along the sidewalk.

She’d walked out of the club alone. Not a word to him. She hadn’t answered his text, hadn’t answered his call, she’d just…left.

It felt like a blade had been plunged into his chest. He could barely breathe, could barely think, and now his worry was battling new emotions—anger and hurt. Willow had just walked away. She’d done that to him once before, on the night they’d met.

Kian wouldn’t let her do it again.

He passed at least a dozen shops and restaurants, only looking through their windows to check for a glimpse of purple hair. Finally, he spotted her up ahead, walking alone.

Jaw clenched, he closed the distance between them rapidly, reached out, and grasped her elbow, bringing her to a halt and spinning her to face him. “Willow, why the fu—”

His heart stopped, and the words died in his throat. Her eyes were red and shimmered with tears, making their green irises brighter in contrast, and there were faint black smudges beneath them from her makeup. More tears streaked down her cheeks.

The pain in her gaze, the pain radiating from her, grasped that blade in his chest and twisted it.

She furrowed her brow and yanked her arm free. “Leave me alone, Kian.”

Everything within him set back into motion all at once. That hurt remained, as did his concern, but his anger had been replaced by confusion. And that confusion was likely the only reason her words didn’t shatter him.

“What’s wrong, Willow? What happened?”

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