CHAPTER 3: QUANTUM PHYSICS FOR IDIOTS

"Get off me, stray!" Alistair roars, his eyes bloodshot with a mix of panic and absolute fury.

He plants his massive hands on my shoulders and gives me a brutal shove. I shoot backward, skidding across the polished marble floor. I barely manage to keep my balance, but before I can take a sixth step away from him, an invisible snap cracks in the air. The magic tug in my chest pulls taut like an industrial steel bungee cord.

The cosmic force drags me right back at the exact same speed. I fly forward and smash face-first into his chest. The impact knocks us both backward, we trip over the edge of the rug, and crash hard onto the glass appetizer table.

The glass shatters into a thousand pieces under our weight. A shower of squished canapés, broken crystal flutes, and caviar cream covers us completely.

I lie sprawled on top of him, coughing through the dust of the impact. A slice of smoked salmon ends up plastered to the lapel of his ridiculously expensive Tom Ford suit. My inner wolf does backflips of joy in my head, totally oblivious to the physical pain, celebrating the proximity.

Wow, he likes us so much he doesn't want to let go, the lazy beast purrs, sniffing the overwhelming scent of dark pine and Alpha pheromones rolling off the man pinned beneath us.

Shut your snout, I have a glob of cream cheese in my eye, I growl at her mentally, blinking to clear my vision.

Alistair is paralyzed under my body. His breathing is erratic. He touches his own chest, then mine, trying to process the impossible physics that just slammed me into him for a second time.

"What kind of witchcraft is this?" he demands, grabbing my arms. His fingers burn right through the fabric of my cheap dress.

"Don't look at me, rich boy. I just wanted to leave and get my pizza," I grunt, planting my hands on his shoulders to push myself up. As I do, my knees brush against his waist. He lets out a strangled sound, squeezing his eyes shut.

The entire ballroom is a chaotic mess of scandalous whispering. The clan leaders, the millionaires, and the high-born women are staring at us like a trainwreck they can't look away from.

The sharp clatter of heels striking the marble violently cuts through the tension. Camila marches toward the wreckage of the glass table. Her face is twisted in rage, her sweet mask completely melted off. Her designer gown drags through the shards of glass scattered across the floor.

"Alistair! What is the meaning of this humiliation?" she screams, pointing a trembling finger at me. "Get that trash off your lap this instant! She smells like a wet dog!"

Camila lunges down, reaching out with a perfectly manicured hand to grab my hair and rip me off her fiancé.

I don't even have time to raise my fists to defend myself. I don't need to.

A deep, dark, guttural growl rips out from the very bottom of Alistair's chest. The vibration rattles my ribs. It isn't his dictatorial human voice; it’s a purely animalistic sound, loaded with a lethal warning. Alistair snaps his head up. His human pupils are completely gone, replaced by glowing, liquid gold.

"Back off!" the Alpha roars, half-baring his fangs.

The shockwave of his voice hits Camila with physical force. She stumbles backward over her own heels, pale as a corpse, her hands flying to her throat on pure survival instinct. The silence that drops over the mansion is absolute. Nobody, absolutely nobody, growls at Magnus's daughter without signing their own death warrant.

Alistair's wolf just defended the stray his human side rejected two minutes ago.

Oh, I like this guy, my wolf murmurs, sighing in my mind, settling in to enjoy the show.

Alistair blinks rapidly. The gold in his eyes flickers as he fights to regain control. He looks at a terrified Camila on the floor, then at the stunned crowd, and finally, his eyes drop to me. Pure terror crosses his face. His own wolf just mutinied in front of all of wolf high society to protect his fated mate.

"I... I didn't..." the great Alpha Supreme stammers, his mask of ice shattered.

"Buddy, you need to make up your mind," I tell him, picking a shard of glass off my skirt. "You reject me, then you pull me in like a magnet, and now you're growling at your plastic girlfriend. You're sending some really mixed signals."