Chapter 17

Claire's POV The club pulsed with energy, music vibrating through the floor and up into my bones as I stood by the bar. I'd chosen a silver low-cut dress from my wardrobe—something I rarely wore but tonight felt appropriate. After the humiliation with Theo, I needed to feel desirable again, to remind myself that his rejection wasn't a reflection of my worth. Jennifer leaned close to my ear, raising her voice to be heard over the music. "Don't look now, but everyone is staring at you." I followed her gaze discreetly and noticed several men watching me from different points in the club. Their eyes traced the silver fabric that clung to my curves, the neckline that revealed more than I typically showed. We exchanged a knowing smile. While I didn't particularly enjoy the predatory nature of some of those stares, there was something validating about the attention. At least I was attractive to someone, even if that someone wasn't Theo Valmont. "I'll take a margarita," I told the bartender, deciding to keep my wits about me tonight. The last thing I needed was to cloud my judgment further after the day I'd had. As I sipped my drink, a deep voice sounded from behind me. "That silver dress should come with a warning label." I turned to find a tall man with sandy hair and an athletic build watching me with appreciative eyes. He was handsome in a conventional way—strong jaw, confident smile, well-dressed. "Dave," he introduced himself, extending his hand. "Alpha of the Moon Ridge Pack." I accepted his handshake, noting his firm grip. "Claire," I replied simply. He was attractive, certainly. Tall, broad-shouldered, with an easy confidence that spoke of his Alpha status. But even as I assessed him, I couldn't help making comparisons to Theo. Dave lacked the commanding presence that Theo carried effortlessly, the quiet intensity that made a room shift when he entered it. Still, he was here, he was interested, and I was determined to forget Theo Valmont for at least one night. "Can I buy you a drink?" Dave asked, gesturing to my nearly empty glass. I hesitated only briefly before nodding. "Sure." Perhaps flirting with a good-looking stranger would be just the distraction I needed. Dave flagged down the bartender with the easy confidence of someone accustomed to immediate service. "Another margarita for the lady," he ordered, then added, "and a shot of tequila for each of us." I hadn't planned on shots, but after the day I'd had, stronger alcohol held a certain appeal. When the drinks arrived, Dave raised his shot glass. "To new connections," he toasted. I clinked my glass against his and threw back the shot, welcoming the burn as it traveled down my throat. Dave immediately ordered another round. "So what brings a beautiful woman like you out on a weeknight?" he asked, leaning closer than necessary to be heard over the music. "Just needed to unwind," I replied vaguely. "Work stress?" he guessed, sliding the second shot toward me. "I'm a good listener if you need to vent." The offer was tempting, but the last thing I wanted was to discuss Theo. Instead, I simply took the second shot, grateful for the warmth spreading through my limbs, dulling the sharp edges of the day's humiliation. Dave kept the conversation flowing easily, asking questions about my interests but sharing enough about himself that I wasn't forced to reveal much. He was clearly practiced at this type of interaction, but tonight, I appreciated not having to work hard at conversation. After my third shot—which he insisted would "help me forget whatever was bothering me"—the room began to spin pleasantly around me. The music seemed louder, the lights brighter, and the weight in my chest somewhat lighter. When I tried to step down from the bar stool, my legs betrayed me. I wobbled dangerously, nearly falling before Dave's arm wrapped around my waist to steady me. "Whoa there," he chuckled, his grip tightening. "Those shots hit you hard, huh?" His touch made me instinctively uncomfortable—too familiar, too possessive—but the alcohol had dulled my usual alarm signals. The room tilted and swayed as he kept me pressed against his side. "I think I need some air," I managed, my words slurring slightly. "Great idea," Dave agreed, already guiding me toward the exit. "Let's get out of here." A small voice of warning sounded in the back of my mind, but it was muffled by the tequila and the pounding music. I wanted to refuse, to tell him I just needed a moment outside and then I'd return to Jennifer, but my lips felt numb, my tongue uncooperative. "I should find my friend," I mumbled, trying to look back for Jennifer. "She saw us talking," Dave assured me, steering me firmly toward the door. "She'll figure it out." My legs grew increasingly unsteady with each step, until I was practically being dragged across the floor, slumped against his side. The room blurred around me, faces and lights melting together in a disorienting swirl. At the door, Dave simply lifted me into his arms, apparently tired of my stumbling pace. Through my alcoholic haze, I registered that this wasn't right—I hadn't agreed to leave with him, hadn't given any indication I wanted more than conversation at the bar. But my protests formed and dissolved before reaching my lips, the words too slippery to grasp. As Dave pushed the exit door open with his shoulder, the cool night air hit my face. We were actually leaving. He was carrying me out of the club, and I was too incapacitated to stop him. Just as we cleared the doorway, a sharp female that sounded just like Jennifer's voice cut through the night air: "What do you think you're doing? You shouldn't be taking her anywhere!" Was it her?