THE LYCAN PRINCE OF WESTSIDE EDEN
I smelled it the instant I sat on my bed. My heart picked up its pace, and slowly, I got on my feet, careful not to make a sound. But suddenly, he was there, idling by the mirror, his golden eyes dangerously darker behind those glasses.
I tried to speak, but only an inaudible sound came out.
“Whose perfume do you have on you, Isabella?” His deep-set tone covers every inch of my room. I should be terrified. I was. Yet my big mouth got the better of me.
“It’s none of your business.”
“You kissed him,” he said, leaning away from the mirror.
“And you are engaged,” I retorted, raising my hands exasperatedly. “I guess this night is just full of surprises.”
In the blink of an eye, before I