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My throat tightens.

Yeah, there’s nothing normal about this place. The thought pulls my attention back toward the clubhouse before I can stop it.

To him.

I felt something the second I looked at him out there, a pull low in my chest that had nothing to do with the fact that he was hard to miss. The man is huge, broad through the shoulders and chest beneath his leather cut, with tattooed arms thick enough to make me think twice about getting within grabbing distance. Long dirty-blond hair falls past his shoulders in a rough mess, framing a face half covered by a heavy beard and sharpened by eyes that watched me like he couldn’t decide whether I was trouble or something he wanted closer.

He looks exactly like the kind of man I’ve spent twelve years crossing streets to avoid. Big, dangerous, built for violence, with enough ink crawling over his skin to make me curious about stories I have absolutely no business wanting to know.

And yeah, fine, he is fucking gorgeous.

Annoyingly so.

But that isn’t what pulled at me.

I know the difference between wanting to look at a man and having something inside me reach for him before I can stop it.

This came from somewhere deeper.

My siren senses have been scratching at it ever since his eyes met mine, picking at something buried beneath all that muscle, leather, and barely contained aggression. Something about him sounded different from everyone else in that yard, and the second my siren senses caught it, every part of me seemed to sharpen toward him.

Like my body heard something my head hasn’t caught up with yet.

I still can’t figure out why.

And I really fucking want to.

Worse, I know his frequency.

I didn’t realize it straightaway with an entire room of supernatural power crowding around me, but now that I’m away from him, the connection snaps into place. The same heat that rolled through the fracture is buried inside him. That deep, brutal vibration I felt humming through the torn earth, the one that reached straight into the song behind my teeth and made it answer, was wrapped around him too.

He was there.

Somehow, that man was standing in that field where the earth split open.

My steps slow before I catch myself, my mind dragging me back to the ground pulled back together beneath my boots. Rocks ripped loose, trees leaning, dirt buckled where both sides had been forced together again—that thin fracture left behind, with amber-violet light still pulsing through it. And underneath all of it, the remains of a sound powerful enough to drag me there from miles away.

His sound.

I’m fucking sure of it.

Another piece slides into place, one I like even less.

He tried to speak to me.

I saw the breath fill his chest.

Watched his mouth move.

Saw the anger hit his face when nothing came out except that broken scrape he clearly hadn’t meant for anyone to hear.

A man carrying the same signature burned into that supernatural tear suddenly has no voice. That is not a coincidence.

I glance back toward the end of the hallway even though I can’t see the main room from here, and that strange pull comes again, urging me to turn around and go straight back to him.

But I keep walking.

I’ve spent years surviving because I know better than to follow every strange supernatural thing that reaches for me.