Marked by the Lycan Prince

Iris' POV

He's late. Again.

"Archer!" I type for the twentieth time tonight, my thumbs trembling. "Where are you?"

The double-tick flash across the screen, just like the other messages I've left him. Yet, Archer is nowhere to be found.

My eyes dart around the cozy restaurant, and then back at the door. The waiter approaches again, but this time, the warmth in her eyes is gone.

"You've got to leave now," she starts, picking up the empty glass on the table. "The restaurant is about to close."

"Please." I stare up at her with puppy eyes. Archer finds it cute. "He'll be here any minute now. I'm sure he's just running late because of traffic."

She grabs the tray under the glass and scoffs. "He stood you up, girl! If you have any dignity left, I'll advise you to grab your things and go home. Block his ass and move on with your life. He doesn't deserve you."

"You don't know him enough to say that!" I snap, jumping to my feet. "Archer was right. I should have postponed our anniversary celebration. He told me he was going to be busy this week. Right now, he's risking his life to get here."

"Is he at least answering his phone?"

The lie is on the tip of my tongue, but I stop myself.

"Sweetheart," the waitress leans in. "It's almost midnight. There's no traffic at 11 pm."

I grab my things and make for the door. "Thanks, but I don't need your advice."

Outside, the chill in the air hits me instantly. Wrapping my arms around myself, I look at both sides of the road, wondering if I should call Daisy to come get me or just wait a little longer.

I know Archer will still come around. He always does. He knows how important today is for both of us.

And that's when I see him.

Right across the street. His hair is tousled by the wind, and his arms are wrapped around the waist of someone else. His teeth glimmer under the neon lights of the club's entrance as he laughs at something she says.

He pushes a curl behind her ear, and I think I am going to lose my mind.

Sabine. I have seen her a million times in school. Her platinum-blonde hair is unmistakable, and the way she carries herself, like she's the answer to everyone's prayers.

My chest caves in just as Archer pulls her closer to him. His lips find hers, and she giggles like a love-struck high schooler.

My boyfriend, who has been with me for five years, is kissing another girl on the night of our anniversary.

I barely realize when my purse hits the ground in a whisper. Something inside me tears. It sounds like a hiss, like dry wood tossed into a hearth. My chest thumps so hard, as if trying to claw right out of my chest.

Fire engulfs my whole being suddenly, pulling me under. I don't