Chapter 1: THE BROTHEL

The perfume of rose oil and musk clung to Jasmine’s skin like a second dress.

She stood in front of the full-length mirror, running a dark crimson gloss over her bottom lip, slow and precise. Her reflection stared back at her…no longer the frightened girl with dirt under her nails and grief in her eyes.

Now she was every inch a weapon.

The silk robe wrapped around her waist shimmered with every step she took. It was the kind of red that demanded attention, like blood on snow. Her curves filled it effortlessly, the fabric clinging to the hourglass of her hips, dipping low enough to hint, never tell. Her hair…once wild and tangled, now flowed in smooth, controlled waves down her back.

From the hallway, footsteps approached, heels clicking like metronomes.

“Five minutes,” came the voice from the door. Sarah, breathless, slightly flustered. “Two Elders from Blackfang just walked in. Elora wants you to take them both.”

Jasmine didn’t look away from the mirror. “Together?”

Sarah snorted. “They requested you. Said they’d wait a week if they had to.”

Jasmine gave a slow smile, tilting her head. “Make sure the lounge is set. Red wine, low lights, music soft. And don’t let them sit near the fireplace, wolves hate being too warm.”

“Got it,” Sarah said. She paused. “They brought gifts again. Gold. And something in a cage I didn’t look at.”

“Of course they did.” Jasmine finally turned, crossing the room in silent steps. “Remind them I’m not for sale.”

“Already did. But you know how they are.” Sarah grinned, then dropped her voice. “One of them asked if he could scent you before anyone else did tonight.”

“Charming.” Jasmine adjusted the robe slightly tighter. “Tell him no.”

“You sure? You’ve got the whole damn pack in a frenzy lately.”

“I said no.”

Sarah nodded, eyes wide with amusement. “You really are terrifying, you know that?”

“Only when I need to be.”

Sarah lingered a second longer. “Hey,” she said, more gently now. “You look... powerful tonight.”

Jasmine met her eyes, softening for a brief moment. “Thanks, Em. Go run interference for me.”

As the door clicked shut, Jasmine turned back to the mirror, her face hardening. Beneath the polish, the silk, the honeyed voice she used for clients, something older still stirred. Something her mother had warned her about in a dying breath. The scent of blood. Of power.

She wasn’t just beautiful. She was dangerous.

And everyone in the brothel, especially the men, knew it.

Meanwhile,

Downstairs, the House of Solace pulsed with quiet decadence.

Chandeliers sparkled overhead. Laughter rolled like velvet through the parlor. Men lounged in plush chairs with tumblers of aged scotch, eyes constantly drifting to the upper staircase. Waiting.

All of them were wolves. Ranked, seasoned, rich. Some had killed to get a night here. Others ruled cities and forests alike.

And they all wanted Jasmine.

Elora stood at the bar, a cigarette between her fingers, silver streaking the dark coils of her hair. Time had not softened her, only sharpened her edges. But tonight, she looked tired…watchful, yes, but ready to pass the baton.

“She’s late,” muttered one of the Elders, adjusting the lapel of his charcoal blazer.

“She comes when she’s ready,” Elora replied, eyes narrowed. “You don’t summon her like a mutt.”

The Elder bared his teeth, but said nothing more. No one crossed Elora. Not in her house.

A hush fell across the lounge as Jasmine descended the stairs.

Every eye turned. Conversations paused mid-sentence.

She moved like smoke…unhurried, lethal in the way only confidence could be. Her scent, laced with subtle pheromones, tugged at instincts none of them could hide.

The Elders stood.

One reached for her hand. She gave him her eyes instead. “Gentlemen,” she purred, “I hope the ride from Blackfang wasn’t too dull.”

“You make the wait worthwhile,” the taller one said, bowing his head. His voice was too thick, like he barely remembered how to speak around her.

“I tend to have that effect.”

She led them toward the velvet-lined lounge room, her stride unbothered, her back straight. But inside, she felt it.

Something shifting.

A scent in the air that didn’t belong. Wild. Wrong. Familiar.

As they passed Sarah near the hall, Jasmine leaned close enough to whisper. “Is there anyone new in the house?”

Sarah's brows knit. “Not that I know of.”

Jasmine didn’t answer. Just walked on, a smile never wavering.

But in her mind, her mother’s voice echoed like a bell in fog.

*He’ll come for you. When I’m gone. He’ll want what he left behind.*

Later that night, Jasmine stood alone on the rooftop garden, overlooking the glittering city. Her robe clung to her damp skin, the warmth of the Elders' visit still lingering like a ghost she couldn’t shake.

Elora joined her quietly, holding two glasses of wine. She handed Jasmine one.

“You’ve grown into something… terrifyingly exquisite,” she said. “They’d burn cities for you.”

“I don’t want cities,” Jasmine said softly.

“No,” Elora agreed. “You want power.”

A pause stretched between them.

“Elora,” Jasmine asked, eyes fixed on the stars, “do you ever feel like we’re being watched? Not by men. By something else.”

Elora’s face didn’t change. But her grip on the glass tightened slightly. “Always.”

Jasmine didn’t ask more. She knew Elora wouldn’t answer.

But as she turned to leave, the faintest movement caught her eye.

In the far corner of the garden, where moonlight didn’t reach…something stood as if it was admiring Jasmine from afar.

Not looking like a man. Not looking like a wolf.

But something with a presence thick enough to choke on. The scent of forest, lightning, and old blood.

By the time she looked again, it was gone.

But its message lingered.

And Jasmine knew… someone else was around.

Some hours later,

Jasmine moved through the corridors with slow, soundless steps, silk trailing behind her like smoke.

The hallways of the House of Solace felt different tonight…quieter. As if the walls themselves were listening.

She passed Sarah on her way up, the girl asleep with her head tucked against a velvet cushion near the hearth, a book sliding from her lap. Jasmine paused just long enough to drape a throw blanket over her shoulders, then kept walking.

Her room was exactly as she left it, dim, still, bathed in soft amber light from the bedside lamp. She shut the door, twisted the lock.

And stopped.

A folded slip of parchment lay on her pillow. Unmarked. No wax seal. No scent.

But something about it felt…alive

Jasmine didn’t move at first. Just stared.

She reached for it like she was reaching for a knife.

The parchment crackled in her fingers, heavy with a kind of silence that wasn’t empty. She unfolded it carefully.

This time, the ink didn’t shimmer.

It pulsed.

Just three lines, written in that same curving, ancient script she’d once seen years ago…on a letter that had changed everything.

And this time, she could read it.

The blood in your bones remembers.

The pack remembers too.

Come to Blackfang. It’s time.

She dropped the paper.

Not out of fear.

But because something inside her chest…deep and dormant for so long…tightened like a snare being pulled.

She pressed her palm to her ribs.

There was something beneath her skin.

Calling.