CHAPTER 2

When I finally blinked my eyes open in the early dawn, the heavy weight of an arm was still draped across my chest, pinning me to the mattress. The rhythmic, deep huff of a wolf’s breath brushed against the back of my neck.

As the fog of the previous night’s ritual wine cleared, reality hit me with the force of a silver-tipped arrow. Every muscle in my body ached with a dull, throbbing heat—a physical reminder of exactly what had happened.

I had spent the night with the Alpha of the Westline Pack.

Panic flared in my chest. I moved with frantic, silent precision, sliding out from under Grant Walker’s grasp. I scrambled for my clothes, heart hammering against my ribs, and fled the VTN ROOM before the sun could fully crest the peaks of Silverwood.

It was only when I was safely tucked away in a temporary berth at the far end of the Pacific Crest Resort that I dared to look at my slate. My blood ran cold. In my drunken state, I hadn't messaged a random contact. I had messaged Grant directly. We had been in the same lunar-training circles years ago, and though he’d never reached out, I had kept his signature saved under a generic label.

Desperate to cover my tracks, I scrubbed my digital presence. I withdrew from the old pack forums, wiped my history, and swapped my profile image for a stock photo of a random omega. The room had been booked under a general pack corporate account for Westline Holdings; if I was lucky, he’d think it was a nameless encounter fueled by the moon.

The reprieve didn't last long. My alarm shattered the silence, reminding me that I was still a low-level analyst under Howard Pierce. We were in Silverwood on a high-stakes mission to renegotiate the boundaries of our territory’s asset pool.

I hauled myself down to the lobby, clutching my files like a shield. Jessa was already there, pacing and grumbling about Howard’s confusing directives regarding the Westline agreements. I barely heard her. My gaze was locked on the lift.

The doors slid open, and a wall of cold, dominant energy hit the lobby.

Grant stepped out, flanked by his enforcers. He was back in his high-collared black attire, his expression carved from granite. He looked every bit the ruthless Alpha who ran Walker Enterprises Tower with an iron fist. The man who had been so predatory yet strangely attentive in the dark was gone, replaced by this unapproachable statue.

"He’s incredible," Jessa whispered, leaning in. "One night with an Alpha like that and I’d happily retire from the hunt. What’s wrong, Mars? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

I tried to shrink into the shadows, but the group stopped just a few yards away. Grant leaned toward his lead sentinel, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that carried across the stone floor.

"I want the name of the occupant who was registered in the VTN ROOM last night. Now."

The floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet. My breath hitched, and I prepared to bolt, but Jessa—ever the helpful friend—spoke up before I could move.

"The VTN ROOM? Oh, Mr. Walker, that was Mars! He was there all night."