Scent of Fate

(Natalie's POV)

I calmly unlocked my phone's secondary system, a precaution I'd set up long ago. The screen immediately filled with notifications—dozens of missed calls and messages, mostly from Silvercrest Valley.

My finger hovered over one from Richard. I could almost feel his rage through the device. Without checking any of them, I switched back to the main system and slipped the phone into my pocket.

Three months of freedom was not enough. I wouldn't go back. Not now, not ever.

I grabbed my small travel bag from under the bed and quietly left my cabin. William's threat to contact my pack lingered in my mind, but I refused to let fear control me again.

The corridor outside was deserted. Most passengers were either gambling in the casino or dining in one of the ship's many restaurants. Perfect for me to move unnoticed.

I wandered through the opulent cruise ship, taking in the lavish décor. Artwork lined the walls—expensive pieces that probably cost more than what most wolves earned in a lifetime.

One painting caught my eye. A forest scene at twilight, with shadows that seemed to shift the longer I looked at it. The artist had captured that magical moment when day surrenders to night, when the veil between worlds grows thin.

I stepped closer, my enhanced werewolf senses picking up the faint scents of oils and canvas beneath the protective glass. The painting spoke to me in a language only artists understand.

"Beautiful technique," I murmured to myself, studying the brushstrokes.

In that moment of distraction, I didn't notice the approaching footsteps.

(Florian's POV)

I descended the grand staircase, half-listening to Ethan's enthusiastic report about potential business partners aboard the ship. My mind was elsewhere, still haunted by the green-eyed beauty who had vanished three months ago.

Then I caught it—faint at first, but unmistakable. The citrus scent that had lingered in my memory since that night.

I stopped abruptly, causing my security detail to freeze behind me. Ethan nearly collided with one of my bodyguards.

"Sir?" Ethan questioned, following my gaze.

There she was. Standing in the art gallery corridor, examining a painting with complete absorption, unaware of my presence. Her dark hair fell in waves down her back, just as I remembered.

My wolf, Logan, suddenly came alive inside me, growling with recognition and desire.

With a subtle hand motion, I signaled my security team to retreat. They melted away like shadows, their training flawless.

"You too," I told Ethan, using our hand signal for high-stakes territory disputes.

His eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't question me. Instead, he retreated up the stairs, taking a defensive position, his senses no doubt scanning for potential threats.

I adjusted my collar and descended the remaining stairs, my movements deliberately slow and controlled. She remained oblivious, still captivated by the artwork.

When I was a few feet away, I snapped my fingers sharply, the sound cutting through the quiet corridor.

She turned, startled, and those unforgettable green-gold eyes locked with mine. Recognition flashed across her face.

I stood there, casually dressed in an open-neck jacket and T-shirt that did little to conceal my physique. Her gaze moved over me slowly, her expression unreadable.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. I couldn't believe she was here, on my ship. After three months of searching, she had appeared as if conjured from my thoughts.

A faint smile touched my lips as I watched her.

"Single?" she finally asked, breaking the silence.

I raised an eyebrow, slightly amused by her directness. "Otherwise?"

In my mind, I added, *Looking for you.*

"Sleep together again?" she proposed, her tone as casual as if she were asking about the weather.

Her boldness caught me off guard. I frowned, noticing for the first time the small travel bag she carried. Was she running from something? Someone?

Annoyance flickered through me, followed by cynical amusement. Three months of searching, and here she was, proposing a repeat of our one-night encounter.

Logan growled possessively inside me. *Mine. Claim her.*

"Alright," I agreed, reaching out to grasp her arm with the same forceful grip I'd used three months ago.

From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Ethan and my bodyguards watching from the staircase, their expressions bewildered. The charged atmosphere was obvious to their heightened werewolf senses, but they clearly couldn't understand what was happening.

I guided her toward the private elevator, hitting the button for the penthouse suite. As soon as the doors closed, I turned to her, unable to resist any longer.

My kiss was rough, possessive. I lifted her against the elevator wall, my wolf demanding to claim what was rightfully ours. She responded with equal intensity, her fingers tangling in my hair.

When we reached the penthouse, I carried her straight to the bedroom, our encounter charged with months of frustrated searching, of feeling the mate bond but being unable to fulfill it.

There was something punishing in my touch, a wordless reproach for her disappearance. I pinned her hands above her head, my movements deliberately controlling.

Suddenly, she laughed—a light, melodic sound that cut through the tension.

"What's so funny?" I demanded, irritated.

"Nothing," she replied, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Her casual attitude fueled my frustration. "So skilled," I remarked coldly. "Besides me, how many others have you found?"

She looked at me directly, her expression suddenly serious. "None."

Something in her tone seemed genuine, shifting my mood slightly. My grip on her wrists loosened.

"Am I hurting you?" I asked, my voice softening.

She shook her head, and I leaned down to shower her with gentler kisses.

"No one else?" I pressed, needing to confirm.

"No," she insisted. "No one."

Relief washed through me, though I tried not to show it. "That night, if I hadn't intervened—what would you have said to that waiter?"

She looked puzzled for a moment. "The omega? I was going to ask him for directions."

Her casual answer both relieved and frustrated me. Had I misinterpreted her intentions that night?

Our encounter deepened, my initial roughness giving way to tenderness. I held back my Alpha strength, mindful of not hurting her.

Hours passed, night giving way to dawn, and still we couldn't get enough of each other. The mate bond hummed between us, unmistakable now.

As morning light filtered through the curtains, I stroked her cheek, my voice husky with emotion. "Tell me your name."

"It doesn't matter," she replied lightly.

Frustration bubbled inside me. "Can you show a little interest?"

I kissed her eyes, her lips, searching her gaze for any hint of the connection I felt so powerfully.

"Have you missed me?" I whispered, becoming more ardent.

She didn't answer with words, but her body's response told me everything I needed to know. The way she arched against me, the soft sounds she made—they betrayed emotions her words wouldn't acknowledge.

Afterward, she slipped from the bed and headed for the shower. I watched her naked form disappear into the bathroom, a sense of resignation washing over me.

When she emerged, she dressed quickly, clearly preparing to leave again.

"Leaving again?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

She nodded, avoiding my gaze as she gathered her things.

As she reached the door, I couldn't help asking, "Did I satisfy you?"

I needed some validation, some acknowledgment that this meant something to her.

"Very good," she responded with a faint smile, her eyes lingering on my robe-clad form.

I tore a piece of paper from a nearby notepad, scribbled down my number, and handed it to her.

"If you have needs, find me," I said seriously. "Don't mess around."

She took the note, examining it with a playful tilt of her head. "Available on demand?"

"At your service," I confirmed.

With a careless air, she glanced from the note to me. "Should I pay you? After all, you were quite dedicated."

Before I could respond, she tossed the paper into the trash and walked out the door.

I stared at the trash can, Logan growling with frustration within me. A complex mix of emotions swirled inside—desire, confusion, and an inexplicable sense that I'd just missed something important.