We meet again.

I glare up at Levi Crosswalk, hatred tightening every muscle in my face.

"I reject you, Levi Crosswalk, and I will never be your mate—in this life or the next!" I spit, venom dripping from every word.

His jaw clenches. His hands curl into fists.

"And I reject you, Anastasia Purrey. I hereby break the mate bond between us. You’re free to prostitute yourself wherever you choose." His words are cold, cruel, deliberate.

The insult lands like a slap. I raise my hand—rage burning in my veins—but he catches it midair and yanks me close. Too close. I can feel his breath against my cheek.

His eyes, usually unreadable, burn with something dangerous. Hatred. Good. Because it’s mutual.

"Be careful what you decide to do, Anastasia. I’m far more powerful than you." His voice is a low, threatening growl before he pushes me back with finality.

I turn sharply and stalk away, my heels echoing with every bitter step.

---

Seven Years Later

Levi

I adjust my tie with mechanical precision. Another damn party. Another political obligation. Since I took over as Alpha, my life has become a carousel of appearances, negotiations, and fake smiles.

The car waits outside. I slide in silently, ignoring the driver’s polite nod. My head throbs, but I can’t skip this event. Not when it's hosted by the Cross Moon Pack. Not when Arkin, their Alpha, made a personal invitation.

When we arrive, the mansion is ablaze with light and chatter. I step inside and the room quiets, eyes swiveling toward me.

It’s my first public appearance since my mother’s death. The whispers are expected.

I make my way to the bar, my steps smooth and calculated. “Martini. Olives,” I tell the bartender.

As the cool burn of alcohol touches my lips, a scent hits me.

Thick. Familiar. Intoxicating.

No. It can’t be.

I freeze, the glass hovering at my lips. I’ve waited seven years for a second-chance mate. Seven years of praying, of hoping. And now?

No way in hell.

I scoff quietly. Of course it’s her.

“Levi! So glad to see you,” a voice says, followed by a firm slap on my back.

I turn to find Arkin smiling at me.

We shake hands, his grip nearly as strong as mine.

“Everyone’s talking about you,” he says with a grin.

“That’s unfair to you,” I reply, sipping my drink.

The scent grows stronger. She’s close. Too close. I can’t stop myself—I turn.

And there she is.

Anastasia Purrey.

Seven years have changed her, but not dulled her. Her eyes lock with mine, fiery and defiant. My breath catches in my throat.

The world tilts. The air crackles.

She rushes out of the room.

“Oh, I forgot to mention the Purreys are here,” Arkin says, eyes shifting away awkwardly.

“It’s too late for that warning,” I mutter and down the rest of my drink.

I step outside to breathe. The cold night air hits my face, soothing the heat rising under my collar.

Then I hear it—cursing.

Curious, I follow the voice around the corner.

Anastasia is standing there, dousing herself in perfume, her expression furious.

“...get rid of this stupid scent!”

“You know,” I say lazily, “there’s a cliff not far from here. Might do the trick faster.”

She whirls, already knowing it’s me. Our scents have long since betrayed us.

“Get lost,” she snaps through gritted teeth.

“Found your second-chance mate yet?” I ask, smirking.

“I would, if your dog-smell wasn’t so pungent.”

I grin. “You know I don’t smell like a dog.”

“Too bad you can’t tell an insult from a compliment.”

Her mouth is still a weapon, sharp as ever.

I’m about to retort when her face contorts in pain. A fresh wave of scent slams into me—hot, thick, primal.

She’s going into heat.

Oh, perfect timing.

I turn, trying to walk away, but I freeze.

Other males have stepped outside. Eyes locked on her. Hungry. Predatory.

She’s huddled on the ground, gritting her teeth, groaning.

Her age must make it worse. The pain. The pull. Does this mean she’s still untouched?

No. No way. Right?

But I know I can’t leave her like this.

“Let me take you home,” I say, trying not to sound too involved.

“I’m not... going anywhere with you,” she grunts.

Her stubbornness might be cute if it weren’t going to get her devoured.

I don’t wait for another refusal. I crouch down and scoop her into my arms. She doesn’t fight.

The other males back off the second they see me holding her.

I carry her to my car, slide her gently into the back seat, and climb in beside her.

The moment the doors shut, her scent engulfs me.

I can barely breathe.

She shifts, groaning, her knees pressed tightly together. She’s trying to suppress it—to fight nature.

It’s not working.

My own body betrays me. I feel myself harden. The air is thick with pheromones, heat, and history.

She clutches her stomach, teeth clenched, riding another wave of pain. Even my driver glances at her through the mirror, drawn by instinct.

I look away, jaw clenched, trying to think of anything else—anything but her.

But her groans.

Her scent.

Her body twisting beside me.

It’s driving me insane.

Then she looks up at me. Her eyes are glassy, desperate.

“Help me,” she whispers… and parts her legs.