Chapter 4

 Under His Command

The first thing I notice about Blackthorne Enterprises is that it doesn’t feel like an office building. It feels like a fortress. 

 Sleek obsidian panels climb fifty storeys into the Los Angeles sky, their mirrored surface engulfing the early light in shadows. Armed security shifters patrol the marble lobby. The aroma of authority and terror fills the air, winding around my senses like invisible shackles. 

 “Ms. Quinn?” A clear feminine voice slashes through my discomfort. 

 I peek up to find a tall brunette in a tight black pencil skirt and silk shirt, her red lipstick spotless and her steely gray eyes evaluating. She offers a manicured hand. 

 “Isobel Hart. Head of PR and Lucian’s executive assistant. Follow me.” 

 I gulp, my throat dry as I lay my hand in hers. Her grasp is tight and disdainful. She turns swiftly on four-inch stilettos and walks towards the private elevator, without pausing to check if I’m keeping up. 

 “Your schedule has been cleared for the next three months,” she adds hurriedly, placing her thumb to the biometric reader. “All your previous clients have been absorbed under Blackthorne’s event portfolio.” 

 My chest constricts terribly. “You can’t just ” 

 “I suggest,” she cuts in icily, “you learn quickly, Ms. Quinn. The Alpha does not tolerate defiance.” 

 The elevator doors close around us with a quiet hiss. I battle the mounting terror tearing at my chest. I think about Aaron. Of his tiny fingers wrapping around mine as he sleeps. Of his large, innocent eyes that are the same tint as Lucian’s. 

 No. He can never find out. 

 The elevator opens immediately onto a large corner office. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook downtown LA, where buildings rise like quiet sentinels into the pink morning sky. The décor is sleek black marble and steel, simple but threatening. 

 Lucian stands behind a big obsidian desk, reading something on a glass tablet. His black hair is combed back, highlighting his strong cheekbones and cruel jaw. He glances up as we enter, his glittering eyes sweeping over me with frigid precision. 

 “You’re late,” he says sweetly, while his tone conveys the prospect of punishment. 

 “I ” My voice cracks. I clear my throat and try again. “I’m sorry. Aaron was I mean, traffic was heavy.” 

 His gaze narrows fractionally at the slip. “Aaron?” 

 Shit. “Just… my assistant’s child. She needed to drop him at daycare.” 

 He observes me for a long, tense minute, as if judging whether to pull the truth from my bones now or reserve it for later. Finally, he glances at Isobel. 

 “Leave us.” 

 She bows curtly and goes, closing the heavy glass doors behind her. Silence engulfs us like a living creature. 

 Lucian moves around the desk, each stride purposeful, forceful. I battle the desire to move back as he pauses in front of me, so close I can feel the heat radiating from his body. 

 “Take off your coat,” he instructs quietly. 

 I swallow hard and shrug out of the cream wool coat, hanging it over my arm. His eyes sweep over my tailored black dress, lingering on the neckline that drops just low enough to hint at cleavage. 

 “You dressed for power,” he breathes, fingertips ghosting down my collarbone. “But all I see is fear.” 

 I shudder at his touch, humiliation blazing through me like acid. “What do you want from me today, Lucian?” 

 He grins faintly, but there’s no humour about it. Only dark satisfaction. “Today, you learn your place.” 

 He walks back and motions to the wall behind his desk. The entire surface flickers to life, revealing floor layouts, guest lists, and budget forecasts for impending supernatural events. 

 “You’re going to take over the Blackthorne Winter Gala preparations immediately,” he says. “Isobel will give you the staff roster. The theme is Lunar Eclipse. I want it to bleed opulence.” 

 My eyes shift to the screen, examining data instinctively despite the shaking in my palms. “This… this is two months away.” 

 His smile expands, wolfish and vicious. “Then you’d better work quickly.” 

 I tighten my jaw, rage burning through the terror. “You’re enjoying this. Watching me squirm.” 

 He tilts his head, watching me with wicked delight. “You think this is punishment?” He draws closer again, his voice falling to a low, menacing purr. “Punishment would be bending you over this desk and fucking the secrets out of you until you’re sobbing my name.” 

 My breath catches, knees threatening to buckle. Heat surges between my thighs despite the rage blazing through my chest. 

 “Don’t,” I murmur, hating how weak I sound. “Don’t talk to me like that.” 

 “Why?” His thumb touches my bottom lip, pressing just enough to force my lips open slightly. “Afraid you’ll remember how it felt to have me buried inside you, claiming every inch of your pretty little body?” 

 Tears pierce my eyes. “I hate you.” 

 His smile fades, and for a tiny second, something primal flickers over his face. Hurt. Regret. But it’s gone so suddenly I wonder whether I dreamt it. 

 “You think you can keep secrets from me, Elara?” His voice is frigid now, murderous. “I’ll tear them out of you… or seduce them from your lips.” 

 A faint sob escapes my voice as he turns away, dismissing me with a sweep of his fingers. 

 “Isobel will set you up in the events suite. I anticipate your early offers on my desk by five tonight.” 

 He settles back behind his desk, picking up his iPad without another glance in my direction. My legs feel like water as I stagger from the office, my vision distorted with tears. 

 Hours later, following a frenzy of meetings, staffing difficulties, and repeated humiliations from Isobel, I stand in the events suite conference room, evaluating vendor offers. The walls are adorned with digital boards showcasing projected flower displays, lunar-themed stage designs, and guest entry sequences. 

 My phone buzzes with a message from Serena. 

 Any update? Is he treating you okay? 

 I swallow hard, typing replies swiftly. 

 I’m OK. Just… pray for me. 

 As I lay my phone down, something catches my attention on the enormous digital frame bordering the far wall. It’s flashing through a slideshow of Blackthorne Enterprises milestones and Lucian’s personal successes. 

 And suddenly it appears - a fading image embedded within a brilliant frame of corporate logos and stock tickers. 

 Lucian as a youngster, no older than seven. His hair is longer, curling messily about his ears. He’s smiling broadly, eyes crinkled with excitement I’ve never seen on his grownup face. An older man stands behind him, hands resting firmly on his shoulders. Tall. Dark hair laced with silver. Eyes like shards of blue ice. 

 Damien Voss. 

 My blood runs cold. 

 Damien Voss. CEO of Voss Industries. Vampire aristocrat. The same guy Lucian has spent years attempting to ruin in supernatural court fights and business sabotage. 

 Why is he in a childhood photo with Lucian? Why does Lucian look… loved? 

 My vision blurs as the slideshow rolls away, leaving me looking at a brilliant stock report for Voss Industries acquisitions. My chest heaves with frantic breaths, a nasty knowing twisting in my core. 

 Nothing about Lucian is what I thought. 

 I clutch the edge of the table, my nails cutting into the glass as a chilling whisper snakes through my head - What else is he keeping from me?