Chapter 4

Tania’s POV

I sat on the edge of the bed, fingers curling in the sheets, staring at the ceiling like it had the answers. It didn’t. I had to think. Not the messy, crying kind of thinking I’d done before, but the sort that moved things forward. That got results. That made West stop being so annoyingly calm and finally agree to help me get what I wanted.

The only way I saw it working was if I could make him want me. Not in the casual way most wolves drooled over scent and heat. I needed him to choose me, to actually care. The thought made my stomach twist. I’d spent so long thinking revenge was a straight path, a checklist, a plan. Now it felt more like a chess game where half the pieces were invisible, and the king had a damn mind of his own.

I ran a hand through my hair. My wolf. That was the key. If I couldn’t get my wolf fully back, I’d never be enough. I’d never be enough for West.

Marcus had been helping, quietly, like always. Not the type to fuss, but I could tell he cared. He kept the records, tracked my progress, adjusted doses and exercises. But the poison, the curse, the everything; they’d left marks. My senses were dull. My scent was weak. My heat cycles had been interrupted, and that part of me, the strongest part of me growing up, was almost gone.

Of course it’s hard. I was the omega everyone feared.

I’d been trained to shift perfectly, to control every pulse, every scent, every heartbeat of my wolf. Now it felt like trying to remember a language I once spoke fluently but forgot overnight. My claws, my teeth, my instincts they were still there, but muffled. Blunted. Useless if I wanted to seduce someone like West.

“Still thinking about your scent?” Marcus’s voice came from the doorway. He had that expression, the one that says he doesn’t approve but also isn’t going to stop you.

“Yes,” I said flatly. “I can’t get it right. I can’t get the heat. I can’t get the wolf back fully.”

He shrugged. “Then get creative. There are other ways to bring it back. Maybe not the perfect way, but functional.”

“Functional is not good enough,” I said.

“You’ve always had that problem. Too smart for your own good,” he said, dry as ever.

I stared at him. “Thanks, I think.”

He smirked once and walked away. Typical Marcus. 

I sat there for hours, turning it over. How do you seduce someone who’s already immune to everything? Who has no patience for fools, who’s seen the worst of humanity and wolves alike and isn’t impressed by anyone? You make him need you. You make him want the chaos you bring. 

YOUR SCENT. 

Perfect, that was what I needed but…. how would I do that with no shifting capacity. 

That meant I had to get my wolf fully back. And my wolf was stubborn, spoiled, and completely unwilling to cooperate unless I gave her a reason. A very good reason. A reason that involved heat, desire, instinct, dominance. That part of me , the alpha-level omega I’d suppressed all my life to survive. I’d been too smart, too cautious. But now survival wasn’t enough. I wanted power. I wanted West. I wanted everything back that had been stolen.

I thought about the practical steps.

First, I needed control. Marcus could help me with the exercises, the shifts, the partial scents. He was patient. So patient it made me wonder if he had a secret stash of tranquilizers hidden somewhere. I’d done my breathing, my stretches, the little meditative wolf exercises he suggested, and he just watched like a statue. The quiet kind that makes you feel like if you mess up once, he’ll write it in a file and never forget. 

Second, I needed experience. The heat cycles. That was the part I couldn’t fake. No matter how clever or disciplined I was, the wolf needed it. My body needed it. My instincts needed it. That particular language, the one that spoke in pulsing desire and tension had been ripped from me before I even knew how to properly use it. I thought I was prepared, that I could brute-force my way back to full power. I couldn’t. You can’t argue with biology. Well, you can, but it usually ends badly, with a lot of screaming and a faint smell of burned hair.

I sat down at my laptop and started searching. Not just any shifter therapist. I needed someone who understood power, control, and the kind of dangerous charm that could crack West’s walls like they were made of sugar. Someone who could teach me the sharp edges I’d need to cut through all of him without losing my own head. I sifted through forums, rare listings, and websites so obscure I wondered if I’d accidentally crossed into the dark web. Most profiles were ridiculous: “Let me show you your true self with crystals and candlelight.” Yeah, great, I’m sure a spell and some incense will have West handing me his soul.

And then I found her.

No frills, no logo, no I*******m BS, no inspirational quote about “embracing your inner wolf.” Just text. Dense, precise, and terrifying. Expertise in wolf-human dynamics, sexual dominance, seduction as power, presence, control. The kind of description that makes you feel both terrified and excited at the same time. My pulse raced, and I might have whispered, “Oh, thank God someone exists who’s not a moron.” I booked the first session immediately, because patience is for people who don’t have a dead wolf crying in the corner of their soul.

The day I met her, I realized I had no idea what I was walking into. She didn’t try to impress with clothing or jewelry. Sharp, plain, hair tied back, eyes that seemed to look right through me, like she could see my soul and my wolf simultaneously and probably judge both. She didn’t shake my hand. She didn’t smile. She said, “Sit.” That was it. Sit. I sat. I could feel my own heartbeat echoing in the silent room, and I knew instantly this was going to be one of those experiences I’d survive but would forever change me.

My crash course in seduction was about to begin.