INICIAR SESIÓNThe waiter—silent, efficient—delivers the check in its leather folder. Lucas reaches for it, but I intercept, fingers landing on his. The touch is more electric than it should be. For a second, neither of us moves. “Please,” I say. “This was my invitation.” His eyes flick up, amusement or challeng
He nods, the answer immediate. “Constantly. But it beats the alternative.” I sip my wine, then set it down. “What’s the alternative?” “Letting people see who you really are,” he says, and this time the smile is real, the sharp edges softened. The main course arrives—pasta for him, grilled fish fo
I give a half-smile. “You’re late,” I reply, though he isn’t. I check the watch on my wrist, just to sell it. “Two minutes past.” He glances at his own, a subtle flex of wrist. “My mistake. I’ll punish myself accordingly.” The waitress arrives—dark hair in a knot, a tattooed forearm—and pours him
“I need to change out of this,” I say, plucking at the suit. The fabric is creased, still damp from the earlier sprint, and smells faintly of bleach and sweat. “Give me twenty minutes?” Lucas glances at his watch. “Make it thirty. You could use the time.” He’s right, and I don’t argue. “Meet you i
It’s not quite dark, but the city is already closing up shop. The suite is a luminous cave above the rain—office lights gone to skeleton crew, security desk unmanned, and the cleaning staff fled to lower floors by the threat of thunder. I linger in the doorway, shoulder pressed to the frame, watchin
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He glances up, the green in his eyes gone dark in the morning shadow. “Would you have believed me?” I want to say yes, but we both know the answer. I sip my coffee, taste the lemon, and let the bitterness set in. There’s a comfort in the ritual: evidence, analysis, the s
I gather the pieces of myself and leave the office. My own intentions are as fractured as his. I cannot think straight with the scent of him so fresh, so insistent, so much like a promise. The door swings shut behind me, cutting off the warmth and memory of Derek's presence with surgical precision
I stiffen, a snarl forming at the back of my throat, before I manage to smooth it into something more civil, more human. This is not what I expected, not what I am prepared for. I should have known. I should have known he'd come. "Mara," his voice drawls, easy and confident, but I hear the challeng
The lock clicks behind me as I slip into the office. I am the wolf, even in tailored business attire. Even with it all wrapped up so tight. The edge of my existence cuts deep. The aftertaste of the night clings to my senses, a raw, metallic tang that I cannot swallow away. My steps falter, then re
There is a freedom in it, a temptation that digs claws deep into my resolve and leaves it ragged and bleeding. I have spent a lifetime restraining the urge, tightening the leash until it bites into my own flesh. But the promise of release is a seductive whisper, its breath warm against my neck, its







