Chapter 1

Aria POV 

I was already drunk stupidly, recklessly drunk when the path through the woods stopped making sense. The trees blurred into dark pillars, the ground swayed under my heels, and the night air felt thick and sweet, like it was trying to pull me deeper. I don’t even remember why I’d wandered this far from the road. One minute I was outside the bar arguing with myself about calling a cab; the next I was stumbling between ancient pines, my dress catching on low branches, my head spinning.

Then I saw it.

A structure rose out of the mist like something from a dream: tall glass and dark stone, glowing softly from within. Not a cabin. Not a house. A penthouse somehow dropped into the heart of the forest, all clean lines and impossible luxury. Golden light spilled from the upper windows. I squinted, swayed, and laughed under my breath.

“Who builds a penthouse in the middle of nowhere…”

My feet carried me forward before my brain could argue. The front door wasn’t locked. Of course it wasn’t. In my drunken logic that meant invitation. I pushed it open and staggered inside, the sudden warmth making my skin prickle. Marble floors. High ceilings. The faint scent of cedar and something wilder underneath. I followed the soft light down a hallway until I found myself standing in a bedroom that looked like it belonged to a king.

Dark walls. Massive bed. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the moonlit trees.

“I’m feeling dizzy… where am I?” I mumbled, the words thick on my tongue.

The room tilted. My knees buckled. I started to fall

Strong arms caught me around the waist.

I looked up.

He was… beautiful. That was the only word my foggy brain could manage. Tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair slightly tousled like he’d been running his hands through it. Sharp jaw. Full mouth. Eyes the color of molten gold under long lashes. He stared down at me like I was something that didn’t belong and maybe like he wasn’t sure he wanted me to leave.

We just… stared.

The heat of his body sank into mine. My hands, traitorously bold, slid up his chest. He felt fever-hot through the thin black shirt he wore.

“You feel so hot,” I whispered, swaying closer. “I feel so good. I like you.”

Something flickered across his face shock, then something darker. And then, right in front of my eyes, two fluffy, pointed ears twitched into existence on top of his head. Soft. Silver-tipped. Real.

I blinked. Reached up without thinking and brushed my fingers over one. It was warm. Velvety.

“Fluffy ears,” I breathed, delighted. “Are you cosplaying? So cute…”

His expression hardened. In one sharp motion he pushed me back a step, though his hands stayed on my waist like he couldn’t quite let go.

“Human woman,” he growled, voice low and rough. “How dare you trespass on my territory, you ”

I don’t know who moved first. Maybe the alcohol. Maybe the way his mouth looked when he was angry. Our lips crashed together in a clumsy, accidental kiss. Heat exploded through me. I made a soft sound and touched his bottom lip with my fingertips when we broke apart for air.

“What are you blabbering about?” I asked, dazed. Then, because the night already felt like a fever dream, I whispered, “Give me a kiss.”

I surged up and kissed him properly deep, hungry, the way I’d never dared kiss anyone sober. His eyes flew wide open in pure shock. I felt the exact moment his control cracked. I trailed my mouth down the side of his throat, tasting salt and something wild, and his eyes flared a glowing, dangerous red.

“Woman,” he rasped, voice gone guttural. “You started this fire.”

His hand closed gently but firmly around the side of my neck, tilting my head back, and then he kissed me like he was claiming something. Deep. Devouring. The kind of kiss that rewires your bones. Outside the tall windows, every white rose in the moonlit garden shivered and flushed a deep, bloody red, petals unfurling as if the night itself had changed color.

We stumbled backward. The back of my knees hit the mattress. He followed me down, bracing his weight on strong arms, still kissing me while his fingers found the zipper of my dress. He was careful, almost reverent, sliding the fabric down my shoulders, my arms, until cool air kissed my skin. I arched into him, dizzy with want and alcohol and the impossible heat of his body.

When his mouth trailed to my shoulder, something burned sharp and sweet. I gasped. A mark bloomed there like living ink: a swirling crescent of wolf and thorn, glowing faintly silver against my skin. He froze for half a second, eyes locked on it, then groaned low in his throat and kissed the mark like it belonged to him.

We didn’t speak after that.

The rest of the night blurred into heat and moonlight and the sound of our breathing. He was everywhere, hands, mouth, the heavy, perfect weight of him. I lost track of how many times the world white out. Outside, the roses stayed red until the first gray light of dawn crept through the trees.

When I opened my eyes, the light was soft and gold. The roses beyond the glass had turned pure white again, as if the night had never happened. I sat up slowly, head pounding, mouth dry. The mark on my shoulder was gone and vanished like smoke the moment I touched the place where it had been.

I was in a stranger’s bedroom.

Naked.

And the most beautiful man I had ever seen was asleep beside me, dark hair falling over his forehead, one arm still stretched toward the empty space where I’d been.

Panic slammed into me.

“I must have been drunk and ended up in someone else’s house and slept with a stranger,” I whispered, horrified. My heart raced. I leaned closer, trying to memorize his face in the morning light those sharp cheekbones, that mouth that had kissed me like the world was ending

My phone rang.

The sharp sound made me jump. I scrambled for my clutch on the floor, yanking out the phone with shaking hands.

“Hello?”

“Aria hurry and come to the hospital. Your mother” My best friend’s voice was tight with worry.

Ice flooded my veins.

“I’ll be right there,” I said, already moving.

I dressed in frantic silence, underwear, dress, shoes, not even bothering to look for my missing earring. I didn’t dare glance back at the bed. If I looked at him again I might stay. And I couldn’t stay. Not when my mother needed me.

I slipped out the door, down the hallway, into the cool morning air, and ran.

Behind me, in the quiet bedroom, the man stirred. Golden eyes opened. He sat up slowly, scanning the empty space, the tangled sheets, the faint lingering scent of my perfume. A slow, dangerous smile curved his mouth.

“Little bunny,” he murmured to the silent room. “You have been marked by me. You can’t escape.”