Chapter 1

"What are you doing?"

My thumbs flew across the screen. I hit send.

I stared at the chat window, waiting for the man who called himself "Lykos" to reply. It was how I’d spent my nights for the past three months.

I’d stumbled upon his profile by chance. He’d posted a picture of his hand holding a pen, and that was it. But the hand he showed… the veins on the back of it, the long, powerful fingers… it was everything I was into.

I messaged him first, racking my brain every day for things to talk about.

It paid off. He went from cold and distant to white-hot. We were caught in a total whirlwind romance.

My phone buzzed.

He’d sent a photo. The side of a desk, a few files scattered next to a keyboard.

“Working. And waiting for my sweetheart to feel me thinking about her.”

A smile tugged at my lips. This man always knew the most direct way to make my heart hammer in my chest. Maybe we could finally break through the screen and touch for real.

But as I went to reply, my fingers froze.

In the bottom right corner of the photo, a silver sigil was peeking out from the edge of a folder. A lone wolf howling at the sky.

The sigil of the Blackwood Pack. The pack that owned the company I worked for.

My online boyfriend was a member of my own pack.

I stared, completely stunned, for a solid ten minutes. My mind was blank.

Honey, what exactly do you do?

Sweetheart, are you part of the Blackwood Pack?

I typed and deleted, over and over.

I had no idea how to ask. If I did, he’d ask where I was. He’d know I was on Blackwood territory, too. He’d come looking for me.

And I wasn't ready for that.

Noticing I hadn't replied instantly like I usually did, Lykos’s messages started flooding in.

"Baby, why no reply?"

"You busy? Send me a picture. Please? Like before. Your wrist, or… anything."

"Dreamt of you again last night. Your scent was everywhere, and you were wrapped around me, begging me to make you mine."

His words were getting bolder, more possessive. But this time, besides the heat in my cheeks, I felt a wave of panic. For three months, I thought I was talking to a werewolf miles away, so I felt safe saying all those dirty, exciting things.

Now I knew he was close. So close.

A hot blush of embarrassment crept up my neck.

Suddenly, my phone rang. A voice call.

I didn't dare answer, terrified he’d hear the tremor in my voice. I frantically declined the call.

Then I quickly typed back: "In a meeting, honey. I'll text you later."

He didn't seem to suspect anything. "Waiting for you," he sent back.

I closed the chat and took a deep breath. I needed to calm down.

First, I had to figure out who he was. If he was really from the Blackwood pack, what was his rank? A regular pack member, or a Beta like me?

Second, what was I going to do? Risk it and keep going, or end it now?

I opened our chat history, scrolling through, looking for clues. We’d both been careful about our privacy, never sharing personal details. But one thing stood out in my memory: a picture he’d sent of his bare torso.

Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and perfectly defined abs. And just below his abs was a faint scar, like one from a blade. It was a sharp line, wild and powerful.

It was the only physical feature I had to go on.

But it wasn't like I could just start lifting up the shirts of every male werewolf in the office to check for scars, could I?