Chapter 1: The Morning After

My head was splitting open. That was the first thing I knew before I even opened my eyes.

The second thing I knew was that this bed was not mine.

The sheets smelled like cedar and whiskey and something deep, something primal that made my stomach flip in a way I could not explain. I pressed my palm against my forehead and forced my eyes open, wincing at the pale morning light pouring through unfamiliar curtains. A hotel room. Expensive, from the look of it. Crystal chandelier overhead, marble side tables, a minibar glowing soft blue in the corner.

I tried to sit up, but a heavy weight pinned me down.

My heart stopped.

There was an arm draped across my waist. A thick, muscular, very naked arm. And behind me, pressed warm against my back, was the slow, steady breathing of someone still deep in sleep.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

I held my breath and turned my head inch by inch, terrified of what I would find. The blanket covered most of him, but I could see the broad line of his shoulders, the sharp angle of his jaw, and the dark hair falling across a face that made my blood run cold.

Dominic Blackwell.

Alpha of the Dark Night Pack.

My father's biggest rival. The man whose name alone was enough to make the elders of the Bright Moon Pack spit on the ground.

And I had slept with him.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to crawl out of my own skin and disappear into the floor. My mind raced through a hundred terrible endings, each worse than the last. If Dominic woke up and recognized me, it would not just be embarrassing. It would be a weapon. He would use it to destroy my father, to humiliate the Bright Moon Pack in front of all of Evermont.

I could already hear my father's voice in my head, cold as iron. You are the heir of the Bright Moon Pack, Serena. Act like it.

And here I was. Naked in his enemy's bed.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I grabbed it with trembling fingers and saw the name flashing on the screen.

Dad.

I swallowed hard and picked up.

"Where the hell are you?" His voice was a low growl, the kind that made grown wolves tuck their tails. "The pack meeting is in two hours and your room is empty."

"I'm sorry, Dad." I kept my voice low, praying Dominic would not stir. "I drank too much last night at the conference dinner. I passed out at the hotel. I'm with Weston right now, he's driving me back."

A long silence. Then a breath that sounded like it came through clenched teeth.

"You have two hours, Serena. If you are one minute late, I will drag you to that meeting by your collar. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir."

The line went dead.

I pressed the phone against my chest and sat there for a moment, just breathing. Then I slid out from under Dominic's arm as carefully as if I were defusing a bomb. He shifted in his sleep, mumbling something low, and I froze with one foot on the cold marble floor until his breathing steadied again.

I tiptoed to the bathroom and caught my reflection in the mirror. My hair was a disaster. My eyes were bloodshot and puffy. But the heavy makeup I had worn to the conference dinner was still smeared thick across my face, blurring my features into something almost unrecognizable. My real face was hidden beneath layers of ruined foundation and smudged eyeliner.

Good. That meant he probably had no idea who I was.

I grabbed my phone again and dialed Weston's number. It rang four times before he picked up, his voice scratchy with sleep.

"Serena? It's seven in the morning. Someone better be dying."

"Weston, I need you to come pick me up right now. Grand Crestview Hotel, downtown. And if my dad calls you, tell him I was with you all night."

A pause. Then the sound of blankets rustling as he sat up.

"Hold on. Why are you at a hotel?"

"Just come get me, Weston. Please."

"Serena Ashford." His voice dropped low, and I could practically see his eyes narrowing. "Are you calling me from a hotel room right now?"

"Weston, I swear I will explain everything later, just please come."

"Did you sleep with someone?"

My silence was louder than any answer.

"Oh my God." His voice shot up so loud I yanked the phone away from my ear. "You slept with someone! Who? Who is it? Is he still there?"

"Keep your voice down!" I hissed, glancing toward the bedroom door. My heart was hammering so hard I could feel it in my teeth. "Yes, he is still here. And no, I am not telling you who. Now are you coming or not?"

"I'm already putting on my shoes," he grumbled. "But you owe me the biggest explanation of your life, Serena. The biggest."

I hung up and leaned against the bathroom counter, pressing my cold fingers to my burning cheeks.

What have I done?

I did not have time to spiral.

Every second I wasted was a second closer to Dominic Blackwell opening his eyes and finding me standing in his bathroom like some kind of guilty little mouse. I splashed water on my face, careful not to wash away the makeup that was still protecting my identity, and went back into the bedroom.

The clothes were everywhere. His shirt on the lamp. My dress crumpled near the foot of the bed. A torn strap from something I could not even identify hanging off the edge of a chair. Looking at the wreckage made my stomach tighten, and fragments of the previous night flickered through my mind like a broken film reel. Hands pulling at fabric. The heat of his mouth on my neck. My own voice, breathless, saying things I would never say sober.

I squeezed my eyes shut and shoved it all down.

Not now. Not ever.

I grabbed my dress from the floor, stepped into it, and pulled the zipper up with shaking hands. I did a quick scan of the room, making sure nothing of mine was left behind. No earrings. No phone charger. No trace that Serena Ashford, firstborn daughter of the Bright Moon Pack's Alpha, had ever been in this room.

I slipped on my heels and moved toward the door, turning the handle as slowly as I could to avoid the click.

But the moment I pulled the door open and stepped into the hallway, I walked straight into a wall of muscle.

"Oof!"

I stumbled backward, my heel catching on the carpet, and a pair of strong hands grabbed my waist to keep me from falling. I looked up and my heart dropped straight to my feet.

Grant Hollister. Alpha of the Crossing Shadow Pack. Dominic's best friend. And he was standing right outside the door like he had been about to knock.

His dark eyes moved from my face to the room behind me, and a slow, knowing grin spread across his mouth.

"Well, well." He leaned against the doorframe, blocking my path. "Is Dominic in there?"

"Excuse me." I tried to step around him, keeping my head down, but his hand caught my wrist before I could get past.

"Not so fast, sweetheart."

He leaned in just slightly, close enough that I could see the flecks of amber in his brown eyes, and his nostrils flared once. Twice.

"You smell like him," he murmured, that grin widening. "All over. So either you two had a very intimate conversation last night, or you did a whole lot more than talk."

My pulse was screaming, but I forced my face into something bored. Something careless. I looked him dead in the eyes.

"We did a lot more than talk."

I yanked my wrist free and walked past him without looking back. Behind me, I heard his laughter echoing down the hallway, warm and amused, like I had just told him the funniest joke in the world.

I almost ran through the lobby, pulling a small bottle of perfume from my clutch and spraying it over my neck, my wrists, my hair, anywhere Dominic's scent might still be clinging. The glass doors parted and the morning air hit my face, cool and sharp, and I finally let myself breathe.

Weston's black car was idling at the curb. He was leaning against the driver's side door with a cigarette between his fingers, and the moment he saw me walking toward him, his whole face changed.

His lips pressed together. His shoulders started shaking. He looked at my raccoon eyes, my wild hair, my wrinkled dress, and he bit down on his knuckle like a man trying not to die of laughter.

"One word," I warned him. "Say one word and I will end you."

He held up both hands in surrender, but his eyes were still bright with tears of silent laughter. He reached into his pocket and held out a handkerchief.

"At least wipe your face. You look like a painting that got left in the rain."

I snatched the handkerchief from his hand, kicked his shin hard enough to make him yelp, and started scrubbing the smeared mascara off my cheeks while he hopped around clutching his leg.

"Drive," I snapped, climbing into the passenger seat. "Now. Fast. I have less than two hours before the pack meeting and I need to shower and change."

Weston tossed his cigarette, slid behind the wheel, and looked at me with that infuriating half smile still plastered on his face.

"You going to tell me what happened?"

"I am going to tell you to drive before I throw your cigarettes out the window."

He put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb so fast my back hit the seat. The hotel shrank in the rearview mirror and with every block we put between me and that room, I felt the knot in my chest loosen just a little.

I would never see Dominic Blackwell again. This secret would go to my grave.

At least, that was what I told myself.