011

– Maureen Laurent

I stood at the top of the staircase longer than I meant to, fingers tight around the banister, heart hammering so hard I was sure the entire fortress could hear it.

The gown felt like liquid sin against my skin—deep wine-red satin that Livia had laid out with a knowing smile, saying only, “The Alpha prefers black, Miss. You’ll do the rest.”

I hadn’t understood until now.

Because there he was, waiting below.

Vuk.

Seven feet of lethal shadow dressed in black so perfect it looked like the night itself had been tailored to his body. The shirt clung to his chest and arms, collar open just enough to reveal the golden glow of my bite on his shoulder. The long coat fell open as he moved, framing him like wings. Every line of him was sharp, severe, devastating.

He looked… nervous.

Not the nervous of a male afraid of battle—no, this was subtler. A faint tension in his shoulders, the way he paced two steps one way, two steps back, like a wolf circling a trap he’d willingly walked into.

For me.

The thought sent a rush of warmth through my chest so fierce I had to press a hand there to steady myself.

I took the first step.

Then the second.

His head snapped up.

The moment his eyes found me, the pacing stopped. The torches flared higher. The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with something ancient and starving.

I watched every drop of color drain from his face—only to flood back in a wave of raw, stunned hunger.

His lips parted. No sound came out.

His wolf’s roar vibrated through the bond, possessive and triumphant and utterly wrecked.

I reached the bottom stair and stopped, suddenly shy under the weight of that stare. The gown suddenly felt too bold, too much skin, too everything.

But then he spoke—voice rough as gravel, low enough that only I could hear.

“Beautiful,” he rasped. “You’re worth dying for. Worth killing for. I can’t—” He dragged in a ragged breath, claws flexing at his sides. “I can’t even think when you look like that.”

Heat flooded my cheeks, spilling down my throat, pooling low in my belly. I’d never felt beautiful—not since the night they stripped me and branded me property. But the way he looked at me now, like I was the only star in his endless night, made me believe it again.

“Thank you,” I whispered, the words small and trembling.

He stepped forward, took my hand, and pressed his lips to my knuckles—slow, deliberate, fangs grazing just enough to make me shiver.

“Little moon,” he murmured against my skin, “if any male in this fortress looks at you too long tonight, I will gouge his eyes out and wear them as cufflinks.”

A laugh escaped me—startled, bright, uncontrollable.

He straightened, offered his arm with a formality that felt almost boyish coming from him.

I slipped my hand through it, fingers curling around the hard muscle of his forearm.

A guard in a sharp black suit opened the door to the waiting car—a sleek, matte-black SUV with tinted windows and subtle crimson accents glowing along the edges. No roar of an engine, just a silent electric hum as it idled.

Vuk helped me in first, his hand steady on mine, then slid in beside me. The door shut with a soft thunk, sealing us in plush leather and his scent.

The car pulled away smoothly, gliding through the fortress gates and out into the snowy night.

I wanted to ask where we were going—desperately—but I bit my tongue. He was already doing this huge thing, taking me out like I was normal, like we were normal. The last thing I needed was to seem pushy or ungrateful.

So I stayed quiet, watching the mountains blur past, the city lights starting to sparkle in the distance.

After a few minutes, Vuk shifted beside me.

“So… red wine or white?” he asked, voice a little too casual.

I turned, surprised. “Red, I guess.”

He nodded. “Good choice. Fuller body. Pairs better with steak.”

A small smile tugged at my lips. “Steak sounds amazing.”

Silence again.

Then: “Snow’s coming down harder tonight.”

“Yeah,” I said, glancing out. “Really coming down.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. I felt a flicker of amusement through the bond—his own awkwardness hitting him.

I reached over and squeezed his hand. “We don’t have to force small talk, you know.”

He exhaled, shoulders relaxing. “Good. Because I suck at it.”

The car slowed, then stopped.

I looked up—and my breath caught.

Even growing up in southern nobility, with all the fancy estates and galas, I had never seen anything like this.

A massive skyscraper towered into the night sky, its entire facade glowing deep crimson red—sharp, angular edges slicing upward like blades, illuminated from within by pulsing hellfire veins. It was brutal and beautiful, modern luxury mixed with something dangerous, the kind of building that stole your heart and didn’t give it back.

The driver opened my door.

Vuk stepped out first, then offered his hand to help me. My heels hit the marble entrance, and I couldn’t stop staring up, mouth half-open.

“OMG…” I breathed.

He watched my reaction, eyes soft. Then he laced his fingers through mine.

“Come on, little moon,” he said, voice low and warm.

He led me inside.

The lobby was all sleek black marble and glass, staff in crisp uniforms bowing deeply as we passed—no stares, just respect. The elevator shot us up in seconds, silent and smooth.

The doors opened directly into the rooftop restaurant.

And I stopped dead.

Floor-to-ceiling glass walls wrapped around the entire space, giving a 360-degree view of the Northern Dominion at night—snowy peaks, the fortress lights below, distant city glow, and swirling auroras overhead. The interior was dark and elegant: black tables, crimson accents, eternal hellfire flames flickering in modern glass fixtures.

But the whole place was empty except for one table in the center—set for two, candlelit with those same blue-black flames, overlooking the endless skyline.

And then, as we stepped out, a single violin started playing—soft, haunting, romantic notes filling the air from a musician tucked discreetly in the shadows.

I turned to Vuk, eyes wide. “Woah…”

He shrugged, but I caught the faint satisfaction in his gaze. “Figured you deserved the best view in the city. Whole place is ours tonight.”

My heart did something complicated—flipped, melted, raced.

He pulled out my chair, and as I sat, the city sparkled below us like a million stars had fallen just for this moment.

Vuk took the seat across from me, the table small enough that our knees brushed under the black linen cloth. The hellfire candles flickered between us, casting golden light over the sharp lines of his face and making his eyes burn brighter.

A server appeared silently, poured deep red wine into our glasses—something rich and velvety that smelled like black cherries and smoke—then vanished as quickly as he’d come.

Vuk lifted his glass, but didn’t drink yet. He just watched me over the rim.

“To you,” he said, voice low. “For making an immortal feel like time actually matters.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. I clinked my glass gently against his. “To us.”

We drank. The wine was perfect—warm, bold, sliding down my throat like a promise.

The violin in the shadows shifted into something slower, deeper. Notes that felt like fingers trailing down skin.

Vuk set his glass down and leaned forward, elbows on the table, gaze locked on mine.

“Tell me something no one else knows,” he said. “Anything.”

I swallowed. Thought of all the dark things I could say, but instead something lighter slipped out.

“I used to sneak into the kitchens at home and steal honey cakes at midnight,” I admitted, smiling at the memory. “My mother pretended not to notice the crumbs on my nightgown.”

His mouth curved—rare, real, devastating. “I used to sit on the fortress roof and watch the auroras for hours. Alone. Never told anyone it was the only thing that quieted the noise in my head.”

My chest tightened. Three hundred and fifty years… and he’d been alone that whole time.

The first course arrived—thin slices of lunar venison, seared rare, drizzled with something dark and sweet. Vuk speared a piece with his fork, then held it to my lips instead of eating it himself.

I parted them, let him feed me. The meat melted on my tongue. His eyes tracked the movement, pupils blowing wide when I licked a stray drop from my bottom lip.

“Good?” he asked, voice rougher now.

“Perfect,” I whispered.

He fed me another bite. This time his thumb brushed the corner of my mouth, lingering, wiping away an invisible trace. Then he brought that thumb to his own lips and tasted it.

My breath stuttered.

The violin swelled, something aching and beautiful.

Vuk stood, rounded the table in two strides, and offered his hand.

“Dance with me.”

No question. Just quiet command wrapped in velvet.

I took his hand.

He pulled me up and into him—slow, deliberate—until my body pressed flush against his. One of his hands settled low on my back, fingers splayed wide, possessive. The other cradled my hand against his chest, right over the steady thunder of his heart.

We swayed.

No rushed steps, just gentle movement to the music, the city glittering endlessly below us. My cheek rested against his chest; I could feel the low growl rumbling there, not anger—hunger, held carefully in check.

His lips brushed my temple.

“You in this dress,” he murmured against my skin, “is the most dangerous thing I’ve ever seen.”

I tilted my head back to look at him. “Dangerous how?”

His eyes dropped to my mouth. “Because I’ve spent centuries in perfect control… and right now I’m one breath away from clearing this table and taking you on it.”

Heat pooled low in my belly. I rose on my toes, brushed my lips against the corner of his jaw.

“Then why don’t you?” I whispered.

His grip tightened, claws pricking lightly through the satin. A warning. A promise.

“Because tonight isn’t about fucking you senseless in public,” he said, voice gravel and fire. “Tonight is about watching you smile. Hearing you laugh. Memorizing every sound you make when you’re happy.” His forehead dropped to mine. “I’ll ruin you when we get home, little moon. Slowly. Thoroughly. Until the only word you remember is my name.”

My knees went weak.

The song ended. The violin faded into silence.

But we didn’t let go.

He guided me back to my chair, but instead of sitting across from me again, he pulled his seat beside mine—so close our thighs pressed together, his arm draped along the back of my chair, fingers tracing lazy circles on my bare shoulder.

Dessert came: dark chocolate laced with infernal spice, warm and molten.

He broke off a piece with his fingers and held it to my lips.

I took it—slowly—letting my tongue brush his fingertips on purpose.

His growl was audible this time, low and wrecked.

“Careful,” he warned.

I smiled, licked a stray bit of chocolate from my lip. “Or what?”

His hand slid to the nape of my neck, thumb stroking the claiming bite. “Or I forget I’m trying to be civilized.”

The spice bloomed on my tongue—hot, sweet, addictive.

Just like him.

By the time the plates were cleared, the wine bottle empty, and the city lights softer in the late hours, I was leaning into his side, warm and a little dizzy, heart so full it hurt.

He stood, offered his hand again.

“Time to go home,” he said, voice rough with everything we hadn’t done yet.

I took it.

“I can’t wait to ruin you tonight my moon.”