Chapter 2: The predator’s prize

Lucien Blackthorne

The girl in the red suit was a liar.

I’d been sitting far enough away in the restaurant to ignore the clinking of silverware, but I couldn't ignore her.

Not because of what she was saying, though her tongue was sharp enough to draw blood, but because her body was betraying every word.

From across the room, I could hear her heart. It wasn't the steady rhythm of a confident woman; it was the frantic, uneven thud of someone staring down a firing squad.

She was terrified. And yet, she hadn't backed down once.

I’d checked my watch, my tea long since forgotten and cold. I was supposed to be picking up my mother—another pawn in my parents' endless, exhausting chess match of a marriage—but my patience had hit a wall.

I left the restaurant, the heavy glass doors muffling the sound of the girl’s confrontation.

I didn't care about human drama. I had a conglomerate to run and a pack that was growing restless with the city’s peace.

I reached my car, the obsidian paint reflecting the harsh streetlights. My driver already had the door cracked open. I was halfway through a text to my father when the scent hit me like a bucket of water thrown at my face.

Ozone. Vanilla. And the sharp, metallic tang of pure adrenaline.

Then, a warm, delicate touch grazed my shoulder.

My wolf could have reacted in a sharp, lethal defence... but it didn't. In fact, it waited.

A pair of small, trembling arms hooked around my neck.

I felt the heat of her skin instantly.

She was burning up, her pores leaking the sweat of a panic attack.

The kiss wasn't romantic. It was a collision. A desperate, shivering claim that sent a jolt of raw electricity straight to my gut.

My wolf, who was usually a silent shadow in the back of my mind, slammed against my ribs.

Mine.

The word didn't just echo; it bruised my throat and my thumping heart.

She pulled away before I could breathe, her eyes blown wide with a mix of triumph and absolute horror at what she’d just done.

She didn't wait. She scrambled past me, diving into the back of my car like it was a lifeboat and pulling me in after her.

I was stunned by her audacity, but the desperate look in her eyes refrained me from reacting.

"Drive," I commanded. My voice was a low growl I barely recognized.

The car lurched into traffic, leaving her "enemies" standing like statues on the sidewalk.

The silence inside the sedan was suffocating. I didn't look at her at first. I just watched the city lights flicker across the leather seats.

But I could hear everything.

The wet, ragged sound of her trying to swallow. The way her breath hitched every three seconds.

I finally turned my head.

She was trying to look composed, staring out the window with her jaw clamped shut. But her hands gave her away.

They were resting on her knees, the fabric of her red trousers damp where her palms were sweating. Her fingers were twitching, uncontrollable, rhythmic tremors that she tried to hide by clenching her fists.

A single bead of sweat rolled from her hairline, tracing the curve of her ear.

She looked like she was about to shatter. The "brave" girl from the restaurant was gone, replaced by a shivering mess who had just realized she’d jumped out of the frying pan and into a volcano.

"The show's over," I said. My voice was cold, vibrating in the small space.

She flinched so hard her shoulder hit the window. She didn't look at me, but I saw her throat work as she swallowed hard.

Her pulse was visible in her neck, and her temples, a frantic, visible drumming against her skin.

"Your hands are shaking," I noted, my eyes dropping to her white-knuckled grip. "And you’re bleeding my car's AC dry with that fever you're running. Who are you?"

She finally turned her head. Her face was pale, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears she was too stubborn to let fall.

She was a tough nut to crack, and that didn't only stir up my curiosity. It intrigued me.

She looked like a trapped animal, but the fire I’d heard earlier was still flickering in the depths of her pupils.

"I'm the person who just saved you from a very boring Tuesday night," she whispered. Her voice cracked, but the bite was still there.

I leaned in, moving into her personal space until I could smell the salt of her skin. "You didn't save me, rabbit. You just walked into a much bigger cage."