My predator

Anya's POV

The smell of blood, cheap alcohol, and pure ozone always hung heavy over the lower docks of Blackwood Territory. To anyone normal, this was just a dangerous industrial district; to me, it was a minefield.

I pressed my fingers against the small glass vial hidden in the lining of my coat. The synthetic scent blocker inside cost more than my monthly rent, but it was the only thing keeping my fragile human heart beating in a city ruled by monsters. The formula perfectly mimicked the scent of a common omega wolf—just enough to fool the average noses of the street patrols. If it failed for even a second, my human scent would give me away. And in this territory, an unprotected human was nothing more than an open invitation to a hunt for pure sport.

But tonight, the risk was the last thing I cared about.

I glanced at the glowing neon sign of The Iron Den, the private underground club where the elite of the Hunters pack gathered. Ordinary humans didn’t even know this place existed. I knew because my family’s long-standing medical debts had finally cornered us, and my younger brother’s life was fading in the intensive care unit. Shapeshifters owned the hospitals, the banks, and the streets. If I wanted a lifeline, I had to go straight to the top of the food chain.

I took a deep breath, adjusted the collar of my coat, and pushed open the heavy iron doors.

The bass of the music hit my chest first—a low, primal vibration that made my human instincts beg me to turn around and run. The air inside was thick with dominant, suffocating alpha auras. Lethal men and women, with an almost unreal beauty, leaned against the bar.

“Look what the tide brought in,” growled a broad-shouldered wolf, blocking my path suddenly as I tried to cross the dance floor. He grabbed my arm, squeezing with a force that threatened to leave a bruise. “A lost omega with no mark. Are you looking for an owner, pretty one?”

Panic tried to close my throat, but I swallowed it down. I couldn’t shrink away. Submissive wolves lowered their heads; the ones who survived bit back.

“Let go before I break your fingers,” I replied, holding his gaze with cold sharpness. “I have no owner, but I am in a hurry. And you’re in the way.”

The man blinked, confused by my boldness, and loosened his grip just enough for me to slip free with a sharp tug. I walked with steady steps toward the VIP section at the back, forcing my spine to stay straight. Act like you belong here, I told myself. You are not a victim. You came here to make a deal.

Two massive figures—betas, judging by their broad, powerful builds—stepped into my path just before the private staircase. Their eyes glinted with a dangerous amber light.

“Private area,” the one on the left growled. “Access is denied to stray wolves.”

“Tell Azkarion Blackwood that a Sterling is here to settle a debt,” I said.

As I spoke the surname, the bouncer on the left tensed visibly. The faint hostility on his face shifted into an uneasy stillness, and he exchanged a quick, suspicious glance with his partner. My family’s name, cursed by an old and dark history with the pack, still sparked that exact reaction.

The guard pressed his earpiece, muttered a few words, and after a tense silence, stepped aside.

“He’s expecting you. Don’t make any sudden moves.”

The Alpha’s office was strangely quiet, sealed off from the roar of the club by thick, soundproof glass. The decor was all dark leather, polished mahogany, and shadows.

And sitting in the center of it all, swirling a glass of amber liquid, was the ultimate predator.

Azkarion Blackwood.

The Alpha of the Hunters pack was even more terrifying in person than the fearful whispers that spread through the streets. He was a man of powerful build, perfectly controlled, wrapped in an aura of absolute and unyielding authority. His dark hair caught the faint light of the room, and his aristocratic jaw looked as if it had been carved from stone. He did not look up when I entered. He did not need to.

“You have exactly two minutes to explain why a human is standing in my office using a synthetic scent cocktail,” Azkarion said, his voice a low, lethal baritone that sent a violent shiver down my spine.

The air froze in my lungs. The chemical blocker had fooled the guards and the wolves at the bar, but him… he was a pure-blood Alpha. He had detected the falsehood of my scent in a single, cursed second.

“I didn’t come here to play games, Alpha Blackwood,” I said, taking one step toward the desk, refusing to let my hands tremble. “I know your throne is in danger. I know the Ancestral Council demands you present a Luna before the end of the week, or you will lose your birthright to your rivals.”

Azkarion set the glass down on the table with infuriating slowness. When he lifted his head, his eyes were not gray—they were molten, piercing gold. The sheer weight of his gaze felt like a physical hand pressing against my chest, demanding I drop to my knees.

“And what does a fragile, desperate human have to do with my throne?” he asked, leaning back, his expression completely unreadable—distant and cold.

“You don’t need a real mate,” I replied, resting my hands on his desk and bringing my face close to his. “You need an asset. A wolf from another pack will try to manipulate you, read your mind, or steal your power. But me? I am a blank page. I can play the part of your elusive, dominant Luna perfectly. My blocker fools your men; only you have a nose pure enough to tell the difference. I can learn your ridiculous rituals and deceive your enemies.”

Azkarion watched me in silence, analyzing every line of my face, searching for even a trace of fear in my eyes. The silence stretched on, heavy and suffocating.

“And what is your price?” he finally murmured, a flicker of dark curiosity lighting his gaze.

“The fortune needed to pay off my brother’s debts and secure his medical care,” I stated firmly. “Give me a one-year marriage contract. I will secure your throne, and then I will disappear.”

Azkarion stood up abruptly. With supernatural and terrifying speed, he crossed the room. Before I could blink, his hand closed firmly around my waist, pressing my back against his iron-hard chest. His other hand slowly rose to my throat, the tip of his claw brushing the exact spot where my human pulse betrayed my terror.

“A one-year charade,” he whispered against my ear, his breath warm and smelling of pine and storm. “You are walking into a den of monsters, Anya. If my pack smells even a drop of your fear, or if your little chemical trick fails against the Council… they will skin you alive.”

I swallowed hard at the pressure of his fingers, but I did not step back. I tilted my head back, holding his golden gaze through the mirror before us.

“Then make sure you teach me to bite first, Alpha.”

A dark, dangerous smile curved his lips.

“We have a deal, little liar.”