Chapter 38

Clarissa

It’s not that I started my career thinking I would work for wolf people, but until the past 24 hours, aside from Damien’s acquaintances from the pack realms calling him “Alpha” instead of “Mr. Silverburn,” you would have never known. They were perfectly integrated into the human world, and in fact, they own a very large portion of it.

When I started working at Silverburn Tower, I was expecting to be in the mailroom, but after my interview, I was asked to come back to interview for an executive assistant position. That’s when I met Peter.

He was clean cut and polished, something I definitely wasn’t. I felt out of place coming to the upper floors, let alone hoping for a position here. He saw something in me though and asked me back for another interview with Mr. Silverburn.

I didn’t know much about the Silverburn family, and I certainly knew even less about wolf people before meeting him. I knew they were in the city of course, but didn’t really think anything of them. Sometimes, we would have a mentally ill wolf person picked up by the police, but they were sent back to the Wilds- the wolf realms.

The Silverburns were different though- both more human and more dangerous all at the same time, probably because they were loaded more than any other family ever and also did everything in their power to downplay their ties to the Northern Wilds as much as possible. They were connected to politicians, media, tech, philanthropy- everything in Crystal City was touched by Silver Enterprises in some fashion and seeing the logo was just background noise that most of us didn’t think of. I certainly didn’t, until I met the elusive and reclusive Damien Silverburn.

Immediately upon meeting him, I noticed his eyes, the color of fire flickering against the night sky. Any time I had seen him online, his eyes had been brown. One of my jobs, I soon learned, would be to make sure there was a copious and constant supply of brown contact lenses to cover the red. Humans didn’t respond well to red eyes, but the composition of wolf person eyes dissolved the lenses quickly. It was important that there was always more than enough in stock.

The interview wasn’t much of an interview, to be honest. He looked at me, asked which schools I attended and about my work habits, then asked if I had a problem with wolves or gossip. I said “no,” then Peter came in, and he left.

Peter told me that my wardrobe would be provided, that my hair was to remain down and styled in long waves but could be pulled up at the sides because Mr. Silverburn liked my jawline and throat. Weird, probably illegal to say, but I didn’t mind. I liked that he saw me because I was certainly thinking about him. He was massive, his shoulders were strong and wide, and his smile was captivating. And those eyes were terrifying and smoldering at the same time.

Peter asked me about salary requirements, and I told him what I thought was fair. He multiplied that by 10, passed me an NDR to sign, gave me a phone, told me that I would be starting immediately, and that I should expect to be on call all day, every day. He also told me that I really needed to learn more about wolf people if I wanted to survive— I assumed he meant emotionally and professionally, not physically, but those red eyes told me there might be some danger there.

Peter didn’t like me at first, but over our first few months, I worked my ass off while wearing tall red-bottomed heels and imported backseam stockings with tasteful business suits,m. I began to learn more about Peter’s life, his boyfriend, their French bulldog, and his aspirations. He loved working for the Silverburns and hoped to make a trip to the Northern Wilds with them, and he introduced me to The Roaming Bean. I quickly became a regular there- not only was it a fascinating place to learn about wolf people dynamics in the city and Wilds, but the coffee was easily the best in the city.

Then, Peter’s put together life seemed to unravel. When he was going to propose to Stefan, he found out that he had been cheating pretty openly with another man, he moved out, and they started a custody arrangement with Charlie, their dog. We started going out drinking more after that, and one night in a club he met some people that I told him I got a bad vibe about.

He still did his job well, but any time he wasn’t working, he was either at the Broken Crescent, a known wolf person bar where the packless hung out, or meeting up with strangers off the app, Crystal City DTF.

About four months ago he called out for three days. He had never called out in our months together, and when he came back, he was pale and seemed distracted. He had a limp, and said that he had been camping and hurt his leg. It was funny because I didn’t take him for a real outdoorsman, but I thought maybe he was trying something new.

Then, each month since, he’d taken off two to three days, then when he returned, he was more distracted and distant. I missed my friend. Even though he had clearly done something very wrong today, I wanted more than anything for him to be ok.

After straightening up the penthouse - not that it was untidy at all, in fact, it never was because there was an invisible army of people that took care of everything, I went to look out at the shimmering lights across the city. “Oh, Peter, what did you do?” I sighed. The view was incredible, and even though I had seen it hundreds of times now from the penthouse, it was always remarkable to see it from this high.

I sat on the white leather sofa that Peter had been sitting on earlier, wondering what he was thinking about last time he was here and what prompted him to steal from the Silverburns. They had taken such good care of him over the years, and if he needed money, they would have certainly helped him. They were those kinds of people. They cared, even though it seems like they wouldn’t before you get to know them.

Between the cushions, I saw a torn edge of a piece of paper and pulled it out. On it was Peter’s unmistakable handwriting, handwriting that I told him that looked like it was straight out of a serial killer documentary on more than one occasion: Dear Mr. S, I’m Sorry. Thank you for everything. -P

I gasped, realizing that Peter had done what we suspected and snapped a picture of his note with his phone and sent it to Damien. “God, please let him be ok,” I said as I sent it.

I tried to call Peter’s phone after, thinking that maybe he would answer for me, but it went straight to voicemail. I stood up and started to pace, worried about my friend. I felt completely powerless, but hoped that their wolfy senses helped them track him in some way.