5

CAMILA

I was three drawers deep into locked player archives in the stadium basement when the security protocols tripped.

I had used a forged security pass to get past the graveyard-shift desk, hunting for anything on Tiago Marques’s five-year-old medical logs. But before I could pull a single file, the room flooded with harsh amber emergency lighting, and a heavy magnetic lock snapped shut over the steel door with a deafening, metallic clack.

Trapped.

I was still yanking uselessly at the unyielding handle, cursing under my breath, when the lock suddenly sheared open under violent force. The heavy door slammed back against the concrete wall, and Tiago stood in the threshold.

His chest was heaving, his dark hair messy, and his eyes were completely, undeniably transformed. Liquid, blazing gold burned in his pupils, unearthly and predator-raw under the emergency glare. He looked terrifying, magnificent, and entirely out of control.

"What the hell are you doing down here?" he growled. His voice wasn't human—it was a low, heavy vibration that rattled straight through the concrete floor.

"I could ask you the exact same thing about your eyes," I stammered, backing up until my spine hit the cold metal filing cabinets.

"Camila." My name came out of him like a threat and a plea at once. "You need to move. Now. Before the night security sweep catches you staring at me like this."

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what I'm actually looking at!"

Before I could pull away, his hand shot out, wrapping around my wrist with burning, iron-like heat. He dragged me out of the archive and down a pitch-black service stairwell, pulling me through the shadows behind the grandstands. We ran until he shoved open the heavy wooden door to a small, isolated maintenance shed at the edge of the training grounds, throwing us inside and dropping the iron bolt.

It was cramped, dark, and smelled sharply of crushed grass, motor oil, and the scorching heat radiating off his body.

"What are you?" I whispered, my heart slamming against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Tiago leaned back against the heavy door, breathing heavily, his pupils dilating as the golden fire slowly receded into dark brown. "You're a journalist, Serrano. You've been connecting the dots for weeks. Say it."

"A werewolf." The word sounded insane leaving my mouth, yet it fit. It explained the impossible pitch sprint, the eye reflections, the terrifying strength. "You're a werewolf."

"Yes."

"And Mateo—"

"Was human. Entirely human," Tiago interrupted, cutting off the question before I could finish it. His jaw clenched, a vein pulsing at his temple. "There are things about that match... ancient rivalries, pack politics that spilled onto that pitch... that you can't even begin to comprehend. I have wanted to tell you, Camila. But every word is a risk I can't take."

"You're lying to me! You're still hiding what actually killed him!"

"I am trying to keep you alive!" he snapped, stepping directly into my space, his broad frame completely cutting off the dark room. "You think you want the truth, but digging into this world will get you torn apart."

I stood there shaking, adrenaline, frustration, and a sudden, suffocating wave of danger crashing through me. He was standing far too close, his scorching body heat washing over me, his scent—cedarwood, rain, and raw power—filling the tiny shed until I couldn't catch a clean breath.

"I hate you," I breathed, my voice dropping into a raspy whisper. "I despise everything about you."

"I know," he growled, his dark gaze dropping down to my mouth.

"I don't know how to stop."

"Then don't."

The sheer sexual tension that had been building between us for weeks snapped like an overwound wire. I didn't think. I stepped straight into his heat, fisted both hands in the front of his damp shirt, and dragged his mouth down to mine.

It was insane, incredibly insane I must confess. A chaotic, desperate clash of two people who hated each other's guts but couldn't fight the pull for another second.

Tiago let out a low, half sexy, half scary sound, his hands slamming into my waist and hauling me up against the rough wooden wall. 

“Come here Cam” He whispered as his mouth immediately took mine with a harsh, possessive hunger, his tongue tasting like dark storm clouds and heat.

 And against my better judgment, a high, helpless moan escaped my throat—Ah... hmmm...—as his large, scorching hand slid under my shirt, his rough palm gripping my ribcage so hard it stole the air straight out of my lungs.

"You're out of your mind," he rasped against my neck, his lips dragging down to the sensitive pulse point at my collarbone.

"Hmm... Tiago, please.. don't..." I gasped, my head tilting back against the wood as a shudder ran straight down my spine. As he kept working magic with his hands and mouth, another quiet moan broke from my lips, his teeth caught softly on my skin, making my fingers tangle frantically in his thick, dark hair.

"You smell like danger," he growled, completely intoxicated, his breath hot and ragged against my skin as his inner wolf drank in the frantic beat of my pulse. 

"Fuckkk.. You're going to ruin me, Serrano."

"Shut up," I breathed, tugging his shirt over his head and letting it drop to the dusty floor, my nails digging deep into the hard, rippling muscle of his back.

He unbuttoned my jeans with frantic, heavy fingers, his eyes flaring back to a faint, dangerous gold in the dark. He lifted me effortlessly, settling me high against his hips, and when he drove into me with a deep, deliberate thrust, the sheer sensation shattered every bit of sense I had left.

"Ah! Yesss..no..." The loud, breathy moan tore out of me before I could stop it, echoing off the thin wooden walls of the shed.

Tiago locked his jaw, a low, rumbling growl echoing deep in his chest as he buried his face in the crook of my neck. "Quiet," he rasped, his hips moving in a fast, relentless rhythm that made my legs clutch tightly around his waist. "Security is still sweeping the perimeter..."

"I can't... ah... nnh..hmmm." I gasped into his shoulder, biting down on his collarbone to muffle the desperate sounds breaking from my throat as he drove us both higher. He was relentless, intoxicated by the tight grip of my body, his hand fisting in my hair to hold my head back so he could watch every helpless expression cross my face.

The constant threat of getting caught outside only heightened the fever inside. Every crunch of gravel in the distance, every slide of his slick skin against mine made my pulse skyrocket until the tension spiraled completely out of control. I shattered around him with a sharp, gasping cry—Tiii... ah!—my body shaking violently against his, and with a final, deep thrust, Tiago followed me over the edge, a broken, guttural groan buried against my neck.

Fuck just happened!?

For long minutes afterward, the only sound in the cramped shed was our heavy, ragged breathing in the dark.

I slid back down to my feet, my legs trembling so badly I had to keep one hand against the wooden wall to stay upright. I pulled my clothes back together with clumsy, shaking fingers, the sudden rush of cold reality flooding back into the room like ice water.

"This ..this shouldn't have happened," I said, my voice raspy, sharp, and desperate to rebuild the defensive wall between us.

"No," Tiago agreed, pulling his shirt back over his head, his jaw set in a rigid, unforgiving line. "It shouldn't have."

"You're bound or fated or whatever to someone else. I'm here to investigate this club. We're completely out of our minds."

"I am well aware, Camila," he snapped, running a hand through his ruined hair without looking at me. "It was a massive error in judgment."

He unlocked the maintenance door, checking the foggy pitch before stepping aside. "And you need to get out of here before security circles back."

“Right..”

I wiped my messy hair out of my face, adjusted my coat, and walked out into the night without looking back once.

I was just three blocks away, my body still humming from his touch and my hands trembling on my phone, when the screen lit up with a text from an unlisted number:

~I saw you leave the maintenance shed together. Beatriz Cabral deserves to know exactly what her future husband gets up to at midnight. Careful, Miss Serrano. Some secrets bite back~