The President's Mate

Devon James The roar of the crowd was a living, breathing thing. It surged through the open plaza, a tidal wave of sound and fervour rattling the earth's very bones beneath my feet. My name, Devon James, echoed from thousands of throats, a chant that rose and fell like an ancient hymn. I stood tall on the podium, the weight of their adoration pressing against my skin like sunlight. My hand was raised in a firm wave, the gesture deliberate, practised, yet tonight, it carried a sharper edge of finality. Victory. Beside me, my wife stood, the picture of grace and poise. Eleanor. Delicate as spun glass, her beauty softened men and made women take a second, sharper glance. Dark hair swept into an elegant chignon, her crimson dress hugging her curves in a way that managed to be both regal and alluring. She smiled serenely, controlled, but her fingers tightened around mine for just a heartbeat longer than necessary. We both knew what this meant. Not just power. Not just a position. Do

Devon James 2:03 AM. I let out a slow breath, watching the numbers on my phone flicker coldly in the dark as if mocking me. My first official day as President of Astria was over. Or at least, the world thought so. My body told a different story. Every inch of me ached, not from human exhaustion alone, but from something deeper gnawing inside, weak, restless, and barely caged. Franco was waiting the moment the car rolled to a stop outside the presidential suite. The man was loyal to a fault, eyes sharp even at this ungodly hour. He opened the door with his usual efficiency, offering a clipped, “Welcome back, Mr. President.” I stepped out, spine stiff, joints screaming their protest. A pair of staffers, one young woman I barely knew and an older valet, approached with practised smiles. They took my briefcase, my overcoat, and murmured formalities I was too tired to process. One of them asked if I’d like the kitchen to prepare something light soup, perhaps, or tea. I shook my head. “

Jimmie’s POV I smoothed my palms over my suit jacket for the hundredth time and tried not to overthink. It wasn’t working. I mean, here I was, sitting in the actual Presidential Suite lobby, waiting on the First Lady like this was just another Tuesday. What even was my life right now? I still couldn’t believe I landed this job. Assistant to the First Lady. Like what? Me? Jimmie Portland from East Shore? The kid who used to dream about getting any job in politics, let alone one that had me rubbing shoulders with the wife of the actual President? Yeah. Sometimes I had to pinch myself. But then… There was he. The President. My boss’s husband. And if I thought working here would be all glam and White House fairytales, well, reality had slapped me right in the face. Because Devon James was nothing like I’d imagined. At first, I thought maybe he was just a serious guy. Like, too busy saving the country to smile, kind of serious. Which, you know, is fair enough. But no. No, th

Devon’s POVI excused myself, muttering something about the cut.Not because I gave a damn about the bleeding — no.But because I couldn’t risk anyone seeing the way the skin was already stitching itself together under the blood.Too fast. Too unnatural.Too… wolf.Franco was on my heels before I even made it to the hallway.Always fucking watching me like a hawk."Devon—""Not now," I growled.Pushed through the side door, into the private restroom off the gala floor.The door slammed shut behind us.My hands were shaking as I gripped the sink, blood dripping from between my fingers.I met my reflection — face pale, eyes too bright, pulse thrumming like a war drum in my throat.Franco hovered near the door, voice low but firm."You’re losing grip."I snarled, whipping around."The injections aren’t enough anymore!"The words tore out of me like a confession. Raw. Ugly."The silver—it's not holding him back!"Franco’s jaw ticked, eyes flashing with concern."Then maybe it's time you t

Devon JamesThe moment I stepped into my wife's office and saw Jimmie holding my jacket—my scent curling around him like a damn invitation—something primal inside me snapped.Not in a way the world would see. Not yet. No. But deep, low, inside my bones, my wolf purred. Not just content—aroused. Drawn. Damn near pleased. And that made me madder than hell.I took one step forward.He didn’t notice me at first. His eyes were half-lidded, lost in something I didn’t want to name. Something I’d been trying to deny for weeks now. Obsession. Longing. Craving. The second he realised I was standing there, though, it was like someone poured ice water over him. He startled, almost dropped the jacket, eyes wide, face flushed. I knew that look. Embarrassment. Shame. Fear. Desire.And that… that made me lose it.I hated myself for liking what I saw. For liking him. For feeling my wolf pacing eagerly beneath my skin, tail swishing, eyes glowing in my mind like embers, eager to be close—closer to the