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 that rattled the very bones of the earth 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—serene, 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 position.

Dominion.

Flashbulbs burst around us, the paparazzi's frenzy as wild as the howling masses beyond the barricades. The air smelled of sweat, perfume, and the faint metallic bite of city rain that had dried too quickly under the heat of electric lights. Above, massive screens played my image in real time—towering versions of myself smiling, waving, commanding.

"President Devon James!" they roared. The title tasted strange on my tongue even now, though I’d carved my path to it with blood, sweat, and steel.

I allowed the chant to wash over me one last time before I turned toward the podium's polished mahogany stand. The microphone waited, sleek and cold.

This was the moment they craved.

And I would give it to them.

Eleanor’s hand slipped from mine as I stepped forward. The sudden loss of her touch felt oddly significant, but I shoved that thought deep where no light touched.

Not tonight.

"Good evening, my beloved people of Astria," I began, my voice steady, deep, carrying effortlessly through the sea of bodies packed into the square.

Astria—that was the name of this proud nation I had claimed. Not just a country. My country now.

The crowd erupted again, a frenzy that rolled outward to the very edges of the plaza, where barricades held back desperate hands and hopeful faces.

"I stand before you tonight," I continued, "not as a man who seeks power for its own sake, but as one who has been entrusted by you to shape the future of our great nation. To lead with strength, with vision, and with an unyielding commitment to every citizen standing here and watching across our land."

Cameras zoomed in. I could feel the heat of the spotlights drilling into my skin. My smile was sharp, calculated, but it felt natural now—a mask so long worn it had fused to the bone beneath.

"You have chosen progress over stagnation. Courage over fear. And together—" I let my voice rise, let it crackle like a storm against the marble facades of the city buildings, "—we will make Astria not just a beacon on this continent, but the heart of a new world order!"

The plaza exploded. Noise so loud it blurred at the edges, turning into a roar that was felt more than heard.

I glanced sideways, catching Eleanor’s profile as she clapped, still smiling, still perfect. For the cameras. For the people.

For me.

And yet, somewhere deeper—far beneath the layers of victory and applause and flashing lights—there was a hollow thrum in my chest. A pulse that had nothing to do with politics.

I lifted both hands, palms open, to calm the crowd just enough for my closing words.

"Tonight, we celebrate. Tomorrow, we build. And I swear to you, as your president and your servant—I will not rest until every citizen of Astria stands tall, proud, and unafraid of the future we create together!"

The final wave of sound hit like a hammer.

Cameras flashed.

Banners fluttered against the darkening sky.

I smiled wider, feeding them the image they craved: the powerful, untouchable leader they had crowned.

All the while, somewhere deep inside, the predator in me stirred, restless.

But tonight, he would wait.

Because Devon James had won.

And the world was watching.

 —

The speech was over, and the people were still roaring. I turned, caught Eleanor’s gaze, and leaned in to press a kiss to her lips—firm but gentle, the kind of kiss designed for cameras. The thousands watching cheered louder, as if my mouth on my wife’s sealed the promise of their new future.

We waved a final time before stepping off the podium, hands still entwined. The golden lights of Astria’s capital bathed us both in warmth, but beneath my skin, something colder twisted and writhed.

The celebratory party was next, the grand hall already brimming with the country’s elite waiting to toast my victory. It should’ve felt like triumph. Instead, I felt…restless. No, he felt restless.

The thing inside me.

The part I had caged for so long should have been silent. Should have been obedient.

But now? It clawed at my ribs, suffocating, desperate to breathe. I couldn’t blame him.

I had starved the wolf for years. Locked him away except when necessary—far away from cities, far away from people. But tonight, the lights, the noise, the energy…it was rattling every iron chain I’d forged inside myself.

“Are you okay?” Eleanor’s voice, soft and sweet, cut through the chaos. She squeezed my hand, sensing the storm behind my carefully sculpted smile.

“Yes,” I murmured, my voice even, my face trained to betray nothing. We kept walking down the velvet-carpeted steps, paparazzi flanking both sides like vultures with flashing eyes.

"Franco," I called, my voice a low command. One of my top bodyguards stepped forward instantly.

"No more pictures," I told him, not bothering to explain further. "We’ve had enough for today."

Franco nodded once, signalling his team to close ranks.

"The lights are blinding," I muttered.

Eleanor chuckled softly, her laugh smooth like warm honey. “You better get used to it, babe. You’re the president now.”

Her words earned another smile from me. Thin. Tight. Forced.

Something inside me—him—snarled at her words. That old, bitter instinct that had never fully accepted her, no matter how many years she’d stood at my side. No, I wouldn’t blame her. The lights were blinding, even to me. And to the beast inside me, they were worse. They made it harder to control.

We reached the grand hall's towering entrance, where the party waited beyond. Music, laughter, and the clink of crystal glasses bled through the heavy doors. I could already smell the champagne, the perfume, the sweat.

I was about to lean in and murmur an excuse about needing a moment when—

"Ah! Mr. President!"

The voice boomed across the marble corridor.

Prime Minister Langston, ever the showman, cut through the crowd with his arms wide and a grin bigger than the country he served.

"Congratulations to you and your lovely wife," he said, shaking my hand and then Eleanor’s. His grip was strong, the kind that politicians used like weapons. "Astria couldn’t have chosen a finer man to steer this ship through these stormy seas." He laughed then, a deep belly laugh that felt rehearsed.

"And don’t worry," he added with a wink, "the chair in the presidential office comes with extra padding. You’ll be sitting in it long enough to need it!"

I smiled—broad, camera-ready—and even laughed, because that’s what Devon James does. He plays the part.

But inside, the pressure behind my eyes was sharp, hot.

“Thank you, Langston. I appreciate it.” I turned to Eleanor, brushing a kiss against her cheek. She stiffened just a little—only I would have noticed—but said nothing.

“I’ll be right back,” I whispered. “Restroom.”

Her eyes flickered. She saw the distress there, no matter how I tried to hide it.

But she only nodded.

Franco was already ahead of me, moving through the side hall that led to the VIP restrooms. His team swept the perimeter, checking every corner, every stall. Only when he gave a subtle nod did I step inside.

I locked the heavy door behind me with a soft click, the sound strangely loud in the sudden quiet.

The marble walls gleamed, gold fixtures sparkling under soft lights. Everything here was opulence and refinement. Everything but me.

I tugged at the tie around my neck, fingers jerking at the silk knot until it loosened. The matching suit, tailored to perfection, suddenly felt like a vice squeezing the breath from my lungs.

I stalked down the line of stalls, throwing open each door one by one—empty. Good.

I needed privacy for what came next.

At the sink, I gripped the edges of the porcelain and lifted my gaze to the mirror.

The face that looked back was the face the world loved:

Strong jaw, high cheekbones, dark hair slicked back in neat perfection. Eyes like onyx, piercing and unreadable. A man carved by fate and polished by power.

Handsome beyond reason, they said.

But I could see the cracks.

I could see the flicker of gold bleeding into the black.

My chest seized. The pain shot through me like a blade. My wolf was pacing, clawing, and tearing at the walls I’d built around him. He wanted out. He wanted air.

The full moon was near.

And he was still mateless, starving for something I refused to give him.

"Not now," I growled under my breath, my voice low and dangerous.

Reaching into my pocket, my fingers found the familiar shape of the syringe.

Clear glass. Silver liquid that shimmered faintly even in the soft light.

Wolf’s bane.

Silver sulfate.

A cocktail designed not to kill, but to sedate. To weaken. To chain the beast just a little longer.

I yanked the cap off with my teeth, lifted the hem of my pants, and drove the needle into the thick muscle of my thigh. The burn was instant, white-hot, but I welcomed it.

My breath came in sharp gasps as I leaned against the sink, watching the gold retreat from my eyes, leaving them dark brown and calm once more.

My wolf snarled, furious, but he quieted. He had no choice. The drug made sure of that.

I had been using this for years.

Ever since humans started hunting my kind, driven by fear and ignorance. They thought us monsters. Beasts to be eradicated. So we adapted. We lived in the shadows of their growing cities. We wore their clothes, spoke their languages, and smiled for their cameras.

No one knew my secret. No one outside my small pack, hidden far away in a distant town where no one asked questions.

But tonight…

Tonight, my wolf was louder. More restless. And I knew why.

The full moon was close. And worse, my wolf was still without a mate. Unclaimed. Unfulfilled. A void that ached deeper every year.

And even though it tore at him every day, I prayed he’d never find her. Or whoever the fates had cursed to be bound to me.

Because if he did…

If I did…

It would shatter everything I’d built. Everything I’d killed to protect.

And Astria’s shining new order would burn.