Chapter 3: The Weight of Day and Night

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 practiced smiles. They took my briefcase, my overcoat, 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. “No. Just bed.” My voice was hoarse. Gravelly. The last damn thing I wanted was to sit at another table, pretending to enjoy another meal.

I glanced around, instinctively scanning every corner as I always did. It was habit now—centuries of survival boiled into muscle memory. “Where’s Eleanor?” I asked, my voice low.

“She retired a few hours ago, Your Excellency. Said she’d see you in the morning.”

I nodded, dismissing them. I didn’t miss the way the young woman lowered her gaze when I passed. That’s what I was now—an image. A crown. A ghost wearing a man’s face.

The suite swallowed me in silence as I stepped in. Luxurious, grand beyond reason, yet it felt as cold as a mausoleum. I made my way to the bathroom, peeled off the tailored suit that had fit like armour all day, and splashed cold water on my face. The reflection that stared back at me was… sharp. Handsome. Chiselled like marble. But the golden flicker still danced faintly in my eyes—a faint warning. A reminder that the injection's grip was loosening by the hour.

I scrubbed my face hard, then slid into bed, careful not to jostle Eleanor. But she stirred anyway, her soft scent wrapping around me before her voice did.

“Hey, babe.” Sleep-heavy, but still sweet. Still the same woman who had stood by my side through every campaign speech, every calculated photo op, every lie I’d told the world.

I turned my head, forcing a smile. “Hey.”

“Long day?” she murmured, scooting closer, her bare legs tangling lightly with mine. Her warmth seeped into my skin. Familiar. Comfortable. And yet, something deep inside—something primal—snarled in quiet rejection.

I pushed that down, the same way I always did. “Yeah. Long day.” My voice cracked at the edges.

She lifted her head, propped it on her hand. Even in the dark, I could see the faint glow of pride in her eyes. “PA hunt went well, though.” She smiled. “After God knows how many applicants, I finally picked someone who might survive this circus.”

I hummed, closing my eyes. “Yeah? Who’s the lucky soul?”

She chuckled lightly. “A 26-year-old kid. Bright. Eager. Little rough around the edges but... something about him felt right. His name is—”

Her voice began to fade, the weight of sleep dragging me under like a stone in deep water. I caught fragments: “…Jimmie… polite… fresh air…” and then her words dissolved into the soft hum of her breathing.

Before I fully slipped under, I felt her press a soft kiss to my chest, her head resting there like she always did. A habit of sixteen years. A habit I’d once found endearing, but now…

Now it made my wolf shift weakly in the cage of my bones. Restless. Dissatisfied. Hungry for something it couldn’t yet name.

I tightened my arm around her automatically, even as a familiar emptiness crept into my chest—the same hollow ache that always followed when I lay beside her.

This was the life I chose. This was the price of the order. Of protecting everything I built. Of keeping the beast in me shackled for just one more day.

But the ache… the ache wasn’t going anywhere.

Not tonight. Not ever.

—

Morning light spilt into the room, golden and soft, like a warm hand stroking the edges of my restless mind. I blinked against the glow, my body heavy, my thoughts slow. The bed was cold on one side. Eleanor was already up.

But that wasn’t what pulled me fully awake.

It was the scent.

Thick and sweet, yet sharp like fresh rain cutting through summer heat. It wrapped around me, filling every corner of the suite, sinking into my skin. I inhaled deeply, eyes shutting again, letting it soak into my lungs. Gods, it was intoxicating—like crushed wildflowers mixed with the deep musk of cedar and something else... something electric. Almost like ozone right before a storm breaks.

I groaned softly, rolling onto my back. Did Eleanor change her soap? Or maybe a new cream? Whatever it was, I needed to tell her to stick with it. This scent—this serenity—it quieted the noise in my chest in a way nothing else ever had.

I breathed in again, slower this time. Deeper. And somewhere in the cage of my ribs, my wolf gave a little yip. A high, eager sound, like a child promised candy for good behaviour.

I cracked open one eye.

“…No,” I muttered, voice rough. “Not today.”

I made a mental note to keep my damn injection close. The last thing I needed was for my wolf to get any ideas. Astria wasn’t ready for that kind of chaos yet. Hell, I wasn’t ready. Not with the ink still wet on my inauguration papers.

With a grunt, I swung my legs over the side of the bed, shaking off the fog. Big day ahead. Always a big day now.

And the scent followed me.

By the time I was descending the grand staircase, it was everywhere—thicker now, like it had sunk into the walls of the suite. Compelling. Mesmerizing. My pulse picked up, the way it does when you're standing too close to an open flame but can't make yourself step back.

I was just halfway down when Eleanor appeared, gliding up to meet me, all soft smiles and elegance wrapped in morning light.

"Hey, Mr. President," she greeted, a playful lilt in her voice.

I chuckled, reaching for her waist and pulling her in. “Hey, First Lady. You smell incredible this morning…” I dipped my head, pressing a kiss just below her ear, then trailing down the curve of her neck.

She stilled for a beat, then let out a puzzled little hum. "It’s… the same body wash I always use, babe."

I inhaled again—wrong. No way this was the same. My wolf gave another excited yip, making my jaw tighten.

I grinned against her skin, though my body was suddenly wound tight as a wire. "Well, maybe I’m just finally appreciating it properly." My voice dropped low, rougher now. “Because it’s doing things to me…” I pulled her closer, lips brushing over her pulse point.

And then—

A cough. Deliberate. Soft, but sharp enough to cut through the haze fogging my brain.

Eleanor flinched and spun around, adjusting her dress where my hands had bunched the fabric. "Oh—Jimmie!" she exclaimed, cheeks colouring faintly.

My head lifted, eyes narrowing instinctively.

And then I saw him.

Standing a few feet away, trying—and failing—to look unaffected.

His eyes—Gods, his eyes—were green like the first leaves of spring, bright and alive, as if nature itself had poured every shade of emerald and moss into them. They locked with mine, wide and startled, and something deep in my chest cracked open like a dam giving way.

I knew.

Right then.

The scent. Him.

The world tilted.

Mate.

My wolf’s howl roared through my skull like thunder, so loud, so violent, it stole the breath from my lungs. My knees nearly buckled, and I had to grab the staircase railing just to stay upright. My heart hammered so hard I could feel it behind my teeth.

Eleanor turned back to me, her face creasing in worry. "Babe? Are you okay?" She stepped closer, her hands reaching for me, her voice tight with concern. "Devon?"

I couldn’t answer. My eyes squeezed shut because I knew—I knew—they were no longer the dark brown she recognised but molten gold. My wolf’s gold. The gold of a predator finally scenting what it had been denied its whole damn life.

“—I need to use the restroom. Real quick.” My voice came out rough and too tight. I didn’t wait for her reply. I turned and bolted.

I could hear Eleanor apologising to the lad—Jimmie—as I fled down the hall and slammed into the nearest bathroom.

The second the door clicked shut, my body began to spasm. My claws were halfway out, my fangs slicing through my gums. My bones itched with the threat of shift, my muscles trembling. I ripped open the medicine cabinet with shaking hands, yanked out the syringe, and plunged it into my thigh.

Relief hit like ice water dousing a flame.

My wolf snarled weakly in protest, clawing at the edges of my mind before sinking into a restless, caged silence.

I stood there, panting, one hand braced against the cold marble sink, sweat slicking my spine. Gods. Gods.

Mate.

Of all people—of all times—now?

A knock on the door startled me, making my heart jump against my ribs.

“Dev? Babe? Are you okay? Open up…” Eleanor’s voice, soft but tight with worry.

I drew in a steadying breath. One more. Then another. I forced my body to be still. I smoothed my features, wiped the sweat off my forehead, and unlocked the door.

She was right there, cupping my face, searching my eyes the way a mother might with a feverish child. “You gave me a scare, you know.”

I smiled, small and tired. “Just a dizzy spell. Didn’t eat enough yesterday. I’m fine now.” I kissed her palm, feeling the lie burn on my tongue.

She sighed, relief softening her. “Come on then. Let’s eat before you collapse again.”

We made our way back to the dining area where he still stood—the boy, the man, the source of the scent that was driving me insane.

As we approached, he straightened, then offered his hand with a bright, open smile that barely masked the faint confusion lingering in his too-bright eyes.

"Hello, Mr. President. It's… it’s an honor to meet you, sir." His voice was warm. Sincere. And when our palms met, the touch sparked through me like lightning setting dry forest to flame.

A jolt. A flash. A tether pulling tight and unyielding.

I saw him flinch, his smile faltering for a fraction of a second, eyes widening just enough for me to know—he felt it too.

I released his hand quickly, fingers tingling. Eleanor, oblivious, smiled brightly between us. "Devon, this is Jimmie. Jimmie Portland. My new personal assistant."

My wolf, still weak, still sluggish from the injection, gave one last tired whisper in my head.

Mate…

I nodded stiffly toward the boy—Jimmie—feeling my pulse

still racing, my skin still too hot, my bones still vibrating from the electric shock of that single touch.

And in my head, I muttered darkly—

Oh, shit.