LOGIN"Who is it?" I whisper, my voice sounding far more fragile than I wanted. No answer.I peek through the heavy silver-lined keyhole, but the hall is empty. I slowly twist the handle and pull the door ajar.Sitting on the rug is a white lacquered box tied with a blood-red silk ribbon. I snatch it up and retreat into the room, slamming the door and leaning against it until my breathing slows.Curiosity wins. I move to the bed, untying the silk and lifting the lid.I go cold. Inside, resting on tissue paper, is a wisp of black lace and silk—a set of lingerie so delicate it looks like a spiderweb. My blood turns to ice as I lift it out, realizing it’s not just a gift; it’s a uniform. A small, heavy cardstock note falls from the folds.The handwriting is sharp, commanding:Wear this with the black heels I sent to your wardrobe. I will be there in fifteen minutes.I cover my mouth, my head shaking in disbelief.Fifteen minutes?And then what?Fourteen minutes later, I am staring at a strange
We share a jagged, toothy grin as our gazes lock. I roll my eyes at her intensity, but Harper doesn't flicker; she simply thrusts her glass toward me in a silent dare. I hesitate for a heartbeat before clinking my rim against hers."Whatever path you choose, Rowan," she says, her voice dropping into a serious, protective growl. "I’m in your corner. But never forget—this is for your survival, not his ego. The moment this arrangement stops feeding your wolf? You tear his throat out and run."I nod firmly, absorbing the weight of her survival instincts.I drain the burning liquid, leaning over the scarred wooden table to let my sister help me map out the hunt.The sun is dipping below the jagged peaks of the Pacific Northwest, casting long, bloody shadows across the redwood cathedrals when I finally pull up to the silver-lined gates of the Cross Estate. I spent the afternoon in the safety of Harper’s sanctuary, letting her sharp wit and pack-born wisdom mend the frayed edges of my nerves
Okay,” I agree. While she raids the back of the pantry for a bottle of the high-proof stuff the local packs brew, I sink into a kitchen chair, staring at the crumpled contract still clutched in my fist.Harper sets two heavy glasses down. She takes hers neat, but she splashes a bit of cider into mine, knowing I need the sweetness to mask the burn. She slides into the seat across from me, her legs stretching out under the table. “Well?”I don't say a word. I just toss the ball of vellum onto the table. It rolls to a stop near her glass. “What’s this?” she asks, smoothing it out.“The betrothal to Julian Cross is dead,” I announce, my voice hollow. Harper’s eyes go wide. “I struck a deal with Mason. I’m going to work for the Syndicate. I’m tasked with turning Nikolai Petrov against the Aldridge Compound and bringing him under Mason's shadow. In exchange... he’s buying this house. And a sanctuary on the coast.”“A coastal sanctuary?” Her eyes sparkle with a dangerous greed. But then she
My wolf wakes up then, a sharp, electric pulse snapping through my veins as I focus on him. Rage ignites behind my ribs, and I snarl, my claws threatening to prick through my skin as I crumple the vellum contract into a ball. Mason doesn't flinch; instead, a dark, predator’s smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. He likes the fire. He likes me when I’m ready to draw blood.“You're a beast,” I spit, the chair screeching against the stone floor as I vault to my feet. “I will never be your concubine—never.”“Not a concubine, Rowan,” Mason interrupts. He stands slowly, his massive frame dwarfing the room as he crosses his arms. He looks at me with the calm of a mountain. “It is a position of status within the Syndicate—a formal bond with legal protections and significant territorial incentives for your kin. I have established these accords before; the females who held these titles would testify to the honor and security of the arrangement.”“Oh?” I throw the word back like a challenge. “W
I swallow hard, forcing my gaze away from the memory of his touch and back to his unyielding face."Sit," Mason commands, gesturing toward the two leather chairs positioned like interrogation seats before his desk.Julian and I obey. As we lower ourselves, he gives my palm a quick, firm squeeze before releasing my hand. It’s a silent pulse of solidarity—a reminder of our pact. I fold my hands in my lap, praying that the bond survives whatever Mason is about to unleash."Decisions must be made," Mason begins, his voice like grinding stone. He looks at Julian, then shifts his golden-green glare to me. "Given Rowan's reckless display at the Grey Zone yesterday, I see no reason to maintain this farce of a betrothal."My heart stops. Beside me, Julian lets out a sharp gasp of protest.Mason raises a hand, cutting him off. "And don't look at me like that, Julian. You’ve done nothing to secure her loyalty. I’ve never demanded a fated-mate connection from you two, but you haven't even managed
I stand at the precipice of the landing like a startled doe, muscles locked, my kinetic sense dialled to the maximum as my eyes dart through the shadows, hunting for the source of that sound.The redwood-scented hallway is still, but then—there! A sharp, hitching breath.Driven by a mix of raw curiosity and a lingering touch of the defiance that fueled my earlier recklessness, I creep toward Julian’s heavy oak door. I tell myself I’m checking on him, hoping the stress of the Lunar Syndicate hasn’t finally snapped his cord...But deep down, my wolf knows what it's sensing.I lean in, peering through the iron-wrought keyhole of the suite. It’s a relic of the "Old World" architecture Victor Aldridge loves so much—functional, but poorly designed for privacy. The gap gives me a clear, silver-tinted view of the bed, where Julian is tangled with another figure in the deep indigo light of the moon.I tilt my head, mesmerized. I’ve lived a life of clinical observation and "calm surfaces," and







