CHAPTER 2

I leaned against the cold concrete of the Pacific Behavioral Unit, the metallic tang of the silver-lined walls scraping the back of my throat. My wolf was a frantic mess under my skin, pacing and whimpering at the heavy magnetic dampeners that kept our shifting side on a leash.

“Julian’s father is Mason Cross,” I whispered to the empty air, the realization hitting like a physical blow.

The "rich kid" from the bookstore was the heir to the most ruthless Alpha in the West Coast Territories. Of course Julian needed a bodyguard. Of course he had Lunar Diamonds. And of course he’d been using me—a "plain" psychologist with a buried bloodline—as a shield to hide his true nature from a father who demanded a pure, traditional legacy. Julian didn't want a soulmate; he wanted a mask.

The heavy titanium door groaned open. Two Betas, their hands twitching near their silver-tipped batons, escorted a man into the room.

I stood up, my chair screeching against the floor. I expected a monster. I expected the "Feral" king of the Lunar Syndicate to look like the predator he was.

But Mason Cross moved with a terrifying, silent grace that made the air in the room feel thin. His dark hair fell over a brow etched with the weight of a thousand pack wars. His jaw was a jagged line of granite. When he sat, the orange jumpsuit looked like an insult to a man built for redwood thrones and glass fortresses.

He didn't speak. He just watched me. His eyes weren't just green; they were the color of a deep forest before a storm—electric and hungry.

"I'm... Rowan Blake," I managed, my voice cracking. I clutched my clipboard like a shield. "I'm here for your preliminary evaluation."

Mason leaned forward. The scent of him—cedar, ozone, and old blood—invaded my lungs. He didn't look like a prisoner. He looked like a wolf waiting for the moon to rise so he could tear the world apart.

"Rowan," he rasped. The way he said my name felt like a bite to the nape of my neck. "You’ve got a scent on you. It’s thin, but it’s there. My son’s mark?"

I stiffened, my knuckles turning white. "Julian and I are... that’s not why I’m here."

"He’s a soft pup," Mason growled, his pupils blowing wide until they nearly swallowed the green. "He plays at being human. He hides in bookstores and chases tails that don't belong to the Syndicate. But you..." He stood up slowly, the movement so fluid it made my breath hitch. "You’re not just a doctor. I can smell the Aldridge blood buried under that cheap perfume."

"Sit down, Cross," I snapped, trying to find my professional spine.

He didn't sit. He bypassed the table, the guards outside too slow to react through the heavy glass. He was in my space in a heartbeat. He caught my waist, his hands large enough to crush my hips.

"What are you doing? Get off—"

His mouth was on mine before I could finish. It wasn't a kiss; it was a claim. He tasted like salt and power. His tongue forced my lips apart, sweeping through my mouth with a dominance that made my knees buckle. I reached up to push him away, but my fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

He groaned, a low, guttural vibration that rumbled through his chest and into mine. He spun me around, slamming my back against the silver-lined wall. The cold metal bit into my spine, but the heat of him was a wildfire.

"You want to evaluate me, little wolf?" he hissed against my throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin right over my pulse point.

His hand slid under my blazer, ripping the silk of my blouse as he gripped my breast, his thumb flicking over the nipple until I let out a sharp, jagged moan. He hiked my skirt up, his fingers digging into the meat of my thighs.

"Mason, the guards—"

"Let them watch," he growled.

He unzipped his suit in one violent motion. His cock was a heavy, pulsing weight as he freed it, thick and dark-veined. He didn't use a condom; he didn't ask. He grabbed my legs, hoisting them around his waist. I wrapped my arms around his neck, my nails drawing blood from his shoulders.

He surged forward. The first thrust was a brutal invasion, stretching me until I thought I’d break. I screamed, the sound echoing off the cinder blocks, but he swallowed it with another bruising kiss.

"Mine," he grunted, his pace becoming a frantic, punishing rhythm.

Every strike of his hips sounded like a gunshot in the small room. I was a mess of sweat and desperation, my head tossing back as he licked my collarbone, his hands bruising my waist to keep me pinned. We were a tangle of limbs and heat, the friction of our skin creating a stinging, electric burn.

He turned us, pinning me face-down against the table.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice raw.

He entered me from behind, his movements fast and heavy. I watched our reflection in the observation glass—the Mafia King and the psychologist, joined in a feral knot of lust and power. I felt the heat of him building, the literal weight of his body crushing me into the wood.

He hit my center one last time, a deep, guttural howl escaping him as he filled me, his seed hot and thick, spilling out as he slumped against my back.

The silence that followed was heavy. The magnetic dampeners hummed. Mason’s breath was a ragged rasp against my ear. He withdrew slowly, the physical hangover of the act leaving my limbs shaking and my skin stinging.

He straightened his clothes, his eyes returning to that cold, calculating green.

"We're done for today, Doctor," he said, stepping back into the shadows of the cell.

I stood there, my legs trembling, the warmth of him still lingering inside me. I looked at the clipboard on the floor, then back at the man who had just destroyed my life.

"Who are you?" I whispered.

He gave me a slow, dark smirk. "I'm the one who's going to help you burn the Aldridge Compound to the ground."