Chapter 3

Nova's Pov

I smoothed the deep indigo silk over my hips one last time before pushing open the heavy door to the VIP suite. The fabric clung like a second skin. She tried to talk me out of this again this morning, but I’d held firm.

One night. One client. Enough coin to buy my freedom from this place and maybe a ticket out of the city before the whispers of Riven’s rejection turned into pitying stares.

The room was darker than the main floor, lit only by low silver lanterns that cast long, shifting shadows. Heavy velvet curtains blocked the windows.

The air smelled of cedar smoke and something sharper. It's a storm charged ozone, like the moment before lightning cracks the sky.

He was already there.

Seated in the high-backed chair near the fireplace, legs stretched out, one ankle crossed over the other. He didn’t rise when I entered. Didn’t even turn his head fully at first. Just watched me from the corner of his eye as I closed the door behind me with a soft click.

My pulse kicked hard against my throat.

His aura hit me like a physical weight. It was dark, vast, coiled. It pressed against my skin, made the fine hairs on my arms stand up.

This wasn’t an ordinary wolf. Not even close. Whatever he was, it felt ancient. Dangerous. Like standing too close to a cliff and realizing the drop has no bottom.

I swallowed the fear, buried it deep where Crystal couldn’t reach it and whine. I wasn’t here to cower. I was here to survive.

I lifted my chin, let my lips curve into the practiced smile I used on the dance floor. “You’re early. Most men make me wait. Builds anticipation, they say.”

He finally turned his head toward me fully.

And the breath I had been holding punched out of my lungs.

His eyes weren’t normal. Not even close. Iridescent black, like polished obsidian that had swallowed the night sky, flecked with molten gold that moved.

The slow, hypnotic swirls, as if stars were trapped inside and trying to escape. They pinned me in place without effort.

I forced my feet to move anyway, crossing the room with deliberate grace, hips swaying just enough to remind him why he’d paid for this room.

He tracked every step. Silent. Unblinking.

When I reached the low table between us, I poured two glasses of the dark wine left on the tray. My hand only trembled a little. I offered him one.

He took it without a word, fingers brushing mine for half a second. Heat shot up my arm like I touched live flame. I yanked my hand back too fast, cursing myself inwardly.

“First time?” he asked. Voice low. Rough-edged velvet. The kind that could cut or caress depending on his mood.

I met those impossible eyes. “First time in this room. First time on the VIP list. First time wondering if the man who booked me can actually speak in full sentences.”

A faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. “You always this mouthy with clients?”

“Only the ones who look at me like they’re deciding whether to eat me or ignore me.” I took a sip of my own wine, letting the burn steady me. “So which is it?”

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, glass dangling loosely between his fingers. “I haven’t decided yet.”

The words should have scared me more. Instead they lit something defiant in my chest.

I set my glass down and stepped closer, close enough that the heat of him brushed my bare legs. “Then let me help you decide. I don’t do simpering. I don’t do begging. And I definitely don’t do pretending I’m thrilled to be here. You paid for my time, not my adoration. So if you want sweet nothings, you should have picked one of the other girls.”

His gaze dropped to my mouth for the first time, then lifted again. Slower this time. Deliberate.

“You think I want sweet nothings?”

“I think most men who pay this much want something. Control. Worship. A pretty lie to make them feel powerful for an hour.” I tilted my head, letting my hair spill over one shoulder. “But you don’t strike me as most men. So tell me, stranger—what do you actually want?”

He rose then. Slowly. Unfolding from the chair like shadow given form. Taller than I’d realized. Broader. The air seemed to thicken around him, pressing harder against my skin.

I didn’t step back.

He closed the distance until I had to tilt my head to hold his gaze. Up close, those swirling gold flecks in his eyes moved faster, like embers caught in a storm.

“I want,” he said quietly, “to see how long it takes for that sharp tongue of yours to go quiet.”

My laugh came out breathless, edged with nerves I refused to show. “Bold words for a man who hasn’t even touched me yet.”

He reached out then. Not fast. Not rough. Just inevitable. One large hand curled around my wrist, thumb pressing lightly over my racing pulse.

“Careful, little dancer,” he murmured. “Some storms don’t warn before they strike.”

I yanked my wrist free—or tried to. His grip didn’t tighten, but it didn’t let go either. Just held. Steady. Unyielding.

I leaned in instead, close enough that my lips nearly brushed his jaw. “Then strike. Or are you all growl and no bite?”

The gold in his eyes flared bright—blinding for a heartbeat.

In the next instant my back hit the bed, the mattress dipping under our combined weight. He loomed over me, one knee braced between my thighs, his free hand planted beside my head, caging me without touching.

His face was inches from mine. Breath warm against my lips, wild and electric, wrapping around me until I could barely breathe.

“Say that again,” he growled, voice gone dangerously soft.

I stared up into those swirling, starlit eyes, heart hammering so loud I was sure he could hear it.

And then I smiled.

“Make me.”