THE BEST WITHIN

The Alpha’s Blood The first rule of Chicago’s underworld was simple: never steal from Mason Blackwood. The second was even simpler. If Mason discovered you had stolen from him, pray he killed you quickly. Madison Cole had broken both rules before midnight. Rain swept across Chicago, turning the streets into black mirrors beneath the city lights. Inside the Black Lotus, an underground auction hidden beneath an abandoned hotel, the richest criminals in the city gathered to purchase secrets, weapons, stolen identities, and things that were never supposed to exist. Madison moved through the crowd in a black evening dress, her dark hair pinned into an elegant twist. A diamond necklace glittered against her throat. Her heels clicked softly against the marble floor, and her expression suggested she belonged among the dangerous men and women surrounding her. She did not. She was twenty-six, broke, and carrying a stolen invitation she had taken from a dead man’s apartment three nights earlier. But she had something more valuable than money. She had a name. Mason Blackwood. For seven years, that name had haunted her nightmares. Seven years ago, Madison’s family home had burned to the ground. Her parents were declared dead, her younger brother Ethan disappeared, and the police investigation ended before it truly began. Someone had erased the evidence, bribed witnesses, and threatened the few people who had tried to help her. One name had appeared repeatedly in the fragments she managed to recover. Blackwood. Madison had spent seven years searching for proof that Mason Blackwood had ordered her family’s murder. Tonight, she intended to steal the ledger that could finally give her the truth. A bell chimed above the auction stage. The room fell silent. A tall man in a silver suit stepped beneath the lights. His smile was polished, his eyes cold. “Ladies and gentlemen, our final lot of the evening is an item of extraordinary historical importance.” Two guards carried a black wooden box onto the stage. Madison’s fingers tightened around her champagne glass. She recognized the symbol carved into its lid: a wolf surrounded by a broken chain. She had seen that symbol once before, burned into the wooden floor of her childhood bedroom. The auctioneer opened the box. Inside lay an old leather ledger, its edges darkened with age. A silver clasp held it shut, and a small crimson stone had been embedded into its cover. “The Blackwood family has protected this artifact for generations,” the auctioneer announced. “Its contents are believed to concern the earliest bloodlines of the northern territories.” A murmur swept through the audience. Madison barely heard him. The ledger was not simply evidence of a connection between her family and the Blackwoods. It might contain the names of the people responsible for the fire. She had to get it. “Opening bid,” the auctioneer continued, “five million dollars.” Hands rose across the room. Madison slipped her champagne glass onto a passing tray and moved toward the private corridor behind the stage. She had studied the building for two weeks. A service entrance connected the corridor to the auctioneer’s office. From there, a narrow staircase led to a security room overlooking the stage. Her plan was simple: reach the office, copy the ledger’s contents, and disappear before anyone realized it was missing. Simple plans, Madison had learned, were usually the first to collapse. A guard stepped into her path. “Private area.” She smiled. “I was looking for the ladies’ room.” “Other direction.” “Of course.” She turned away, waited until he looked toward the stage, then slipped through the service door behind him. The office was empty. Madison closed the door and immediately began searching the desk. Drawers contained receipts, contracts, and a handgun. The safe behind the painting was locked. She took a thin tool from her clutch and knelt before it. Thirty seconds. Forty. The lock clicked. Inside lay several envelopes, a bundle of cash, and a small black folder marked with a silver wolf. Madison opened it. The first page contained a list of names. The second contained dates. On the third page, she found two words that made the room seem suddenly colder. COLE FAMILY. Below them, someone had typed a single sentence. STATUS: TERMINATED. Madison stopped breathing. Her fingers trembled as she turned the page. A photograph slipped onto the desk. It showed her childhood home before the fire. Her mother stood on the porch, smiling at the camera. Her father had one arm around her shoulders. Ethan, barely seventeen, stood beside them with his usual crooked grin. Someone had drawn a red circle around Ethan’s face. Beneath the photograph were three words. SURVIVOR UNCONFIRMED. Madison stared at the page until the letters blurred. Ethan might have survived. For seven years, she had believed she was alone. Now a stranger’s handwriting had reopened the only wound she had never managed to close. A voice sounded behind her. “Interesting reading material.” Madison spun around. The man standing in the doorway was dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and so still that he seemed less like a man than a shadow that had learned to breathe. His dark hair was brushed away from his forehead. His jaw was sharp, his expression unreadable, and his eyes— His eyes were gold. Not hazel. Not brown. Gold. Madison knew who he was before he spoke. Mason Blackwood. The most feared man in Chicago stood between her and the exit. His gaze moved from the open safe to the photograph in her hand. “You have something that belongs to me,” he said. Madison slipped the photograph into her clutch. “I was admiring your filing system.” “Most people admire things from a safer distance.” “Most people have terrible taste.” For one dangerous second, neither moved. Then Mason smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. “Tell me your name.” “You first.” A muscle moved in his jaw. “You know who I am.” “Unfortunately.” “And you decided to enter my office.” “Your auction house has very confusing signs.” “You broke into a locked safe.” “I thought it was a cupboard.” “You are either remarkably stupid or remarkably brave.” “People keep confusing those qualities.” Mason stepped closer. Madison refused to retreat, though every instinct in her body urged her to run. She could smell his cologne, something dark and expensive mixed with rain and cedarwood. Beneath it was another scent. Smoke. For one impossible instant, she was seven years old again, standing in the hallway of her burning home. Flames crawled across the ceiling. Her mother screamed her name. Ethan shouted from somewhere behind the smoke. Then a pair of golden eyes appeared in the darkness. Madison staggered. Mason caught her wrist. The moment his skin touched hers, the room disappeared. She stood beneath a blood-red moon in a forest filled with dead trees. The ground was covered in snow, though the air burned against her skin. In the distance, an enormous black wolf strained against chains buried deep in the earth. Its eyes were gold. Blood ran down its muzzle. Beside it stood a silver-haired woman wearing a crown of black thorns. Her face was pale, almost transparent, and her eyes held an ancient sorrow. The woman turned toward Madison. “You came back.” A chain snapped. The wolf lifted its head. Madison heard a growl so powerful that the earth shook beneath her feet. Then the woman whispered a warning. “The First Wolf must never be freed.” Madison tried to ask what she meant, but the vision shattered. She stumbled against Mason’s chest. He released her as if he had touched a burning blade. For the first time, his expression revealed something beyond irritation. Fear. It vanished almost immediately. “What did you see?” he demanded. Madison pulled her wrist against her body. “Nothing.” “Do not lie to me.” “Then stop asking questions you have no right to ask.” Mason’s gaze dropped to her wrist. A faint red mark had appeared on her skin, shaped like a broken chain wrapped around a wolf’s head. His face hardened. “Who are you?” Madison forced herself to meet his eyes. “Madison Cole.” The name changed everything. Mason went perfectly still. Outside the office, a glass shattered. Someone shouted. Then came the sharp crack of gunfire. Mason seized Madison around the waist and dragged her behind the desk just as bullets tore through the doorway. She struck the floor hard. “What the hell are you doing?” she snapped. “Keeping you alive.” “I didn't ask you to!” “Believe me, Miss Cole, I noticed.” He drew a pistol from beneath his jacket and fired twice toward the corridor. A man screamed. Another burst of gunfire answered. The auction had become a battlefield. Mason leaned toward her. “Stay here.” “I'm not your employee.” “No. Employees are generally more intelligent.” He rose before she could answer. Three armed men appeared in the doorway, their faces hidden behind black masks. Mason moved with terrifying speed. He shot the first man in the shoulder, struck the second across the throat, and drove the third into the wall hard enough to crack the plaster. Madison watched in disbelief. The third attacker recovered and raised his weapon. “Mason!” Mason turned too late. Madison grabbed the fallen guard’s pistol and fired. The bullet struck the attacker’s arm. His weapon clattered across the floor. Mason finished the fight with one brutal movement, then looked at Madison. She lowered the gun. “You're welcome,” she said, her voice shaking. He stared at her for a moment. “Who trained you?” “Life.” “Life has poor standards.” “Yet you seem impressed.” “I am deciding whether you're a threat or an inconvenience.” “Try deciding whether you're capable of gratitude.” His mouth almost curved. Almost. Then his expression changed. He looked toward the corridor, where another set of footsteps approached. “Someone knew I would be here,” he murmured. “Isn't that what auctions are for? Inviting people?” “Not people who intend to kill me.” “Perhaps you should make better friends.” Mason turned to her. “Your family was murdered seven years ago.” Madison felt the blood drain from her face. “Don't.” “I know what happened in that house.” “You know nothing.” “I know the fire began in the basement. I know your father tried to escape through the kitchen. I know your mother hid something before the flames reached the second floor.” Madison grabbed his lapel. “Where is my brother?” His eyes flashed gold. For an instant, the air between them seemed to tighten. “Let go of me.” “Tell me where Ethan is!” Mason caught her hand and pulled it away. “I don't know whether your brother is alive.” The answer was not what she wanted. It was worse. Because Mason Blackwood did not look like a man who was guessing. He looked like a man who had spent years keeping a terrible secret. A fresh explosion shook the building. The lights flickered, and an alarm began to scream. Mason grabbed the black folder from the desk. “We're leaving.” “I'm not going anywhere with you.” “Then remain here and explain to the men outside why you possess a document that could start a war.” Madison hesitated. He had already turned toward the emergency exit when she noticed the folder beneath his arm. “My evidence.” “Our evidence,” he corrected. “You don't get to claim it.” “I just did.” She followed him because the corridor was filling with smoke and because she had not survived seven years of searching to die in a basement auction house. They descended a narrow staircase into a parking garage. Black vehicles stood in neat rows beneath fluorescent lights. Mason's security team surrounded a dark armored SUV. One guard opened the rear door. Mason gestured for Madison to enter. She remained where she was. “Where are you taking me?” “Somewhere secure.” “Your house?” “My estate.” “Absolutely not.” “Then you may choose between my estate and the men currently trying to put bullets through your head.” Madison glanced toward the staircase. A masked figure appeared at the top, aiming a rifle. She ducked. Mason pulled her behind the SUV as a bullet struck the metal door. “Get inside,” he ordered. This time, she obeyed. The SUV sped out of the garage and into the rain. Mason sat opposite her, the black folder resting on his knee. Two armed guards occupied the front seats, while another vehicle followed close behind. Madison watched Chicago slide past the tinted windows. “You said you knew about my family,” she said. “How?” Mason opened the folder. “Because your father came to me three days before the fire.” Her heart slammed against her ribs. “What did he want?” “He wanted protection.” “From whom?” Mason's silence was answer enough. “From you?” she whispered. “No.” “Then who?” He looked directly at her. “Someone who wanted to open a door that should have remained closed.” Madison remembered the chained wolf, the blood-red moon, and the silver-haired woman. “The First Wolf,” she said before she could stop herself. Mason's expression turned murderous. “Where did you hear that name?” She looked down at the mark on her wrist. “I saw something when you touched me.” He leaned forward. “Describe it.” “An enormous black wolf. Chains. A woman with silver hair and a crown made of thorns.” The guards exchanged a glance. Mason noticed. “Eyes on the road,” he ordered. They immediately looked away. Madison continued, “The woman said I had come back. Then she warned me not to free the First Wolf.” Mason's hand tightened around the folder until the leather creaked. “That vision should be impossible.” “Perhaps your world has more problems than you admit.” “You have no idea what you're involved in.” “Then explain it.” “I cannot.” “Won't.” “Cannot.” The distinction frightened her more than she wanted to admit. The SUV passed through iron gates and followed a winding road toward a vast estate surrounded by ancient trees. Stone walls rose above the darkness. Cameras tracked the approaching vehicles, and armed guards stood beneath the entrance lights. Blackwood Estate looked less like a home than a fortress built to survive a siege. The front doors opened before the SUV stopped. Mason stepped out first. Madison followed, refusing to let him help her. Inside, the entrance hall was enormous, with black marble floors, towering pillars, and a chandelier that glittered like frozen rain. Portraits lined the walls. Every face belonged to a Blackwood. At the far end hung a painting of a black wolf beneath a blood-red moon. Madison stopped. The wolf in the painting had the same golden eyes as the creature in her vision. Mason noticed where she was looking. “Do not touch it.” “Why?” “Because I told you not to.” “That's not an answer.” “It's the only one you're getting tonight.” He led her into a study and ordered his guards to leave. A fire burned behind a protective screen, filling the room with the scent of cedarwood. Mason placed the folder on the desk. Madison moved toward it. He covered it with one hand. “Before you read anything else, you need to understand something. The people who attacked the auction will not stop looking for you.” “Because of the ledger?” “Because of you.” She laughed without humor. “I'm a woman with a stolen invitation and a criminal record that doesn't exist. Why would anyone care about me?” “Because your family carried a bloodline that was supposed to have ended.” Madison's throat tightened. “What bloodline?” Mason looked at the mark on her wrist. “The First Wolf's.” The room seemed to tilt. “You expect me to believe that my parents were murdered because of some ancient wolf legend?” “I expect you to accept that someone has been hunting your family for generations. Your parents tried to stop them. They failed.” “And Ethan?” Mason looked away. That tiny movement destroyed the last of Madison's patience. She seized the folder and flipped it open. The photograph of her childhood home lay on top. Beneath it was a new page she had not seen before. It contained a map of Chicago, several marked locations, and a symbol matching the mark on her wrist. At the bottom, someone had written a message in red ink. SHE IS THE KEY. KILL HER BEFORE THE GATE OPENS. Madison felt cold all over. “When was this written?” “Three days ago,” Mason replied. “By whom?” “We are trying to find out.” She looked at him sharply. “We?” “You have enemies who want you dead. I have enemies who want the same thing. Until we discover why, our interests are aligned.” “Our interests are not aligned. I want the truth. You want to keep your secrets buried.” Mason's eyes darkened. “Sometimes the truth is worse than the lie.” “That's what guilty people say.” He moved closer. “You think you know what guilt looks like, Madison? You have spent seven years chasing a name without understanding the thing behind it. You believe finding your family's killer will make everything right.” “It won't bring them back,” she whispered. “But it will mean they didn't die for nothing.” For the first time, Mason said nothing. The silence between them felt heavier than any threat. Then a sound came from somewhere deep inside the estate. Three slow knocks. Madison turned toward the study door. Mason's face lost all color. The knocks came again. They were coming from the basement. A voice followed, muffled by layers of wood and stone. “Madison?” Her blood turned to ice. She knew that voice. She had heard it in childhood memories, in nightmares, and in the final message left on an old answering machine before the fire. Ethan. Her brother was calling her name. She ran toward the door. Mason caught her arm. “Don't open it.” “That's my brother!” “No. Whatever is behind that door, it is not safe.” The voice came again. “Madison, please. It's dark in here.” Tears burned her eyes. “Ethan?” The entire estate fell silent. Then something struck the basement door from the other side. Once. Twice. On the third strike, every light in the hallway went out. Mason pulled Madison behind him, his body suddenly tense. His eyes burned gold, and a low growl rose from his chest. Not a human sound. Not entirely. Madison stared at him. “What are you?” He did not answer. Behind the basement door, chains began to rattle. A voice unlike Ethan's whispered through the darkness. “Blood has returned.” Madison's wrist burned. The broken-chain mark glowed crimson beneath her skin, and something inside her answered the sound from below. The basement door shuddered. Mason drew his gun. “Whatever happens,” he said, “do not let it touch you.” The lock began turning by itself. Madison could not move. A cold wind rushed through the hallway, carrying the smell of earth, blood, and ancient ashes. Then the voice spoke again, directly inside her mind. Finally. And beneath Madison's skin, something answered. Finally.