Luna of the forgotten pack

Chapter Four

POV: Lucian Nightclaw

The coffee stain clung stubbornly to my black shirt, a bright, absurd blot against the tailored perfection of my suit. She had vanished before I could react, leaving only the faint scent of warmth and something untamed lingering in the air. My wolf stirred, restless, sniffing at the fading trace, but I shoved it down. There would be time to consider distractions later.

“Why do you smell like coffee?”

Darius’s voice cut through my thoughts. He fell into step beside me, his blue eyes narrowing at the stain as if it were a personal affront. “Was that… a woman?”

I didn’t answer. Silence suited me better than idle chatter. I tugged my jacket closed and strode toward my waiting black sedan. Darius muttered under his breath but followed.

The city blurred past the tinted glass as I shifted focus. Today was a full board meeting. Negotiations with overseas investors. Approvals for a merger that could triple our tech division’s output in a single fiscal quarter. My human-world face, Lucian Nightclaw, CEO of Nightclaw Industries, required a level of precision and control most men couldn’t sustain. And yet, the image of her—head lifted, confident, unbothered—hovered at the edge of my mind.

The lobby of Nightclaw Industries gleamed in marble and chrome, sunlight spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Receptionists glanced at me, eyes wide but polite, typing faster as I passed. One young woman, barely out of college, peeked nervously from behind the desk. I nodded once, cold and minimal, and she straightened immediately.

“Good morning, Mr. Nightclaw,” she said, voice tight. “Your 9 a.m. board meeting is ready, and Mr. Callahan from the investors is waiting in Conference Room B.”

“Thank you, Jane” I said, my tone clipped but not unkind. She nodded again and scuttled off.

Darius leaned back in the passenger seat of my office’s leather chairs once we entered. “So, you’re actually going to talk to someone today?” he asked, smirking. “Or just glare at them until they hand you the numbers?”

I ignored him, walking past him to my office desk. The sunlight hit the polished surface, reflecting the city skyline below. My assistants were already there: Monica, my chief of operations, and Greg, head of acquisitions, both buried in tablets and folders, muttering figures under their breath.

“Mr. Nightclaw,” Monica said, looking up with practiced composure. “The board is ready, and the investors are in Conference Room B. They’ve been waiting for thirty minutes.”

“Perfect,” I replied, my voice flat, carrying the authority that kept everyone in line. I grabbed the tablet from the desk and skimmed the reports, ignoring the subtle twitch in my wolf at the lingering scent of coffee and earth. It should not matter. It did not matter.

The boardroom was a theater of tension. Investors leaned forward, fingers tapping impatiently on glass tables. Light caught the rings on their hands, subtle hints of power and greed. They underestimated me; most did at first. That was always a mistake.

“Morning, everyone,” I said, taking my seat at the head of the table. “Let’s start with the financials from last quarter.”

Greg slid a tablet across the table. “Projected growth exceeded expectations, but we need approval for the merger. The European branch wants assurances on production capacity.”

“I don’t give assurances. I deliver results,” I said, voice calm, even, yet laced with menace that made half the room flinch. Darius would have called it cold. I called it reality. “Our production will meet demands. Any objections should have been brought before the proposal, not after. We don’t negotiate with hesitation.”

There was a pause, the kind that comes when someone realizes they’re speaking to a predator, not a man. One investor swallowed audibly. Monica’s eyes flicked to me, subtle but approving; she had known to expect this.

Greg nodded, opening another tablet. “Contracts are ready for your signature. The European investors want clarification on the new staffing structure.”

I leaned back, fingers steepled. “Staff will comply. They report to me. Not to you. And any deviation from this chain will be considered insubordination.”

A silence fell. The room’s air seemed heavier, as though my words carried weight beyond corporate law—because they did. They always did.

By noon, the board meeting was wrapped up. Contracts signed. Terms finalized. Every deal had been tightened until no one could challenge me without losing more than they gained.

As I walked back to my office, Darius followed. “Still smelling like coffee?” he asked, half joking, half seriously.

I ignored him, letting my coat fall perfectly over my shoulders. My thoughts strayed, though, and I caught a fleeting smile at the memory: the way she’d carried herself, unbothered by the collision, leaving only traces of warmth behind. It was maddening.

Monica approached as I entered my office. “Your afternoon is clear except for the strategy session with the department heads. Mr. Callahan will be waiting if you have time to see him before the 3 p.m. briefing.”

“Excellent,” I said, sliding into my chair and reviewing reports. My eyes narrowed at projections, adjustments, staffing models. Efficiency, profit, growth. My empire would expand, but even in the midst of control, I could feel that subtle pull.

It was foolish, and yet I couldn’t deny it. The scent, the image, the quiet confidence—it lingered.

The door opened, and my secretary peeked in. “Mr. Nightclaw, your 3 p.m. conference call with the Asian branch is on hold. They’re waiting for confirmations from the Tokyo office. Your strategy session will start now.”

“Thank you, Jane. Send them the revised plan and make sure everyone has my notes. No excuses.”

She nodded and left. I turned my attention to the strategy session, listening as department heads outlined their plans. Each spoke with careful respect, knowing I would cut through fluff and inefficiency in seconds. I did. A sharp word here, a redirected question there—efficiency over politeness. That was my law.

Yet, beneath it all, the image of her persisted. A wolf in human guise, perhaps. The thought was laughable—and dangerous. I pushed it aside. I had a pack to lead, a company to run, and a city to dominate. But in a quiet corner of my mind, the faint warmth of coffee lingered, and with it, the memory of eyes that refused to bow.

And though I wouldn’t admit it, I knew I would see her again.