Primal Instinct

3– SETTLING IN

Damien Reddick arrived at my motel a little before five.

He didn’t look like anyone I’d expect to work for a man like Trenton. Everything about Trenton screamed sharp edges and cold calculation. Damien was softer around the edges—tall, yes, with a fighter’s build and a face that had seen some things, but his brown eyes were warm, his smile easy.

“Nahiry?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe of my room.

I nodded, glancing past him at the black SUV idling in the parking lot. “That’s me.”

He held out a hand. “Damien. I work with Mr. Steele. I’ll be getting you settled at the estate.”

Work with, not for. Interesting. I shook his hand. No surge this time. Just normal human contact. “Nice to meet you.”

He helped me load my things into the SUV without comment on how many boxes one woman could own. We made small talk on the initial drive, where I was from, how long I’d been in Atlanta, whether I was a “mountain person” or a “city person.” I said I was “definitely a city girl, I’m not much for nature and animals outside of dogs.” He laughed like that was the funniest answer.

As we drove back up the winding road I’d taken that morning, the town looked different. More alive. A couple of people walked along the sidewalk near what looked like a café. A child rode a bike in a cul-de-sac, dark curls streaming behind her. A few heads turned as we passed, eyes tracking the SUV a little longer than I was used to. It felt less like curiosity and more like assessment.

“Small town,” Damien said, noticing my glance. “People pay attention.”

“I got that impression,” I said. “Your receptionist knew my name before I said it.”

He smiled. “That’s her job.”

“And the CEO knows what time I got onto the interstate?” I asked. “Is that his job, too?”

Damien’s fingers flexed once on the steering wheel. “He likes to know things.” That wasn’t an answer. It was, but it wasn’t.

We passed under a gate this time that I hadn’t seen earlier. Wrought iron and black stone, spanning the road like the entrance to some old estate. In the center of the arch, carved into a smooth plate of obsidian, was the same crescent symbol from the company logo. The metal gleamed faintly as we approached.

When the SUV rolled under it, the hum inside me jumped, hard enough that I had to bite back a gasp. It felt like walking through an invisible curtain—one that brushed over my skin, then settled behind me.

“You okay?” Damien asked, glancing my way.

“Yeah,” I lied. “Just my ears popped. Altitude, maybe.”

He didn’t push. Beyond the gate, the road curved along the ridge before opening into a sprawling property that made my jaw drop somewhere around my ankles.

It wasn’t just a house. It was a world.

Built into the side of the mountain, the main structure rose in tiers, dark stone at the base, glass and brushed metal above, balconies and terraces jutting out at different levels. Lights glowed from within, warm and soft. Water spilled from somewhere high up, cascading down a series of rock faces into a narrow pool that disappeared under a glass walkway.

Smaller buildings dotted the slope around it, connected by paved paths and bridges—guest houses, maybe, or staff quarters. People moved between them, some carrying files, others in workout clothes, a few in suits. It looked like an upscale retreat center married to a tech campus.

“Estate,” I said under my breath. “Yeah. That tracks.”

Damien parked near a side entrance. He grabbed two of my boxes before I could protest. “Come on. I’ll show you where you’ll be.”

Inside, the estate echoed the aesthetic of the headquarters—glass, stone, dark wood. But it felt… warmer here. More lived-in. I caught glimpses of framed photographs on side tables, a child’s toy left on a staircase landing, a jacket thrown over the back of a couch in a lounge area we passed.

“Top floor,” Damien said, leading me into another elevator. “HR thought it’d be easiest for you to be close to the executive offices while you settle in.”

“Easiest for who?” I asked.

He shrugged, but there was something wry in his eyes. “You’ll be an executive assistant so it’s best if you’re here. How you’re received just depends on the day.”

When the doors opened, we stepped into a quiet corridor lined with doors. The carpet was soft under my flats, some kind of thick gray that absorbed sound. Large windows punctuated the walls, offering slivers of the view, trees, sky, the drop into the valley.

Damien stopped halfway down the hall in front of a door with a small silver plate that simply read, 12.

He handed me one of the boxes and slid a keycard into the slot. The lock clicked.

“This is you,” he said. “At least for now.”

The suite was ridiculous.

Open-concept living area with a plush sectional, a wall of windows looking out over the forest, a small but sleek kitchen tucked to one side. Down a short hallway, I spotted a bedroom with a king-sized bed and another set of windows, and beyond that, a door that had to lead to a bathroom that definitely cost more than my last yearly bonus.

“This is temporary housing?” I asked faintly.

“Until you decide if you’re staying long-term,” Damien said. “Most of our relocated staff start up here. Some move into town later. Some, well don’t.”

“Because they like the view?” I asked.

He smiled. “Something like that.”

There was another door in the living room. I gestured to it. “And that one?”

He hesitated a fraction. Blink-and-you-miss-it. Then, “Staff corridor. Office access. Nothing you need to worry about.”

Which meant more secrets. More things I didn’t know.

I set my box down on the coffee table, my fingers finally starting to ache from carrying it.

“Thank you,” I said. “For the ride. The help.”

He nodded once. “If you need anything, my number’s in the welcome packet on the counter. Don’t hesitate.”

He started to turn, then paused. “And Nai?”

I looked up. My friends called me that. He shouldn’t know it yet.

“Mr. Steele isn’t like the executives you’re used to,” Damien said quietly. “If something, I dont know, feels off, trust that.”

Before I could ask what that meant, he stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him.

For the first time that day, I was alone. I stood in the center of the suite, listening to the silence.

No blaring traffic. No neighbor’s television through thin apartment walls. No thudding footsteps from the upstairs unit. Just the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant, muffled… something of the house. A vibration I couldn’t quite place.

I unpacked the essentials slowly, laptop, toiletries, the few clothes I’d brought with me. I made a mental list of everything I’d need from the car tomorrow. I told myself I’d only be here for a few weeks until I found a place closer to “town,” even though I had no idea what the rental market looked like for an invisible mountain village.

I showered off the road. Changed into soft leggings and an oversized t-shirt. Found a bottle of water in the fridge and drank it in three gulps.

The hum under my skin, which had quieted for a bit, returned around sunset.

At first it was just a buzz in the back of my mind, like the soft whir of a machine I’d forgotten to turn off. Then it thickened, spreading through my veins, a low warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. I stepped out onto the balcony off the living room, sliding the glass door open with a soft hiss.

The evening air was cool, crisp. The sky was sliding from blue to violet, streaked with thin clouds. The forest below was a dark, dense expanse, rustling softly under an unfelt wind. Somewhere, an animal called, a long, low sound that could have been an owl.

The hum in my veins sharpened. I gripped the railing, breathing slow. Inhale, exhale. Calm down. You’re just in a new place, Nai. Your body is freaking out because your brain is.

The balcony wrapped around the corner of the building, giving me a partial view of another terrace a level above and across. Lights glowed there, warmer than mine, spilling out onto the stone.

Movement caught my eye. A figure stepped out into that light. Even this far away, even with the dimming sky and the distance between us, I knew who it was.

Trenton Steele.

He was shirtless now, suit jacket and dress shirt gone, leaving only dark slacks hanging low on narrow hips. The muscles in his shoulders and back moved under his skin like coiled ropes as he rolled his neck, hands braced on the railing. The gold chain at his throat gleamed faintly even in the low light. His head was tipped back, face turned up toward the sky.

My fingers tightened on the metal of my own railing.

The hum inside me surged into a pulse. It hit harder this time, like something inside me recognized something inside him. Heat rolled through me in a slow wave. It wasn’t unpleasant, exactly. Just… intense. My skin felt too tight. The sounds of the night, the rustle of leaves, the distant call of something in the trees, suddenly sharpened, as if someone had turned the volume up a notch.

As if he felt it, his head turned. His gaze slid across the space between us and landed on me.

We were too far away for logic to say that I could see the exact color of his eyes, but I did. Brown and silver, the latter simmering beneath the surface like light under deep water. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to that connection—me on my balcony, him on his, the valley in between.

I swallowed, throat dry.

I should’ve looked away. Gone back inside. Closed the door and pretended I hadn’t been staring at my new boss like a problem I already wanted the wrong way.

I didn’t move.

Neither did he.

The air between us felt thick, heavy with something unnamed. My heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my fingertips. Heat licked at the back of my neck, slid down my spine. The hum became a drumbeat.

He rested his hands on his railing, fingers curling around the metal, knuckles pale even from this distance. His chest rose and fell slowly, controlled, like he was breathing through pain or anger or something in between. Then, from deep in his chest, the sound came again. Not the almost-accidental growl from his office. This was fuller, more deliberate. Low and rough, vibrating across the distance, too primal to be fully human.

It rolled over my skin like thunder. My knees went weak. I sucked in a sharp breath, the sound catching in my throat. His eyes flickered, catching the movement, the reaction. For a fraction of a second, something raw flashed across his face. Not cold. Not indifferent.

Hungry.

Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. His expression locked down, features smoothing into that same flat calm I’d seen in his office. He pushed away from the railing, turned, and disappeared back into the shadows of his suite.

The hum inside me didn’t go with him. I stumbled back into my living room, shutting the glass door with fingers that weren’t as steady as I’d like. My reflection stared back at me from the darkening glass, wide eyes, flushed cheeks, curls frizzing around my face.

I stepped closer. For a moment, under the dim light of the room and the last streaks of violet sky, my irises glowed. Not bright. Not neon. Just the slightest shimmer of pink swirling through amber, there and gone again in a blink. I exhaled slowly, palms pressed flat against the cool glass.

“You just came here for a job,” I whispered, to the girl in the window. To the mountain. To the silence.

The hum under my skin throbbed, disagreeing. Deep below, in the valley, a howl rose, low, controlled, drawn out. It slid through the trees and up the cliffs, curling around the estate like a promise. The sound settled in my bones.

“I came here for a job,” I repeated, softer this time.

But something inside me, something I didn’t have words for yet, already knew better. You came here for him.