Primal Instinct

10 – EAST WING

The building emptied in waves that evening. Phones stopped ringing, screens went dark, voices faded down the halls. Even the hum of the HVAC seemed to soften once most of the staff were gone. By seven, the only sound left was the low, constant throb of my computer fan and the soft click of my keyboard.

Outside, the mountains had swallowed the horizon. The light that filtered through the glass was the cold blue of early night, the kind that blurred reflection and reality until they looked like the same thing. I should've gone home hours ago. But something in me, whether pride, stubbornness, maybe plain stupidity, wanted to prove that I could keep up.

When I finally logged off, I leaned back in my chair, stretching until my spine popped. The floor-to-ceiling windows turned the office into a mirror, my reflection ghosted over the faint lights from the valley below. The entire place looked surreal at night, too still, too polished, too perfect.

I stood and gathered my things. The corridor was quiet. Too quiet. Most nights, at least one of the department heads stayed late. But tonight, nothing. Even security had vanished from their usual post by the elevators.

I started toward the exit, but the silence followed me like a pulse. That was when I saw the faint light spilling from the far corridor. The east wing. The words replayed in my mind like a drumbeat. Stay out of the east wing.

I stopped at the intersection where the hallways split. To the left, the path that led to the lobby. To the right, a shadowed corridor lined with glass. The air there looked thicker somehow, like fog behind the windows. Common sense told me to leave. Curiosity told me to look. I'd never been particularly good at listening to the right voice.

The moment I stepped into the east wing, the temperature dropped. The air had weight — cold and metallic, sharp at the back of my throat. The lights overhead dimmed automatically, motion sensors flickering weakly as I passed.

The sound of my heels echoed. Every step felt too loud, too intrusive, like I was walking through a sacred place uninvited. Halfway down the corridor, I stopped. A faint vibration thrummed through the floor, subtle but constant. Not machinery. Not the hum of the building. Something alive.

I turned a slow circle, scanning the space. Offices lined the hall, doors closed, blinds drawn. Most were empty, but one, near the end, glowed faintly with warm, golden light. That's where the voices came from. I moved closer, careful, quiet, until I could make out words through the crack in the door.

"...It's too soon."

Then Damien's, quieter but firm. "You're losing control. The signs are already there...She's already showing signs," his voice said, low and tense.

"She's human," Trenton replied, clipped and cold. "She shouldn't feel anything."

My stomach twisted. "Then explain the connection," Damien countered. "Explain why she's reacting. You can't hide it much longer. The pack's starting to notice after your little display this morning."

"She doesn't know what she's feeling," Trenton snapped. "And she won't." The silence that followed felt heavy, electric. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter but rougher. "She's not supposed to exist. Not like this." Something heavy hit the wall. I jumped.

Damien exhaled. "You're losing control, Trent. That's what this is. She's not the problem here, you are. You have to contain it," Damien said, his voice sharper now. "If the pack senses what she is—"

"She's nothing," Trenton cut in, quieter now but colder. "An assistant. Temporary. She'll be gone before the next moon. I'll make sure of it."

"You can't keep pretending she's nothing," Damien said.

"I said enough," Trenton warned.

There was the scrape of a chair, then the dull thud of a fist hitting wood. The sound that came next wasn't human. Not exactly. A low growl rolled through the air, soft but full of restrained violence. My pulse spiked.

My throat went dry. I should've turned away then, should've walked back before the floorboards started to creak beneath me, but I couldn't. There was a long pause, followed by the unmistakable sound of breathing, ragged, controlled, restrained. Then Trenton again, voice rougher than I'd ever heard it.

"She doesn't even know what she's walking into."

The words pressed against my chest like a hand. Then Damien murmured something I couldn't catch, and footsteps followed, heavy ones, moving closer. I panicked. I turned and bolted down the hall, trying to make it back before the voices stopped. Then, his voice, calm, too calm.

"Come in, Ms. Carter."

My blood went cold. The door opened before I could decide whether to run or play dumb. He stood in the doorway, tall, immovable, the golden light of the office cutting around his silhouette like a halo made of smoke. The rolled sleeves, the chain at his throat, the glint of metal at his wrist, all the details hit me at once. But it was his eyes that made my breath catch.

They weren't brown. Not right now. They were silver.

"Working late?" His tone was even, but there was a thread beneath it. One that hummed like tension pulled too tight.

I opened my mouth, but words tangled in my throat. "I—uh, I heard voices. I thought—"

"You thought what?"He took a step forward, and my body reacted before my brain caught up, every nerve on fire, heart thundering. "That you'd go exploring in the part of the building I specifically told you not to?"

The closer he came, the harder it was to think. His scent of cedar, smoke, something colder underneath, wrapped around me. His presence filled the hallway until there wasn't space for anything else.

"I didn't mean to—"

"You did," he interrupted. "You always mean to."

He stopped a breath away, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him. My pulse stuttered. His eyes flicked down, lingering for the briefest second on the rapid rise and fall of my chest, before meeting mine again.

"Tell me," he said softly. "What did you hear?"

I swallowed hard. "You. Damien. Talking."

"Be specific, about what?"

"I don't know." I forced a shaky breath. "Something about control. About me. You said I shouldn't feel anything—" He was in front of me before I could finish. One second, twenty feet. The next, he was there. Too close. Too fast.

"Don't repeat that," he said softly. The words brushed my face like a warning. "Not to anyone."

"I just want to know what's going on."

His jaw flexed. "I don't think you do."

My heart thudded so loudly it hurt. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," he said slowly, "you should've stayed where I told you."

"I just want to know the truth," I said.

He leaned in until his breath brushed my cheek. "You don't want the truth, Nahiry. You wouldn't survive it. You should want the illusion that you're still safe."

The way he said my name sent a shiver down my spine. His voice wasn't cruel anymore, just low, hoarse, tired. Something in his tone made my skin crawl, not because it was cruel, but because it was honest.

He stepped closer, until the space between us was nothing but breath and heat. "Do you make a habit of disobeying orders," he murmured, "or is it just mine you like testing?"

"Maybe I don't like being told what to do," I whispered.

He exhaled, slow and low, and for one heartbeat, I swore I heard a growl, deep and primal, vibrating through the air beneath it. His hand twitched at his side, as if he wanted to reach for me and stop himself at the last second.

"Why does it always feel like you're warning me?" I whispered.

"Because I am."

His eyes flickered, silver to brown, brown to silver again. For a split second, I thought I saw something move under his skin, a flash of shadow that didn't belong to the man standing there. Then it was gone.

He stepped back, drawing in a slow breath. "Go back to your room," he said finally, voice breaking rough. "And if you have any sense left, you'll forget everything you heard."

"I'm not—"

"Now."

The word came out sharper this time, a definite growl. I didn't argue. I couldn't. My legs carried me down the corridor before my brain caught up. At the elevator, I risked one glance over my shoulder. He hadn't followed. He stood exactly where I'd left him with one hand braced against the wall, head bowed, shoulders trembling with some silent war he wasn't winning. He was just there in the moonlight, breathing like a man holding something feral back.

Sleep was out of the question. The rain started after midnight in a soft, steady fall that turned the forest into a blur of sound. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, every nerve still buzzing, the image of his eyes burned behind my lids.

When I couldn't take it anymore, I slipped out of bed and stepped onto the balcony. The night air was cool against my skin, sharp with the scent of wet pine and fresh rain. From the balcony, ​​the estate lights glowed faintly in the fog. I could see the entire valley, a sea of mist curling over the forest below stretched into darkness. Somewhere in the distance, wolves howled. At least, that's what I told myself it was.

A long, low howl. It started somewhere deep in the woods and rolled up through the hills, carrying over the wind. I froze, every hair on my body standing on end. Another followed. Then another. Not dogs. Not even close. These were deeper, older, vibrating through the air until I could feel it in my bones.

The hum under my skin stirred again, faint but familiar. My heartbeat synced with it, each pulse louder, heavier. I leaned against the railing, knuckles white, clutching my robe tighter.

Down below, a figure moved through the fog, dark, broad-shouldered, walking with purpose. For a second, I thought it was him. Then lightning flashed, and I realized whatever I'd seen wasn't human. I blinked and it was gone. The next rumble wasn't thunder. It was closer. Lower.

I backed away from the railing, heart racing. The storm swallowed the sound again, leaving only the steady rhythm of rain and my own ragged breath. I pressed a trembling hand against my chest. The hum faded slowly, but not completely.

Whatever Trenton was hiding, it wasn't just business. The town. The people. The mountain. The air that seemed alive with electricity. And him — Always him. Something about him didn't fit in this world of glass and suits. He was too still, too sharp. The way he moved, the way the air changed when he entered a room, it wasn't normal.

I closed my eyes, the night whispering around me, and admitted the truth I didn't want to say out loud. He terrified me. But what scared me more was how much I wanted to know why. And somehow, some way, how much I was part of it.