Chapter 2
1422 Words
Seraphina
I couldn’t be a werewolf.
No way. No how.
Sure, I’d woken up after my near-death experience with abilities I definitely hadn’t had before. Things like seeing smells, vision sharp enough to shame a hawk, and hearing so precise I could probably pinpoint a mouse farting three rooms away. But so far, there had been zero indication of fur—apart from my legs, which were in desperate need of a shave after a week of being ignored.
New abilities didn’t automatically mean werewolf.
I’d read somewhere that people who suffered head trauma sometimes woke up with completely new skills. Speaking new languages. Playing instruments. Suddenly becoming math geniuses. Acquired Savant Syndrome or something like that.
Yeah. That had to be it.
The accident that had nearly killed me must have left me with some strange neurological side effects. That explanation made far more sense than surprise, you’re a supernatural creature.
Still, I frowned.
No one would tell me much about the accident. Every time I asked, I got the same vague answers—you’re lucky to be alive, you should rest, talk to Darian.
Talk to Darian Blackthorn.
Easier said than done when the Lord of the Manor seemed to be permanently absent from his own house.
Until now.
I’d heard his voice while I was dozing in the garden, and the moment I stepped back inside, his scent hit me from all directions. Stronger than it had been for days. Fresh. Immediate.
He was here.
Tracking him through the house was effortless. Almost instinctive. Within a minute, I was standing outside his office door, my hand lifted to knock.
I froze.
My knuckles hovered inches from the wood as anger slammed into me out of nowhere.
What was I doing? Knocking politely and waiting for permission like a good little girl?
Screw that.
I’d almost died. Darian had bitten me and—according to everyone else—turned me into a werewolf. A defective one, apparently. And after all that, he hadn’t even bothered to come see me while I was unconscious and clinging to life.
The asshole needed a lesson in manners.
I shoved the door open hard enough that it slammed into the wall with a crack of splintering wood. Frame or door—I didn’t care. I stormed inside, fury driving me forward.
Darian was behind his desk. He looked up just as I planted my hands on the polished surface in front of him.
“Some pack-f*****g alpha you are,” I snarled, the hurt burning behind my ribs even as I tried to bury it. “I thought you were supposed to take care of everyone in your pack—not abandon them when they’re dying.”
He didn’t move. His gaze locked onto mine.
Then amber flared in his eyes, shooting outward like solar fire until only a thin ring of blue remained. His nostrils flared. His jaw tightened.
He was furious.
“And just who brought you here?” he asked tightly. “Who made sure you got medical attention—the right kind, not some human hospital that doesn’t know s**t about lycans? Do you know how many people survive a lycan bite?”
He stood, controlled and dangerous.
The air around him changed, thick with threat. The polished billionaire façade cracked, revealing the predator beneath. I’d always known Darian Blackthorn was powerful, ruthless beneath his elegance.
But now I understood.
He wasn’t a good man with a ruthless streak.
He was a ruthless predator wearing a man like a tailored suit.
A shiver slid down my spine.
“No,” I admitted stiffly. “How the hell would I know how many people survive a bite?”
I knew lycans controlled who they turned. I knew it required permission from the alpha.
My mother had once petitioned Darian’s father to have our entire family turned—me included. She’d never bothered to ask if we wanted it. All she’d seen was security. Power. Money.
I would have said yes back then. Without hesitation. Anything to get closer to Darian.
But his father had denied the request. Repeatedly.
Not good enough.
The sting of that rejection still burned.
So if I wasn’t good enough then—
Why was I good enough now?
“Why?” I demanded.
He rounded the desk slowly, stalking rather than walking. Even without shifting, the contained fury in his human form made my instincts scream.
“Why what?” he asked. “Why people die from the bite?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He stopped inches from me. Heat radiated from him, through his clothes, into my skin. My body reacted traitorously—heat flaring, blood singing, need tightening low in my belly.
I hated it.
“Why did you do it?” I pressed. “Why did you bite me? Was this an accident?”
The questions tumbled out faster and faster.
“What kind of accident is bad enough that you have to turn me into a werewolf? Because I don’t know about you, but I’m not seeing a whole lot of fur happening.”
“You were dying,” he snapped. “What did you expect me to do—leave you there?”
His expression was hard as a whip.
“Give me some credit. I wouldn’t let you die. Not while you were in my care.”
It wasn’t an answer.
Anger flared hot and sharp, and a snarl rose in my throat—low, animal, unfamiliar.
“Dammit, Darian.”
I shoved him.
It was like pushing a cliff, but he rocked back in surprise.
“Just give me a straight f*****g answer.”
His hands closed around my wrists and he spun us, slamming me back against the desk. Heat exploded through me—wild, volcanic. My body went soft against his, curves pressed to muscle.
“An answer?” he growled. “I’ll give you an answer.”
His mouth crashed into mine.
Hard. Dominant. Ruthless.
This wasn’t the man I’d known before. This was raw, feral, claiming. His tongue invaded my mouth, demanding, stealing my breath as fabric tore beneath my fingers.
He caged me, hands rough on my waist, one sliding down to grip my ass and yank me hard against him.
I felt him. Thick. Hard. Unmistakable.
My gasp turned into a whimper beneath his mouth.
This wasn’t dominance with restraint.
This was ownership.
And my body answered like it had been waiting for it all along.
Need tore through me, savage and aching, until I broke away with a breathless sound.
“I—”
“God, Eva.” His voice was wrecked.
I pressed instinctively against him, mouth brushing his throat—
He shoved me away.
Hard.
“We can’t.”
“What?” I stumbled, staring at him. “Why not? You sure as hell wanted to before.”
He dragged in a breath and the alpha mask slid back into place, cold and impenetrable.
“Things are different now,” he said flatly. “Pack law.”
Pack law.
Those words gutted me.
“So that’s it?” I whispered. “I get bitten and suddenly I’m untouchable?”
I didn’t wait for his answer.
“f**k pack law.”
I turned and ran.
I stormed through the manor like hell itself was on my heels, not caring where I went—only that it was far away from Darian.
The staff scattered at the sight of me. Lycan or not, they could sense the fury rolling off me.
By the time I reached the kitchens, my anger had twisted into misery, a tight knot lodged in my throat.
Hearing voices, I ducked into a storeroom and shut the door behind me.
I wouldn’t cry.
I wouldn’t.
“…she hasn’t changed yet.”
I froze.
“No fur. No amber eyes. Kevin says that only happens with the weakest wolves.”
Weak.
Below beta.
“She’s not mate material.”
Each word sliced deeper.
I clenched my fists, nails biting into wood as rage burned through me.
Then—
“…deal with the vampires tonight.”
My breath caught.
“They’ve got one in the basement.”
Hope flared so fast it stole my breath.
A vampire prisoner.
A deal.
Tonight.
There was only one thing Darian would trade a captured vamp for.
Davie.
And suddenly, pack law didn’t matter anymore.
Because I knew exactly what I was going to do next.
- Writer
