Chapter 2: The Scent That Haunts
1129 Words
The rest of my shift passed in a blur. I couldn't shake him—those silver eyes, that deep commanding voice, the way his mere presence made the air feel charged. Every time I wiped down the bar or mixed a drink, my mind drifted back to Damian Voss.
I'd googled him once, months ago, when he first started coming to Elixir. Everyone in New York knew the name. CEO of Voss Enterprises, a conglomerate that owned half the skyscrapers in Manhattan. Forbes listed him as one of the youngest billionaires in America—thirty-two, single, and notoriously private. No scandals, no paparazzi photos with models. Just power and mystery.
And now he'd asked for my number.
I laughed at myself as I cashed out tips. As if a man like that would seriously pursue a waitress. Probably just flirting to kill time.
By the time I stepped out into the rainy night, it was past 2 a.m. The streets glistened under streetlights, umbrellas bobbing like black mushrooms. I pulled my hood up and hurried toward the subway.
A prickling sensation crawled up my spine—the feeling of being watched.
I glanced over my shoulder. Nothing but shadows and taxis splashing through puddles.
Luna stirred faintly inside me. Danger.
I'd ignored her warnings for three years. She was probably just paranoid.
But as I descended the subway stairs, the feeling grew stronger. Footsteps echoed behind me—measured, deliberate.
I quickened my pace, heart hammering. The platform was nearly empty, just a drunk guy snoring on a bench and a woman scrolling her phone.
The footsteps stopped.
I risked another look. No one.
Get a grip, Isabella.
The train screeched in. I boarded, finding a seat near the doors. As the car lurched forward, I finally relaxed.
Until I smelled it.
Pine forests after rain. Storm clouds. Pure dominant male.
My head snapped up.
He sat three seats away, legs stretched out, silver eyes fixed on me. Damian Voss, in the subway at 2 a.m., looking like he owned the entire MTA.
"What are you doing here?" The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
He stood in one fluid motion, closing the distance until he towered over me. The train car was empty enough that no one paid attention.
"Making sure you get home safely," he said, voice low and smooth.
I scoffed. "I’ve been getting home safely for three years without a billionaire bodyguard."
A hint of a smile ghosted his lips. "Things change."
The train jolted, and I grabbed the pole to steady myself. He didn't move—an unbreakable statue.
"This is creepy, you know," I said, trying to sound brave. "Following me."
"I prefer to call it protective." His gaze dropped to my lips, then back up. "You smell... intoxicating."
Heat pooled in my stomach. No one had ever said anything like that to me. Not even Ethan, before he ripped my heart out.
"Look, Mr. Voss—"
"Damian."
"—Damian. I'm flattered, really. But I'm not interested in... whatever this is."
His eyes darkened. "Liar."
The train announced my stop. I stood abruptly, brushing past him toward the doors. His scent enveloped me, making my knees weak.
"Goodnight," I muttered.
He followed me off the train.
Seriously?
The platform was deserted now. Rain pounded topside. I spun to face him.
"Stop following me!"
"I’m not." He stepped closer, rain starting to speckle his dark hair as we emerged onto the street. "We live in the same direction."
"Right. Because billionaires always take the subway and live in Brooklyn walk-ups."
He chuckled—a deep, rich sound that sent shivers down my spine. "I have many homes."
I started walking fast toward my apartment building, six blocks away. He kept pace effortlessly, an umbrella appearing from nowhere to shield us both.
"I don't need—"
"Too bad."
We walked in tense silence. Every brush of his arm against mine sparked electricity. Luna was fully awake now, pacing restlessly.
Mate. Mate. Mate.
Shut up.
Finally, my rundown building came into view. Graffiti-tagged door, buzzing intercom that barely worked.
"This is me." I stopped at the steps.
Damian scanned the area, nostrils flaring. His expression turned thunderous.
"You live here?"
"It's affordable." Defensive heat rose in my cheeks.
"Unacceptable."
"Excuse me?"
He crowded me against the door, one hand braced beside my head. Up close, he was overwhelming—broad chest, sharp cheekbones, lips that promised sin.
"You deserve better," he growled. "Silk sheets. Protection. Everything."
My breath hitched. "I don't need a sugar daddy."
"That's not what I'm offering." His free hand lifted, thumb brushing my lower lip. "I want you, Isabella. All of you."
The intensity in his eyes terrified me. Because part of me—the lonely, broken part—wanted to say yes.
"I barely know you."
"Then let me fix that." He pulled a card from his pocket—thick, expensive stock—and tucked it into my hand. "Call me. Tomorrow."
"I—"
"Promise me."
The command in his voice tugged at something primal inside me. My wolf whimpered, wanting to submit.
"Fine," I whispered.
His smile was victorious, predatory. Then, shocking me completely, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.
"Good girl. Sleep well, little mate."
He turned and walked away into the rain, disappearing around the corner like a shadow.
Little mate?
My heart stopped.
He knew.
Somehow, impossibly, Damian Voss knew I was a werewolf.
I stumbled into my apartment, deadbolting the door. The tiny studio smelled like old coffee and desperation—one room with a Murphy bed, kitchenette, and bathroom the size of a closet.
I collapsed onto the bed, staring at his card.
Damian Voss
CEO, Voss Enterprises
Private Cell: 555-0192
Little mate.
No human would say that. Only wolves called their fated partners "mate."
But how? I'd buried my scent, suppressed my wolf. Three years of herbs and iron will to smell human.
Luna whined excitedly. True mate. Strong. King.
Impossible. Rejected wolves didn't get second mates. Everyone knew that.
Yet the pull toward Damian was undeniable—stronger than what I'd felt with Ethan.
I fell asleep clutching his card, dreaming of silver eyes and possessive growls.
The next morning, I woke to pounding on my door.
"Isabella Thorne! Open up!"
My blood turned to ice.
That voice.
I cracked the door, chain still on.
Ethan Blackwood stood there, looking every bit the powerful Alpha—taller, more filled out than three years ago. Victoria clung to his arm, pregnant belly prominent under her designer coat.
"What are you doing here?" I hissed.
Ethan's green eyes raked over me, regret and hunger mixing in his gaze.
"I've come to take you home."
- Writer
