Chapter 4 – The Woman on Stage
1281 Words
Dominic’s Pov
The doors of the private terminal at City A Airport slid open with a hiss as I stepped into the humid air, the city’s noise and scent rushing at me all at once. I hated this place. Too loud. Too crowded. Too human.
Still, I drew attention—of course I did.
Women turned. Whispers flew. A few even pointed discreetly, their eyes lingering on my face, then trailing down to the black shirt clinging to my chest, the tailored coat framing my wide shoulders. My boots hit the tile with sharp clack sound drawing everyone’s attention as I moved, the energy around me pulsing in time with my steps.
I knew what they saw—tall, powerful, handsome. Eyes like cold silver, posture like a predator on the prowl.
They didn’t know the half of it.
They didn’t know what lived under my skin. What kind of blood burned through my veins.
Werewolf. An Alpha and in a world where our kind had grown scarce, I was the deadliest of them all.
A blonde woman wearing too much perfume strutted across the walkway, blocking my path. She licked her lips and placed a hand on her hip, chest pushed forward in a tight red dress that barely clung to her body.
“Well, aren’t you something,” she said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. I could see the thick lust that clouded her eyes, “Need help finding your ride, handsome?”
I stopped walking.
I stared at her.
Her scent repulsed me—chemical, artificial, human. She was the kind of woman who mistook lust for power. The kind who threw herself at anything with money or menace.
“Get lost,” I said flatly.
Her smile faltered. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t repeat myself.”
Ron, my bodyguard, appeared beside me like a shadow, his jaw tight. He stepped between us without a word, and the woman flinched.
“Move along,” he said firmly.
The woman muttered some curses under her breath and stumbled backward, disappearing into the crowd.
Pathetic.
I brushed a speck of dust from my coat sleeve and walked forward, ignoring the whispers that followed in my wake. These women... these humans... they didn’t understand. I wasn’t theirs to chase or tame. My kind didn’t choose like they did. We only ever had one match. One bond.
One mate.
And I had already found her.
At least, I thought I had.
Until she turned out to be a fake.
Zarah Twain had worn the right watch. Carried the right name. But nothing else about her matched. She smelled wrong. Her laugh grated my ears. Her touch made my skin crawl. She was soft while my mate had been fierce. Cold where she’d been warm. She lacked the fire, the scent, the presence.
Still, I let her play her game—for a time.
Until now.
Now, I was done with the charade.
“Sir,” Ron said, falling into step beside me. “Your friend has landed. Mr. Devlin is waiting near the car.”
Of course he was.
I followed Ron through the gates and down the private path to where a sleek black car waited. Mark leaned against it with a drink already in his hand, sunglasses perched on his head, his grin wide as ever.
“Dominic!” he shouted when he saw me, arms outstretched like an i***t. “You look like you’re about to murder someone. That’s your welcome-home face?”
“I never left,” I muttered.
Mark chuckled and pulled me into a rough hug. “Ten years and not a wrinkle. Must be the cursed blood, eh?”
I raised an eyebrow.
“I meant genetics,” he added quickly.
“Better.”
We slid into the back seat, and the driver pulled into traffic. Mark looked around with exaggerated disgust.
“This city still smells like engine oil and disappointment,” he said. “Let’s fix that. Let’s go get a drink. Somewhere with noise. Music. Women.”
I gave him a sharp look.
He waved a hand. “No flirting, I swear. Just one night of fun. I’ve been drinking wine with French diplomats for a decade. Let me have one greasy bar and a bad song.”
I didn’t answer.
He leaned closer. “C’mon, Dom. You owe me for that thing in Prague.”
I sighed.
“Driver,” I said. “Find a decent bar. Somewhere central. Nothing too cheap.”
“Yes, Alpha,” the driver replied.
---
The bar we ended up in was dimly lit, crowded, and filled with the thick scent of alcohol, perfume, and sweat. I stepped through the door and suppressed the growl that rose in my throat.
Mark clapped his hands. “Now this feels like home.”
I scanned the room. Low ceilings. Neon lights. Sticky floors. Humans packed like cattle in heat. My ears caught every glass clink, every whisper, every heartbeat.
I hated this.
I followed Mark to a booth in the back and sat stiffly as he ordered drinks. I stared into the crowd, ready to count the minutes until I could leave.
Then the music stopped.
A hush fell over the bar. A strange shuffle on the stage.
A man near the speakers stood and shouted, “Play WAP!”
Laughter erupted. The original singer rolled her eyes and left the stage.
Then she appeared.
My breath caught.
She walked onto the stage in oversized pink hoodie, lime-green fishnet stockings, and mismatched boots. Her hair was tied in two messy buns. She looked ridiculous.
And perfect.
Her scent hit me first—wildflowers after a storm, warm earth and something…electric. My wolf surged to the surface like it had been caged too long.
Mate!
There was no doubt. No mistake.
I gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white. Mark noticed and turned.
“What the hell?” he asked. “That outfit is a war crime.”
I didn’t answer.
Because I was already lost.
She took the mic in both hands, laughing nervously. “Um… hi. Please don’t throw things.”
Someone whistled. Someone else booed. She gave an awkward wave.
And then the beat dropped.
“There’s some w****s in this house…”
I blinked.
Was this a joke?
The crowd roared with laughter. She danced—not well. Not confidently. But with a kind of defiance that pulled my eyes to her every move.
She hated this. I saw it in her eyes.
But she did it anyway.
For money?
For survival?
Mark doubled over laughing. “This is the worst and best thing I’ve ever seen.”
My eyes stayed locked on her.
That voice.
It wasn’t just familiar.
It was hers.
The girl from five years ago.
The one I claimed in a haze of bloodlust and moonlight. The one whose neck I bit, whose body had responded to mine like we were carved from the same fate.
She was here.
She had no idea who I was.
And I couldn’t look away.
The crowd hooted as she finished the song with an exaggerated curtsy. She laughed again, breathless, and handed the mic back.
“Thank you for coming to my TED Talk,” she muttered.
She jumped off the stage and disappeared behind the curtain.
Mark fanned his face. “That was... wild. I need her name. Think she does private performances?”
My voice came out like a growl. “No.”
Mark blinked. “Dude.”
“She’s not for you.”
“Relax. I was kidding. What is up with you?”
- Writer
