The Werewolf Mafia's Captive Bride

The gunshot echoed through the abandoned warehouse, and I knew—I was going to die tonight. I pressed my back against the cold concrete wall, my breath coming in shallow gasps. My fingers trembled around the strap of my camera, the one that had captured everything—the drugs, the money, the murder. "Find the witness." A deep, gravelly voice cut through the darkness, sending a shiver down my spine. "She can't leave alive." I bit my lip until I tasted blood. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I never should’ve followed my journalist instincts into this damned warehouse. Now, the Chicago Mafia—no, something worse—would silence me forever. Boots crunched on broken glass, closer, closer— Then, I saw him. A towering figure stepped into the dim light, his broad shoulders casting a monstrous shadow. He wasn’t just a man. No, men didn’t have eyes like that—glowing gold, slit like a predator’s. A Werewolf. My heart stopped. The Chicago rumors were true. The Blackwood Syndicate wasn’t just a mafia—they were monsters. The werewolf’s nostrils flared as he sniffed the air, his gaze locking onto my hiding spot. A slow, cruel smile curled his lips. "There you are, little mouse." I ran. My sneakers slapped against the concrete as I bolted for the exit, but he was faster. A massive hand grabbed my hair, yanking me back against a chest like solid steel. "Let me go!" I elbowed him, but it was like hitting a brick wall. He chuckled, his breath hot against my ear. "Feisty. I like that." Then, his fingers wrapped around my throat—not to choke, but to claim. His thumb pressed against my racing pulse, and those golden eyes darkened with something primal. "What’s your name?" he growled. I spat in his face. Silence. Then—he laughed, a rich, terrifying sound that made my skin prickle. "Elena," I whispered, hating how my voice shook. "Elena," he repeated, rolling my name on his tongue like a forbidden delicacy. "I’m Lucian Blackwood. And you…" His claws pricked my skin. "You’re mine now." He dragged me to a sleek black car, threw me in the backseat, and cuffed my wrists with silver. "Silver hurts your kind, doesn’t it?" I hissed. Lucian’s eyes gleamed. "Smart girl. But don’t worry… I’ll make sure you scream for other reasons." The car sped through Chicago’s underbelly, finally stopping at a gothic mansion hidden in the woods. His men—all wolves, I realized with dread—grabbed me and hauled me inside. Then, I saw it: a golden cage in the center of his bedroom. "You can’t be serious," I choked out. Lucian unlocked the cuffs only to push me inside the cage. The bars hummed with magic—no escaping. "Sleep, Elena," he murmured, watching me claw at the bars. "Tomorrow, you’ll learn what happens to little mice who spy on wolves." As the door clicked shut, one thought consumed me: I had to survive him. Midnight. The mansion slept. Then—a howl shook the windows. I jerked upright as Lucian’s enraged roar split the night: "WHO TOUCHED HER SCENT?"