The Basement Wolf

Chapter 2: The Lie Between Us

Sandra’s POV

I told myself not to stare.

Not to notice the way his shirt stretched across broad shoulders, the way his sleeves were rolled up, revealing tan forearms lined with veins like rivers carved into stone. But the second I walked into that office, every ounce of my resolve cracked like glass.

Bradley Gray.

Private investigator. Ex-cop. Green eyes sharper than a wolf’s bite.

And the man fate decided to chain me to.

The scent hit me first—strong, masculine, tinged with cedar and danger. It wrapped around me like smoke, like the memory of a fire I should never touch. My wolf froze, then lunged, howling inside me so loud it almost ripped through my ribs.

Mate.

The word exploded in my head like a gunshot. My breath hitched. My knees wavered.

No. Goddess, no. Not now. Not when I was standing in front of the one man who could ruin everything.

His voice snapped me back.

“Miss…?” Deep. Dark. Smooth as aged whiskey poured over ice.

I swallowed hard, summoning every ounce of the woman I’d become—the woman who’d crawled out of hell with blood on her hands and vengeance in her heart. “Stone,” I said. The lie rolled off my tongue like silk. “Sandra Stone.”

He didn’t smile. Didn’t move, except to tilt his head slightly, studying me the way a wolf studies a threat. Then he leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms. The leather holster hugged his side like a second skin, a sleek black gun glinting under the muted office light.

“What can I do for you, Miss Stone?”

The way he said it—low, edged with something dangerous—sent a shiver racing down my spine.

Focus, Sandra. Children first. Secrets later.

“I need you to find my kids,” I said, pulling the photo from my coat pocket and sliding it across the polished wood. Three faces stared back at me. My babies. My reason to breathe. My reason to kill.

Bradley picked up the photo, his eyes flicking over each face, then back to mine. “Taken?”

“Yes.” My voice stayed calm, even when my throat burned like acid.

“By who?”

“A… social services mistake.” The words scraped my throat like barbed wire. “They said I was unfit. They split them up. Sent them to different homes.” My hands clenched until my nails bit into my palms. “I just want them back.”

For a second, just one, I saw it. Something flicker in those wolf-green eyes. Sympathy? Doubt? Both?

But then his face smoothed into something hard. Unreadable.

“I’ll take the case,” he said finally.

Relief punched the air from my lungs so fast it hurt. My body sagged against the chair, but only for a heartbeat—because the way he looked at me after that made my stomach turn to ice.

He leaned forward slowly, his elbows resting on the desk, his gaze cutting through me like a blade of green fire. His voice dropped to something soft, lethal, intimate.

“But, Sandra…” His mouth curved—not a smile. A warning dressed as sin.

“I don’t believe a single word you just said.”

My pulse slammed against my ribs.

Before I could react, he stood and walked around the desk, closing the space between us with slow, deliberate steps. Every inch of him radiated controlled power—like a storm disguised as a man.

He stopped a breath away. So close I could feel the heat of him. So close his scent tangled with mine, making my wolf claw at my skin, desperate to claim.

“People like you,” he murmured, his voice dragging over my nerves like velvet over steel, “don’t come to me for social service screw-ups.” He bent slightly, his lips near my ear, his breath brushing my skin like a sin I’d pay for forever. “They come for two reasons. Secrets worth killing for…” His gaze locked on mine, green flames devouring every wall I had left. “Or enemies worth fearing.”

He straightened, towering over me, his shadow swallowing mine whole.

“So tell me, sweetheart—” his voice dropped to a growl that made my insides quake—

“Which one are you?”

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

Because in that moment, under the weight of his stare, I realized something terrifying:

If Bradley Gray decided I was a threat, no cage could hold me safe.

Not even the one inside my chest.

---

Bradley’s POV

She lied.

The second she stepped through my door, I saw it. In the tilt of her chin. The way her hands didn’t tremble when they should have. Victims always shake. Always stammer. Always drown in their own fear.

But Sandra Stone? She wore her fear like perfume—just enough to make me curious, not enough to make me trust.

And then… her scent hit me.

Sweet. Wild. Forbidden.

It sucker-punched my wolf so hard I almost staggered. The curse clawed at my insides, warning me like it always did: Don’t let them close. Don’t let them know. Because the second anyone discovered what I was, they’d run. Or die. The curse never left survivors.

But as I looked at her—at that waterfall of black hair spilling over her shoulders, at those blue eyes that burned like ice set on fire—I didn’t care. For the first time in years, I didn’t give a damn about the curse.

Because my wolf… whispered one word.

Mine.

I clenched my jaw so hard it ached. Fought to focus on the photo she’d given me instead of the woman who smelled like sin and salvation.

Three kids. Cute. Innocent. And not a single detail in her voice rang true.

Social services mistake? Please.

She had the kind of composure you only earn by surviving hell. And hell doesn’t send polite letters before taking your kids.

I agreed to take the case—but not because I bought her story.

Because I wanted to peel back every layer of her lies.

And because some sick, twisted part of me wanted to keep her close—even if it killed us both.

When I told her I didn’t believe her, her eyes widened, just for a heartbeat. Vulnerability flashed there like lightning. Then it was gone, replaced by steel.

Oh, sweetheart, you’re good. But I’m better.

“Which one are you?” I asked, leaning in just enough to feel her breath catch. “A woman hiding a body? Or a woman running from a war?”

She didn’t answer. Not out loud. But her pulse told me everything.

Whoever Sandra Stone really was…

She was dangerous.

And hell help me—I’d never wanted danger more.

---

Scene Hook (Extended Ending):

As she turned to leave, I caught her wrist. Her skin was warm, soft, trembling under my grip. Her breath hitched, lips parting in something between shock and… something darker.

“You should know something before you walk out that door,” I said, voice low, deadly calm.

Her lashes fluttered. “What?”

I smiled—a slow, wolfish curve that promised nothing good.

“I don’t chase lies, Sandra.” My thumb brushed over her pulse point, feeling it race like wildfire. “I hunt them.”

And as her scent wrapped around me, igniting every primal urge I’d buried for years, one truth burned through my veins like molten steel:

She wasn’t just a lie I’d hunt.

She was the truth I’d sin for.