Chapter 2
1153 Words
Elara didn’t sleep.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him standing there—calm, controlled, eyes burning with something she couldn’t name. Not anger. Not hatred.
Hunger.
She told herself that was ridiculous.
Rowan Blackthorne was human. Powerful, yes. Intimidating, absolutely. But human.
And yet… the way the air had shifted around him. The way her skin had reacted, nerves lighting up as if he’d brushed her without touching her at all.
She rolled onto her side and stared at the dark ceiling.
You belong at my side.
Her chest tightened.
By morning, she had convinced herself she was overreacting.
By midday, she knew she’d been wrong.
The summons came through her work email at exactly 11:42 a.m.
Rowan Blackthorne — Private Meeting
Location: Penthouse Office
Time: Now
Her stomach dropped.
Of course he wouldn’t let things lie.
The elevator ride to the top floor felt longer than it should have. Each floor chimed softly as it passed, the numbers climbing while her pulse followed suit.
When the doors finally opened, the space beyond was quiet. Too quiet.
Glass walls. Dark wood. A city view stretching endlessly below.
Rowan stood by the window, his back to her, hands clasped loosely behind him.
“Lock the door,” he said without turning.
She hesitated. Then did it.
The sound echoed far too loudly.
He turned slowly, studying her the way he had the night before—like she was a puzzle he hadn’t solved yet, but intended to.
“You shouldn’t be here alone with me,” she said, forcing strength into her voice.
A corner of his mouth lifted. “You came anyway.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice,” Rowan replied. “You just don’t like the consequences.”
That stung because it felt true.
He gestured to the sofa. “Sit.”
“No.”
Something flickered behind his eyes.
Not irritation.
Approval.
“Good,” he said. “You haven’t changed as much as I thought.”
Her arms folded across her chest. “Why am I here, Rowan?”
He moved closer—not crowding her, but close enough that she was aware of him. Of the space he occupied. Of how solid he felt.
“I’ve reviewed everything from seven years ago,” he said. “Every document. Every signature. Every decision made while I was ‘dead.’”
Her heart sank.
“And?” she asked quietly.
“And someone set me up,” Rowan said. “Very carefully.”
Relief flooded her so fast it almost made her dizzy.
“You believe me?” she breathed.
“I believe you didn’t mean to destroy me,” he corrected. “That doesn’t make you innocent.”
The relief faded, replaced by something colder.
“Then why protect me?” she demanded. “Why keep me here instead of ruining me like you planned?”
Rowan’s gaze dropped again—to her throat, her pulse jumping visibly beneath her skin.
His voice lowered.
“Because every instinct I have reacts to you,” he said. “And I don’t understand why.”
A shiver ran through her.
“That sounds like a you problem,” she said.
A slow smile curved his lips.
“It is,” he agreed. “And until I solve it, you stay close.”
Her eyes widened. “You can’t force me—”
“I already have,” Rowan said calmly. “Your department reports directly to me now.”
Her breath caught.
“You did that on purpose.”
“Yes.”
Anger flared. “This is about control.”
“No,” he said softly. “This is about restraint.”
Something heavy pressed against her senses again, stronger now. A warning, instinctual and unmistakable.
Danger.
Rowan straightened abruptly, jaw tightening as if he’d reached some internal limit.
“Leave,” he ordered.
“What?”
“Now,” he said, turning away. “Before I stop pretending this is just business.”
She didn’t argue.
She fled.
As the elevator doors slid shut, Elara leaned against the wall, heart racing.
She didn’t know what Rowan Blackthorne was hiding.
But she knew this much with terrifying certainty:
Whatever lived beneath his calm exterior was waking up.
And it was waking up for her.
Book 1 — Chapter Four
Rowan didn’t watch her leave.
He listened.
To the rhythm of her footsteps fading down the corridor.
To the elevator doors closing.
To the echo of her pulse still thudding in his ears long after she was gone.
The moment the building swallowed her presence, he braced his hands on the desk and exhaled slowly through his nose.
Control.
Always control.
His reflection stared back at him from the glass wall—perfectly composed, impeccably human. No sign of the beast clawing just beneath his skin. No hint of the instincts snarling at being denied.
Mine.
The word surged unbidden, sharp and possessive.
Rowan closed his eyes.
Seven years ago, the wolf had nearly destroyed him. Rage. Betrayal. Blood. He had barely survived the change that followed—the one forced on him when he’d been hunted and left for dead.
He had sworn never to lose himself again.
And yet Elara Vale walked into his life and everything inside him strained toward her like she was a missing piece he hadn’t known he’d lost.
He straightened, smoothing his jacket, locking everything back down.
This wasn’t fate.
It was coincidence.
Or weakness.
Either way, it wouldn’t be allowed to interfere.
Elara didn’t stop shaking until she reached the street.
She stepped outside into the cold air, dragging in a breath as the city noise crashed over her—horns, voices, movement. Normalcy. Reality.
Her phone buzzed.
She flinched, then checked the screen.
Unknown Number
She hesitated before answering. “Hello?”
Silence.
Then breathing.
Low. Controlled.
Her stomach dropped. “Rowan?”
“You left too quickly,” his voice came through the line, calm but threaded with something darker. “I forgot to warn you.”
Her fingers tightened around the phone. “Warn me about what?”
“There are people watching you,” he said. “They’ve always been watching you.”
A chill crept down her spine. “You’re trying to scare me.”
“I’m trying to keep you alive.”
She swallowed. “From who?”
A pause.
“From the same people who tried to kill me.”
Her pulse spiked. “Then why not tell me everything?”
“Because,” Rowan said quietly, “the moment you know too much, you become a liability.”
Anger flared. “You don’t get to decide that.”
A faint sound reached her through the phone.
A breath that wasn’t quite human.
“You’re wrong,” he said. “I do.”
The line went dead.
- Writer
