Throne of Shadows, Cast in Blood

Chapter 4 - The Morning After

The first thing Natalie noticed was the silence. It wasn’t the hollow, ringing silence of her mother’s apartment, nor was it the vibrating, chaotic silence of the streets. It was a heavy, expensive quiet—the kind that only existed behind thick, soundproofed glass and reinforced steel.

The second thing she noticed was the scent.

Her nose, still unnervingly sharp despite the lingering fog in her brain, was filled with the aroma of scorched earth and the sweet scent of pine needles. It was everywhere. It was in the air, in the heavy silk of the pillows, and woven into the very fibers of the high-thread-count sheets pressing against her skin.

Natalie’s eyes snapped open.

She was staring at a ceiling made of dark, polished concrete. The room was vast and minimalist, bathed in the soft, diffused light of a Seattle morning that was already well underway. Panic flared in her chest—a sharp, jagged heat. She tried to sit up, but as the duvet slid down, she felt the cool kiss of the air-conditioned air against her bare shoulders.

She froze. Beneath the heavy, charcoal-gray sheets, she was entirely naked.

"Oh, God," she whispered, her voice a dry rasp.

She clutched the edge of the duvet, pulling it up to her chin, her knuckles white. Her mind raced, clawing through the dark for a thread of memory. She remembered the conference room. She remembered the heat—that agonizing, bone-deep fire—and the scream of the fluorescent lights. She remembered running. The restroom. The mirror. The gold.

The door to the bedroom slid open with a soft, mechanical hiss.

Natalie let out a small, strangled sound of alarm, retreating until her back hit the oversized velvet headboard. Lucien Blackwood stepped into the room. He had traded his suit for a black cashmere sweater and dark trousers, looking less like a CEO and more like something ancient and primal draped in modern luxury. He carried two mugs of coffee, the steam curling into the air.

He stopped at the foot of the bed, his dark green eyes sweeping over her with a clinical, predatory intensity that made her skin prickle.

"You're awake," he said. His voice was a low vibration that seemed to hum right through the mattress.

"Where am I?" Natalie demanded, her voice trembling despite her effort to sound firm. "What am I doing in your room? Why am I… why don’t I have any clothes on, Mr. Blackwood?"

Lucien didn’t answer immediately. He set the mugs down on a minimalist nightstand and pulled a chair over, sitting down and crossing one long leg over the other. He studied her, his gaze lingering on the way she gripped the covers as if they were a shield.

"What is the last thing you remember, Natalie?" he asked quietly.

The use of her first name felt like an intrusion, a hand placed directly on her heart. She swallowed hard, trying to push through the static in her head. "We were in the north conference room. I had… I had a migraine. The worst one of my life. I asked to be excused. I ran to the restroom to wash my face and then…" She trailed off, her brow furrowing. "And then nothing. I blacked out. I must have fainted from the pain."

Lucien leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "Do you remember anything else? Anything happening to you before you lost consciousness? Think carefully."

Natalie felt a surge of frustration. The gaps in her memory were terrifying, and his cryptic questioning was making the panic rise again. "No! I told you, I blacked out. Now answer me. Why am I here? Why am I in your bed without my clothes? Did you… did someone…"

Lucien let out a slow, deliberate breath. He looked away for a moment, out toward the gray skyline, before meeting her eyes again. "I found you in the executive restroom. You were lying on the floor, unconscious." He paused, his expression hardening into something unreadable. "You were naked when I arrived, Natalie. Your clothes were in tatters around you. Shredded."

Natalie’s breath hitched. "Shredded? What do you mean shredded? Was I attacked? Did someone break into the office?" Her voice rose in pitch, nearing hysteria. "Did you do this?"

"I didn't touch you," Lucien said, his tone turning ice-cold. "Except to cover you with my jacket and carry you to my car. My penthouse is in a private residential tower; it was the closest place where I could ensure your privacy."

He stood up, pacing toward the window before turning back to her. "How do you feel? Is there anywhere in your body that is painful? Any bruising? Aching in your joints?"

Natalie stared at him, her eyes widening as the implications of his words sank in. "You… you checked me?"

"I had to know if you were injured," he said, his voice flat. "I saw no signs of force. No trauma. No struggle. Your skin was flawless, though you were burning with a fever that would have killed a normal human. I decided against a hospital because your vitals were stable, and frankly, I didn't think you'd want the police involved in whatever happened to your wardrobe."

Indignation flared in her, warring with a deep, hot flush of embarrassment. He had seen her. All of her. He had examined her like a specimen while she was helpless. She gripped the covers even tighter, her nails digging into the silk.

"I need to go," she said, her voice shaking. "I have work. I missed my class last night—"

"You’re attending night classes?" Lucien interrupted, his interest sharpening. "What for?"

"It's not important," she snapped, dismissing the question. She couldn't tell him she was a law student; she couldn't let him into any part of her life that wasn't this room. "I need to go home. Now."

She moved to swing her legs out of bed, then remembered her state of undress and pulled back under the duvet with a hiss of frustration. "I don’t have any clothes. Can I… can I borrow something?"

Lucien watched her for a long beat, his nostrils flaring as if he were trying to catch that elusive scent again. "Yes. You can find something that fits you in my closet. And don't worry about work. It’s almost midday; I’ve already told Gable you’re taking the day off. After we eat, I’ll take you home."

"No," Natalie said frantically. "I can take the bus. Just give me a shirt and—"

"Your purse and your keys are still at the office, Natalie. You have no money, no ID, and no way into your apartment without me." He stood over her, his shadow long and imposing. "Eat breakfast. Then I drive you. That is the only deal on the table."

Thirty minutes later, Natalie stood in the center of the massive bedroom, dressed in one of Lucien’s black button-down shirts and a pair of his drawstring lounge pants. The sleeves were rolled up several times, and she had to tie the waist of the pants tight to keep them from sliding off her hips. She felt small, swallowed by his scent, which seemed to be soaking into her very pores.

She walked out into the living area, where a spread of eggs, smoked salmon, and fruit was laid out on a dark stone island. Lucien was already there, leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee.

They ate in a silence that was thick with unspoken questions. Natalie kept her head down, but she could feel his eyes on her. Her senses were still heightened—the clink of his fork against the plate sounded like a bell; the smell of the salmon was almost overwhelmingly rich.

She looked up and caught him watching the pulse point in her neck. For a moment, the corporate mask slipped, and she saw that same dark, hungry green in his eyes that she had seen in the office. It wasn't just suspicion; it almost looked like an attraction so primal it made her breath catch. The air between them felt charged, like a static storm about to break.

The drive to her apartment was tense. Lucien drove a black SUV with tinted windows, navigating the Seattle traffic with a focused, silent intensity. When he pulled up to her high-rise, he didn't leave. He waited until she was out of the car, his hand resting on the steering wheel, his gaze fixed on her.

"Stay inside, Natalie," he warned. "If you feel the fever coming back, call me."

"I don't have your number," she pointed out.

"It's saved into the phone I put in your pocket," he said.

Natalie reached into the pocket of the borrowed pants and felt the weight of a sleek, black device. She stared at him, stunned by his presumption, but before she could argue, he had already pulled away from the curb.

As Lucien drove back toward his penthouse, his hands gripped the wheel until his knuckles turned white. His inner wolf was pacing, snarling, demanding he turn back and claim what was his.

His phone buzzed. It was an encrypted line. Marcus.

"Alpha, I have Julian on the line. He’s finished the preliminary sweep of Natalie Sterling."

"Put him through," Lucien growled.

"Lucien," Julian’s voice came through the speakers, sounding deeply unsettled. "This girl is a ghost. I’ve traced her back to Chicago, but after that, the trail turns into a labyrinth. She and her mother moved from city to city every eighteen months or so like they were being hunted. No long-term leases, no close relations, no listed next of kin. They stayed exclusively in high-density urban areas, avoiding the outskirts entirely."

"What about the birth certificate?" Lucien asked.

"Father is unlisted. But here’s the kicker: I dug into the mother, Elena Sterling. According to the state records of her supposed birthplace, the real Elena Sterling was an only child who died of complications from pneumonia at age nine. This woman stole a dead girl's identity years ago and used it to raise Natalie in total isolation."

Lucien’s grip tightened on the wheel. "So the person I have in my building isn't even a Sterling."

"We don't know who she is," Julian admitted. "But whoever her mother was, she was terrified of being found."

Marcus’s voice cut back. "What are your orders, alpha? If she’s a security risk, we should move her to a holding facility."

"No," Lucien said sharply. "Not yet. Julian, I want a team of epsilons assigned to her immediately. I want her watched every second of every day. Every move she makes, every person she speaks to—I want a report. But Marcus?"

"Alpha?"

"Make sure they keep her safe. No one touches her but me."