ChapterTwo
877 Words
Jacob Curry – POV
The storm is still very much alive. It's mostly like this in Tomville. Heavy downpour is the city's way of bleeding.
I stand near the glass wall of my office, watching lightning run through the clouds. I stare at my reflection—executive suit, cold eyes, and something else beneath the surface I've spent years pretending doesn't exist.
I can still smell her. Warm, human. Except she might not be just that, right?
“Jane Blackwood," I whisper. The name tastes bitter and hot.
The elevator door closes behind me with a low buzz. She’s not here anymore—for now.
Luca’s voice comes through the earpiece.
“I've handled the rogue, but he wouldn't say who he was looking for.”
“Handled how?”
“Uh, barely alive.”
Fine. I've yet to answer questions about dead rogues, and I don't need another complaint.
“Did he say her name?” I ask.
“Negative. But he has the scent of the Northern pack. The one that went wild after the purge.”
My fists ball, and I clench my jaw. Nothing of the Northern pack should remain, they were wiped out ten years ago.
And yet—she had the mark. The same faint glow that only bloodlines from that region carry.
“Get me everything you can find about her. It must be discreet.”
“I’m on it, boss,” Luca says. “But boss—are you sure bringing her here is smart? You don’t mix business with—”
“You don't want to finish that sentence,” I warn.
He chuckles. “Forget I said anything.” The line clicks off.
My office goes silent again, only the rain disrupts it.
My eyes roll to the table, and the contract tablet stares back at me. Her signature pulsates, as if it's alive.
The glyph responded when she wrote. This shouldn't happen, unless there is a half bond mark, half spell. And she felt it, which is quite strange.
Which means she’s not just human.
My wolf stirs, but I tame it with control and medication. I growl.
I close my eyes. Her scent flashes in my mind again—rain, fear, defiance. The kind that gets under your skin.
No. She owes me, nothing more.
About an hour later, I take the private elevator to the guest floor. Her scent bites my nose before the doors even open. Then the scent of fresh soap and lavender cuts in.
She’s still wearing her torn jacket, standing close to her window, and staring down at the city.
“You need to rest,” I say.
She spins, startled. “You scared me.”
“I know,” I reply.
Her jaw clenches, and her fist balls. She's trying to look strong, but I can hear the pain in her pulse, and smell of fatigue.
“I don't get why you want to do this,” she says.
“There’s a million people out there who could play fake girlfriend much better than I ever can.”
“I don't trust a million people,” I answer.
“And you trust me?” she asks.
“I don't, but your desperation makes you reliable,” I reply with a smile.
She slams her palm against the window. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Efficient,” I correct.
I move closer, and she steps back until her shoulder hits the wall. Her scent floods my senses—warm, electric. My wolf tries to push out, but I manage to chain it inside.
“Go to bed, Miss Blackwood,” I whisper. “You’ll need all the strength you can get tomorrow.”
“For what?”
“Training.”
She squints her eyes. “What am I training for?”
“To play the part of the Alpha’s fiancée convincingly,” I answer.
She stares at me with confusion written all over her face. “Alpha?”
“It’s a figure of speech,” I reply, though the lie burns on my tongue.
Later, in my penthouse, I pace the room like a caged animal.
I am not celebrating like I should. I am lost in thoughts about how steady she acts towards me for someone who is broken. Too knowledgeable for someone ignorant of our world.
My wolf growls low inside me. It’s been years since I’ve heard it so clearly.
“Not now,” I mutter.
It refuses to listen. The beast becomes restless, hungry, pressing against the edges of my control.
I pull my drawer and reach for my suppressant—small silver capsules that hold the Lycan side in check. I gulp one without water. The bitter taste coats my tongue like ash.
It won’t hold forever. It never does.
For a moment, I think I hear her heartbeat, then the sound fades.
Thunder runs through the sky.
I look at my table once again, and the mark still gleams—her name, bound to mine by magic I should be avoiding.
“Blackwood,” I whisper again. “Who are you?”
Another howl answers from a distance. It's furious, deep, and close.
And for the first time in years, the wolf inside me smiles.
- Writer
