Wolf in the Glass Tower

The Penthouse

Roman POV

“Emanuel.” My voice echoed through the mind-link, cold and absolute, as I carried Clara’s limp body out of the alleyway and into the driving rain. She weighed practically nothing in my arms, her head resting against my chest. Her pulse was a frantic, erratic flutter against my heightened senses, and the metallic scent of her blood from the head wound made Shadow claw violently at the edges of my control.

“Alpha,” Emanuel responded instantly.

“Bring the SUV to the corner of 5th and Pike. Now,” I commanded, my jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached. “And send a cleanup crew to the alley behind The Neon Crow. There is a rogue corpse in the dumpster. The other one is alive, with broken ribs. Take him to the holding cells in the sub-basement. I want to know exactly who sent them.”

“Understood. I am two blocks away.”

I held Clara tighter, shielding her face from the freezing mist with my coat. The men in the alley hadn’t just been random muggers. They had specifically targeted her because she smelled like me. Because she was under my protection. The unknown enemy coordinating the rogues had finally made a move against my territory, and they had nearly killed my mate to do it.

A sleek, armored black SUV pulled up to the curb a moment later. Emanuel threw the back door open, his dark eyes snapping to the unconscious woman in my arms. He didn’t ask questions. He simply stepped back, keeping a watchful eye on the dark street as I gently placed Clara into the spacious backseat and climbed in beside her.

“The penthouse,” I told him, pulling Clara’s head onto my lap so I could keep pressure on the bleeding cut near her temple.

“Should I alert Edward?” Emanuel asked from the driver’s seat, seamlessly pulling the heavy vehicle into the sparse late-night traffic.

“Yes. Tell the doctor to meet us there immediately.”

The ride was agonizingly silent. I kept my eyes fixed on Clara’s pale face. Her dark hair was damp from the rain, clinging to her cheeks. She looked so fragile, so entirely out of place in my violent world. I had tried to keep my distance to protect her, and it had backfired spectacularly. I wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

When we reached my building, I carried her straight up the private elevator to the top floor. My penthouse spanned the entire roof of the residential high-rise—a fortress of reinforced glass, steel, and state-of-the-art security systems.

Edward, the pack’s primary physician, was already waiting in the living room with his medical bag. He was an older wolf, his grey hair neatly cropped, possessing a calm, clinical demeanor that made him an excellent doctor for a pack of volatile predators.

“Bring her this way, Alpha,” Edward said, gesturing toward the master bedroom.

I laid Clara gently on the dark grey sheets of my massive bed. Shadow purred approvingly in the back of my mind as her scent—vanilla and sweet orange—began to mix with my own cedarwood scent embedded in the linens. Mate in the den.

I paced the length of the bedroom while Edward worked, shining a small penlight into her eyes and cleaning the gash on the side of her head. Every time she whimpered in her sleep, a low, warning growl rumbled in my chest before I could suppress it.

After twenty agonizing minutes, Edward packed away his supplies.

“She will be fine, Roman,” Edward said quietly, keeping his voice low to avoid triggering my protective instincts further. “She has a moderate concussion, which explains why she lost consciousness. The cut on her head isn’t deep enough to require stitches, but it will bruise terribly. She needs rest, hydration, and someone to monitor her for the next twelve hours.”

“I’ll watch her,” I said immediately.

Edward hesitated, glancing at Clara and then back to me. “She is entirely human, Roman. When she wakes up... the proximity to you, the scent of a dominant Alpha... it might overwhelm her.”

“I will handle it, Edward,” I said, a clear note of finality in my voice. “Thank you. Emanuel will see you out.”

When the doctor left, I pulled a heavy leather armchair close to the side of the bed and sat down. I watched the steady rise and fall of her chest, preparing myself for the barrage of questions she was going to unleash the second she opened those sharp, intelligent eyes.

Clara POV

My head felt like it had been split open with a dull axe.

I groaned, a dry, raspy sound, and tried to pry my eyes open. The light in the room was incredibly dim, but even the faint glow from the city skyline outside sent a sharp spike of pain right through my temples.

I blinked against the blurriness, trying to piece together where I was.

This wasn’t my cramped, cheap apartment. I was lying in a bed so large and soft it felt like a cloud. The sheets were dark, expensive silk, and they smelled overwhelmingly of sharp cedarwood and black pepper.

The scent triggered a sudden, chaotic rush of memories. The crowded bar. The twitchy men. The freezing rain. The terrifying moment in the alley when the canister was knocked from my hand.

And then... Roman.

My breath caught in my throat. I turned my head sharply, instantly regretting it as the room spun.

He was sitting in a dark leather chair beside the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together. He was watching me with an intensity that made the air in the room feel heavy. He had changed out of his wet clothes and was wearing a simple, dark grey t-shirt that stretched tightly over his chest and shoulders.

“Don’t move too fast,” Roman said, his deep voice a soft, gravelly rumble in the quiet room. “You have a concussion.”

“Where am I?” I whispered, my mouth feeling like it was stuffed with cotton.

“My home,” he replied. “My personal doctor examined you. You have a nasty bump on the back of your head, but there’s no permanent damage. You’re safe.”

I stared at him, my heart picking up a frantic rhythm against my ribs as the hazy, violent images from the alley replayed in my mind. The way the man had been thrown like a ragdoll. The bone-crushing sound of his body hitting the metal dumpster. The impossible, glowing gold I thought I had seen in Roman’s eyes.

“You killed that man,” I said, my voice trembling.

“He’s not dead,” Roman answered evenly, though his jaw flexed at the mention of the attacker. “He is in police custody. They both are.”

“Roman, I saw you,” I pushed, struggling to sit up. The silk sheets pooled around my waist. I realized my wet coat and boots had been removed, leaving me in just my slacks and blouse. “You threw a grown man ten feet through the air with one hand. And your eyes... they were glowing. Like an animal.”

Roman didn’t flinch. He didn’t look away. He just reached out, picking up a glass of water from the nightstand and offering it to me.

“Drink this, Clara,” he said gently.

I took the glass with a shaking hand, taking a slow sip. The cool water soothed my dry throat, but it did nothing to calm my racing mind.

“You hit your head very hard against a brick wall,” Roman said, his tone entirely reasonable, almost clinical. “Head trauma combined with a sudden rush of adrenaline causes severe visual hallucinations and distortions in time and speed. The streetlights in the alley were flickering. They caught the reflection in my eyes.”

“But your strength...”

“I have extensive, private military combat training,” he interrupted smoothly. “And I had the element of surprise. When a man is choking an employee of mine in a dark alley, I don’t hold back. Adrenaline did the rest.”

I stared at him, desperately searching his dark brown eyes for a lie. It was a perfectly logical, perfectly human explanation. Concussions caused confusion. Adrenaline gave people the strength to lift cars. My mind, desperate for a rational anchor after the chaos of the attack, latched onto the excuse.

But my intuition—that deep, hyper-aware instinct that had kept me alive for twenty-two years—was screaming that he was lying.

“Why were you there?” I asked, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Three miles away from your office, in the pouring rain, at the exact moment I was attacked?”

Roman’s gaze darkened. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the edge of the mattress. He was so close I could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

“Because Emanuel told me you left the building looking like you were ready to snap,” Roman admitted, his voice rough. “Because I knew you had been drowning in spreadsheets for three days. I had him keep an eye on you, to make sure you got home safe. When he called and said you were being followed by two men... I was the closest.”

He reached out, his large, warm hand hovering over mine for a second before gently wrapping around my trembling fingers. The contact sent a jolt of pure electricity straight up my arm.

“I am sorry you were attacked, Clara,” he murmured, his thumb brushing a slow, soothing circle against my skin. “But you are not going back to your apartment.”

I blinked, the soft intimacy of his touch completely scrambling my brain. “What?”

“Those men knew who you worked for. Until my security team figures out how they knew you were a Sterling consultant, your apartment is compromised.” He squeezed my hand slightly, his expression leaving absolutely no room for argument. “You are staying here. With me.”