CHAPTER 3

ETHAN

Ethan Blackwood closed his eyes, Julian Styles' voice a low, maddening drone about resolved compatibility issues. He muted it all out: the jargon, the self-congratulatory tone, the suffocating stillness of the conference room. It wasn't him. Never had been. He was the CEO, a hands-on alpha who built a billion-dollar company from nothing by focusing on every detail. He lived by the belief that every meeting, every person, every pixel mattered.

But for two days, he’d been off-form, a rudderless ship in his own waters. The wolf inside him growled, a low, guttural note of denial. It was all her. Every beat of his heart was a drum for the night they’d shared, the raw, undeniable need that had consumed them. Even now, he could sense her desire, her scent a phantom on the air. He wanted to feel her long, silky strands of hair in his hands, to jerk her head back and nip at the soft skin of her throat.

A wave of confusion and worry, not his cologne, filled his lungs. He opened his eyes to a wall of stares. The conference room was silent. Every person on his team, except for Ryan Thompson, the head engineer, quickly averted their gaze, suddenly fascinated by the polished mahogany table.

No one here knew what he truly was. They didn't need to know the wolf to recognize the alpha. Millennia of instinct had taught them how to identify a predator, a threat. The wolf reveled in it—in their respect, in their barely concealed fear. It was part of good management, the carrot to the stick. His staff worked most effectively when they feared his disappointment, his wrath. But now, that fear was a problem. It had given him the space to get distracted, to lose control.

"Sir, did you hear me ask a question?" Julian Styles stuttered, his eyes fixed on the manilla folder in front of him.

"Repeat it," Ethan commanded, the words coming out low and rough, an involuntary growl.

He'd scheduled this meeting too close to the full moon. He was riding the ragged edge of it now. The wolf waxed and waned with the lunar cycle, its strength ebbing and flowing, but he’d always kept it leashed. Always. Now, the tether was fraying. Damn her.

The wolf howled, and he gripped the leather armrest of his chair, fighting the urge to tear it to shreds. He fumed at every attempt to push her out of his mind. He had woken up alone, with only her lingering scent as a reminder, and he had tried to erase the memory. He would not have this.

Julian cleared his throat, the sound a nervous rustle in the quiet room. "I asked if we were still on schedule for the investor demo next month." He finished the sentence without stuttering, but he couldn't meet Ethan's eyes.

The team kept their faces buried in their notes, a collective frown of confusion on their brilliant faces. They needed his power, his guidance. Without his authority, this team of programmers and engineers was a rudderless ship. Bloody hell to her for making him so preoccupied, for making him second-guess his own work.

For months, his focus had been laser-sharp, directed entirely on their new project—the crown jewel of their security software. They had leveled the playing field with archival facial recognition. The NYPD and other law enforcement agencies were practically salivating for its launch, a system that would allow them to track criminals and get them off the streets sooner. Everything had been going to plan, with minimal setbacks. He’d never doubted the project until she had stormed into his life and left a trail of chaos in her wake.

His wolf remained leashed, tightly under his control, because he directed his violent tendencies into his other favorite activities. He only indulged in the three Fs: fighting, feeding, and fucking. He engaged in the latter two with brutal, efficient satisfaction. Long-term relationships didn't catch on with the wolf. They all got too close, too soon, and would eventually wonder why he always vanished during the full moon. New York was a city of endless fleeting bedfellows.

He had been stalking one of the most popular clubs in town when he first saw her. The mini-dress she wore hugged her curvy, athletic figure, but it was her hair that truly caught his eye. Long, silky strands framed her heart-shaped face, begging for a hand to be run through them.

He caught the scent of another shifter, a stalking cat looking for a bloodier kind of fun than he was. They were the worst kind of bastards. He thought about stepping in, but then she had taken his attention and his intentions had changed. When she and the other girl got up and went out the back door, he followed, not wanting his fun to be ruined by violence. But she didn't need his help. She had been in control the entire time. When he saw the darkness behind the club, the other shifter seized his chance, lunging with a raised elbow. But she had ducked away, a shot was fired, and she stood over the fallen body, a miniature handgun in her hand. A vengeful angel. Even discovering the truth—that she hunted his people—hadn't diminished her appeal for him.

Now, a new complication. During the same time frame the NYPD had expressed interest, someone from The Holy See had inquired about their system. They claimed it was to protect valuable artworks, but he knew better. Did they plan to use it to track his people? He had followed hunters using her and the system to a St. Michael's Shelter. He had been so close, right on the edge of the truth, but his distraction, her very existence, was getting in the way.

"Yes, we are still going," Ethan said, his voice now a low, assured rumble, the alpha back in control. The tension in the room eased, and the team began to disperse.

His eyes fell to the laptop on his desk. For the hundredth time, he fought against the need to open her file, to find her again, to ensure she was safe. He needed to focus, to direct his energy back to the project. But the wolf was restless, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t know if he could hold the leash. He needed to find her, not just to understand her, but to understand himself.