POV: Elara
Luna was nervous.
It had taken me less than an hour to figure that out, watching the way her hands shook slightly as she led me through yet another wing of Darius's impossibly large house. She kept glancing over her shoulder, as if expecting her boss to materialize out of thin air and disapprove of whatever she was showing me.
"And this is the library," she said, opening heavy oak doors to reveal a room that belonged in a palace. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls, filled with books that looked older than the building itself. "Master Darius said you might appreciate it."
I stepped inside, breathing in the scent of leather and aged paper. It was beautiful, peaceful even, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being managed. Offered pretty distractions to keep me compliant.
"Luna," I said, running my fingers along the spine of what looked like a first-edition Dickens, "how long have you worked here?"
"Three years, miss."
"And in those three years, how many other 'guests' has Darius entertained?"
Her violet eyes widened, and she glanced toward the door. "I... that is..."
"You can tell me. I won't repeat it."
"There haven't been any others, miss. Not like you."
Not like me. What exactly did that mean?
"What about his family? Surely he has relatives who visit?"
"His brother comes sometimes. But Master Darius... he prefers solitude."
A brother. That was the first personal detail I'd managed to extract from anyone in this house. Progress.
"What's his brother like?"
Luna's already pale complexion went chalk-white. "Different. Very different. Master Darius is... controlled. Civilized. His brother is..." She shuddered. "I try to avoid the estate when he visits."
Interesting. And telling.
"When was he here last?"
"Six months ago. There was a... disagreement. About pack politics."
Pack politics. The phrase slipped out so naturally that Luna didn't seem to realize what she'd said until it was too late. Her hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide with horror.
"I didn't... I wasn't supposed to..." She was backing toward the door now, genuine fear radiating from her. "Please don't tell Master Darius I said that. Please."
"Luna, wait—"
But she was already gone, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts and a very significant piece of information.
Pack politics. Not corporate politics, not family politics. Pack.
As in wolves.
I sank into one of the leather armchairs, my mind spinning. It explained so much—the way Darius moved with predatory grace, the deference of his staff, the growling sounds I'd heard in the forest. The way he'd called me "little lamb" with such dark amusement.
The way my instincts screamed danger every time he was near, even as some treacherous part of me was drawn to him like a moth to flame.
Werewolves. I was being held captive by werewolves.
The smart thing would be to panic. To dissolve into hysterics at the realization that everything I thought I knew about the world was wrong. But instead, I felt an odd sense of relief. At least now I knew what I was dealing with.
And if there was one thing I'd learned from a childhood spent moving from place to place, it was how to adapt quickly to new situations.
I spent the next hour exploring the library, looking for anything that might give me more information about my captors. Most of the books were classics, business texts, or what looked like academic papers on various subjects. But tucked away in a corner section, I found something interesting.
A collection of folklore and mythology, with particular emphasis on shapeshifter legends. I pulled down a volume on North American wolf traditions and started reading.
Lycanthropes. Alpha hierarchies. Territorial behavior. Mating bonds.
That last part made my cheeks burn and my pulse quicken in ways I didn't want to examine too closely. But it also gave me crucial information about what might be happening here.
According to the text, lycanthropes were highly territorial and protective of their mates. They could form powerful bonds with humans, but those bonds were typically... permanent.
My hands tightened on the book. Was that what Darius wanted? Some kind of supernatural marriage that I couldn't escape?
The sound of footsteps in the corridor made me quickly shelve the book and grab something less incriminating—a volume of poetry that looked appropriately harmless.
"Miss Elara?" Luna peered around the door, still looking nervous. "Master Darius requests your presence in his office."
Requests. Right.
"Of course," I said, rising gracefully. "Lead the way."
The office wing was as impressive as everything else in this house—all dark wood and expensive fixtures, with the kind of understated luxury that screamed old money. But it was the man behind the massive desk who commanded my attention.
Darius had changed from his suit into dark jeans and a black sweater that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. He looked younger, more approachable, but no less dangerous. If anything, the casual clothes made him seem more predatory, as if he'd shed the civilized businessman facade and revealed the hunter beneath.
"Elara." He gestured to a chair across from his desk. "How are you finding your accommodations?"
"Luxurious," I said truthfully. "Your library is particularly impressive."
Something flickered in his pale blue eyes. "Find anything interesting?"
Was he testing me? Had Luna already reported our conversation?
"Poetry, mostly. I've always enjoyed Browning."
"'How do I love thee, let me count the ways,'" he quoted, leaning back in his chair. "Appropriate choice."
The way he said it, with dark amusement underlying each word, made my skin prickle with awareness. There was a subtext there, a meaning I wasn't quite catching.
"You wanted to see me?" I asked, changing the subject.
"I wanted to discuss your position at Morrison Industries. Your duties, expectations, that sort of thing."
"You mean the job I supposedly interviewed for before you kidnapped me?"
"The job you're going to excel at," he corrected smoothly. "Starting Monday."
He slid a folder across the desk, and I opened it to find a detailed job description, salary information, and a contract that made my eyes widen. The compensation package was more than I'd made in the last two years combined.
"This is..." I stared at the numbers. "This is incredibly generous."
"I believe in rewarding talent."
"Or buying compliance."
His smile was sharp enough to cut. "Perhaps both."
I set the folder aside without signing anything. "What if I refuse?"
"You won't."
The certainty in his voice rankled. "You seem very sure of yourself."
"I am. Because despite your anger, despite your fear, you're intrigued. By me, by this situation, by the possibilities it represents."
He wasn't wrong, and that terrified me more than the kidnapping itself. Because there was something magnetic about Darius Blackthorne, something that called to a part of me I'd kept carefully locked away since my last relationship had imploded.
"Possibilities," I repeated. "Such as?"
He rose from his chair and came around the desk, moving with that fluid grace that I now understood wasn't entirely human. When he reached my chair, he leaned down, bracing his hands on the armrests to cage me in.
"Such as discovering what you're truly capable of," he said softly. "I can sense it in you, Elara. Power. Potential. Something extraordinary waiting to be awakened."
His scent surrounded me—pine and winter air, with an underlying musk that made my pulse race. This close, I could see the flecks of silver in his blue eyes, could feel the heat radiating from his body.
"I'm not extraordinary," I managed, proud that my voice didn't shake. "I'm completely ordinary."
"No." His hand came up to cup my cheek, thumb tracing along my jawline. "Ordinary women don't breach my security. Ordinary women don't ignore psychological barriers that keep most humans away. Ordinary women don't make me question decades of careful control."
The last part was said so quietly I almost missed it. But the vulnerability in his voice, the admission that I affected him as much as he affected me, sent heat flooding through my veins.
"Darius..." I started, then stopped, not sure what I'd been about to say.
"Say it again."
"My name. Say it again."
"Darius." This time it came out breathier, more intimate than I'd intended.
His eyes darkened, and for a moment I thought he might kiss me. Could see the intent in his gaze, feel the tension coiling between us like a living thing. But then he straightened abruptly, putting distance between us.
"Your first assignment," he said, his voice carefully controlled again, "will be to coordinate the marketing campaign for our new territorial expansion."
The change of subject was so abrupt it left me reeling. One moment we'd been sharing some kind of charged moment, and the next he was back to business as usual.
"Territorial expansion?" I asked, still catching my breath.
"We're acquiring several properties in the northern districts. You'll be responsible for managing public perception of the expansion."
Public perception. Of werewolf territory acquisition. This job was going to be more complicated than I'd thought.
"I'll need more details," I said. "Property locations, expansion timeline, target demographics."
"Marcus will provide everything you need. He'll be your primary contact for this project."
"And you?"
"I'll be... observing your progress."
The way he said it made me think he'd be doing more than observing. Much more.
"When do I start?"
"Now." He handed me another folder, this one thick with property surveys and demographic data. "Your office is down the hall. Luna will show you the way."
I stood, gathering the folders against my chest like armor. "And if I have questions?"
"You'll find a way to get answers. You're resourceful, remember?"
There was challenge in his voice, and I found myself rising to meet it. "Yes, I am."
"Good. I look forward to seeing what you discover."
As I reached the door, his voice stopped me.
"Elara?"
I turned back, noting the way he watched me with predatory intensity.
"Don't disappoint me."
The words followed me out of his office and down the corridor, a promise and a threat wrapped in silk. But as Luna led me to my new workspace—a beautifully appointed office with windows overlooking the gardens—I couldn't shake the feeling that I was the one who should be issuing warnings.
Because I was beginning to understand my situation much better now. And if Darius Blackthorne thought he could buy my compliance with a generous salary and pretty surroundings, he was about to learn just how wrong he could be.
The game had changed. And I intended to play it by my own rules.