The first thing Elena noticed was the silence.
Not the peaceful kind—
but the kind that sat heavy on the chest, thick enough to feel like fog. She woke slowly, the weight of a fur-lined blanket covering her legs, her wrists free of restraints but still tingling from where claws had held her. Her breathing was uneven. The bed beneath her was enormous—soft, warm, absurdly luxurious—yet she felt like she was lying on danger itself.
For a long moment, she didn't move.
The room smelled of cedar, cold air, and something sharper… something male. Something animal.
Alpha Draven
Her pulse jumped before she even saw him.
He was sitting in a chair in the corner, elbows on his knees, head down. His hair was wet, dripping onto the wooden floor. A dark sweater clung to his broad shoulders as though he had just thrown it on in a hurry. But what caught her was the tension in his posture—tight, coiled, dangerous.
He lifted his head slowly.
Golden eyes glowed at her through the dark.
A shiver moved down her spine.
"You're awake," he murmured, voice deep and low enough to vibrate through her.
Elena swallowed. "You brought me here."
"You fainted," he said flatly. "Your heartbeat nearly failed. I had to."
"You carried me," she corrected.
A muscle twitched in his jaw. "Should I have left you in the snow?"
She hated that she didn't have an answer. She hated even more that his voice, despite its anger, held something else underneath it—something raw.
Her gaze drifted over his clothes, damp and dark, the sleeves rolled to his forearms. He looked like a storm that hadn't fully passed.
"You shifted," she whispered.
Draven's eyes sharpened. "I always told my wolves not to let a human see them mid-change."
"I'm not just a human," she said softly. "Am I?"
Silence poured between them.
Then his voice dropped, barely above a growl.
"No. You're not."
Elena's breath caught.
Draven rose slowly from the chair. He didn't walk—he prowled. His movements were precise, lethal, controlled only by sheer force of will. He stopped at the edge of the bed, staring down at her like she was a riddle he couldn't solve.
Or prey he didn't trust himself around.
"You smell like fear," he murmured, leaning closer. "But… something else too."
Her heartbeat went wild.
"I'm not afraid," she lied.
His lips curved—dark, slow, dangerous. "You're trembling."
He reached out, brushing his fingers lightly across her wrist. The touch was warm… too warm. The heat spread through her skin as though her blood recognized him.
She pulled her hand back quickly.
"Don't," she whispered.
"Don't what?" he asked.
"Don't act like you want me."
His breath hitched. Just barely. But she heard it.
He leaned even closer, his scent hitting her like snowfire—cool and burning at the same time.
"You think I want you?" he asked in a low, husky whisper. "Elena… wanting you is not the problem."
Her stomach tightened.
"What is?" she whispered.
His eyes darkened—feral, conflicted, hungry.
"The problem," he breathed against her cheek, "is that I'm trying not to destroy you."
Her breath faltered.
For a heartbeat, the world stilled.
Then the door banged open.
Draven snapped his head toward it, instantly stepping between Elena and the intruder. His shoulders tensed, a low growl rumbling from deep in his chest.
A tall man entered—dark hair, cold eyes, wearing the leather insignia of the Crescent Guard. His presence felt like sharpened steel.
"Alpha," he said sharply. "We have a problem."
"Speak," Draven ordered, voice still edged with the animal that had almost taken over.
The guard's eyes flicked to Elena briefly, then back to Draven.
"Rogues crossed the northern border. Two of your hunters have gone missing. And… there are signs of magic."
Magic.
Elena stiffened. Draven's head turned slightly toward her. His voice became razor-cold.
"Get the pack ready," he commanded. "I'm coming."
The guard nodded and left.
Draven looked down at Elena again—this time with a different kind of intensity.
"You will stay here," he said. Not a request. A command.
"And if I don't?"
His jaw flexed. "Then I'll lock you in."
Her breath hitched. "Why are you acting like I matter?"
Draven froze.
When he spoke, his voice was almost broken.
"Because for the first time in my life…"
He stopped, eyes storm-dark.
"I can smell my mate."
Elena's entire world tilted.
Draven stepped away before she could process the words.
"Stay in this room," he ordered, voice thick with struggle. "If you leave… I won't be able to protect you."
He didn't look back as he left.
The door slammed shut, echoing like a warning and a promise.
And for the first time, Elena felt something colder than fear.
Destiny.