Aurora's POV
"What?" I asked, my voice flat. I started reaching for the dirty glasses, my mind still stuck on the scorpion tattoo and the blonde girl's giggles.
"I just got word from one of the girls in the VIP lounge," Clara said, leaning closer so only I could hear. "The Alpha King is in town. Like—officially in town. And guess what? He's looking for an assistant. A part-time personal assistant to handle his local affairs while he's here."
I stiffened, my heart skipping a beat. "An assistant?"
"Yeah," she nodded vigorously. "The interview is tomorrow morning at the pack house. I heard the pay is insane. Why don't you check it out? It's a professional gig, Aurora. No masks, no dancing, no... well, no this." She gestured to the dimly lit, lust-filled room around us.
I stared at her, the gears in my head turning so fast it made me dizzy. The Alpha King. The man who sat at the top of the food chain. The man everyone feared. I had never seen him in person, even though we were from the same pack. Rumors said he was always traveling, never staying in one place for long. So hearing that he was back—home—felt unreal.
And the things I had heard about him were scary... some say he is as cold as ice... some say he never smiles... Some say his heart stopped beating a century ago.... some say he is a psycho, and no matter how exaggerated the rumors were, one of them had to be true.
"The interview is tomorrow?" I asked quietly.
"Tomorrow morning, ten sharp," Clara confirmed, misinterpreting my shock for interest. "You have the brains for it, and God knows you need the money for James. This could be your way to pay off your debts, Aurora. A real chance."
I swallowed hard and thought about it... I needed money... I needed money badly, and with my good grades and degree in management, I could give this a shot.
"I'll do it," I said, the words feeling heavy on my tongue. "I'll go to the interview."
Clara beamed, squeezing my hand over the counter. "That's my girl! Just imagine, Aurora. Working at the pack house... it's a world away from this place."
I finished my shift in a blur, my mind already rehearsing answers to interview questions. I didn't get home until 2:00 AM, but sleep wouldn't come. Instead, I pulled my old blazer out of the back of the closet and spent an hour steaming out the wrinkles. I scrubbed the scent of the club's cheap perfume and smoke off my skin until it was red and raw.
The next morning, standing before the massive iron gates of the pack house, I felt smaller than I ever had. The stone walls loomed over me, ancient and intimidating. This was the heart of our pack's power, a place I hadn't stepped foot in since I was a child.
I smoothed my skirt, took a deep breath of the crisp morning air, and pushed through the gates.
The lobby was already crowded. My heart sank. There were dozens of women—and a few men—all dressed in expensive suits, looking polished and confident. Most of them were high-ranking wolves from noble families, their scents thick with the musk of privilege.
"Name?" a stern-looking woman at a mahogany desk asked without looking up.
"Aurora... Aurora Sterling," I replied, trying to stay composed.
She flicked through a list, then handed me a numbered badge. "Number forty-two. Take a seat. The Alpha King is running behind schedule. He's already rejected the first ten candidates for trying to seduce him."
A nervous ripple went through the room. I sat in a hard wooden chair, my back straight, clutching my folder. One by one, people were called into the large double doors at the end of the hall. Most of them came out less than two minutes later, faces pale.
Finally, the doors swung open, and a man in a black suit stepped out. "Number forty-two. Aurora Sterling."
I stood up, my knees feeling like jelly. As I walked into the office, the first thing I noticed was the smell. It was familiar. Too familiar.
Forest rain and expensive whisky.
My breath seized in my throat. I looked toward the massive desk, and my vision blurred for a second. The man sitting there looked familiar. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves down.
He was looking down at my resume, his brow furrowed in a bored scowl. And then, he lifted his head.
My breath hitched, and for a terrifying second, I thought I was looking at the man from the club—the man with the tattoo. But as my vision cleared, the shock hit me for a different reason.
This man had eyes that were a deep, piercing sea-blue—mirrors of my own. And his hair wasn't dark; it was a rich, fiery red, exactly the shade I saw in my own reflection every morning. The resemblance to the masked man was there in the sharp line of his jaw and the broad set of his shoulders, but the coloring was all wrong.
Still, the power radiating off him was suffocating. He didn't just occupy the room; he owned the air within it.
I stood there, frozen, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I stared at him. I couldn't move. I couldn't even blink.
The Alpha King's scowl deepened, his blue eyes hardening into chips of ice as he watched me standing like a statue in the middle of his office. He set my resume down on the mahogany desk with a slow, deliberate snap that sounded like a gunshot in the silent room.
"Have you lost your manners, young lady?" he asked, his voice a low, annoyed growl that made the hair on my arms stand up. "When you enter the presence of your King, you bow."
The authority in his tone was like a physical weight pressing down on my shoulders. My wolf, silent and buried for years, gave a faint, submissive whimper in the back of my mind.
"I—I'm sorry, Your Grace," I stammered, my voice trembling.
I quickly lowered my head, dropping into a deep, shaky bow. My mind was spinning. The confusion was making my head throb, but I forced myself to stay down until he gave me permission to move.
"Sit," he commanded curtly.