Sera Blake hadn't been able to sleep since the night at the club.
Something had changed. She felt it in her bones — a heat beneath her skin, a buzz in her blood like electricity waiting to spark. Even now, sitting in her tiny kitchen with a steaming cup of tea, her hands trembled slightly.
It wasn't fear. Not exactly.
It was the aftertaste of him.
Lucien.
She'd only been near him for minutes, but it had shaken something loose inside her. That look in his eyes — like she was a secret he'd been waiting his whole life to find. That voice — dark, dangerous, addictive. And the way his mouth brushed her hand… it had felt like a silent promise.
And now there was this card.
She stared at the black envelope in front of her, lying like a curse on her kitchen counter.
No name. No address. Just that silver wolf emblem pressed into thick matte card, smooth beneath her fingertips.
She had found it in her mailbox that morning, and the moment she touched it, a strange chill skated up her spine — like someone, somewhere, had suddenly noticed her. The air had felt heavier since.
Sera took a shaky breath.
Was she really going to do this?
The phone number on the back shimmered faintly in the light, as though it had been written in mercury.
She shouldn't call. Every instinct said don't. This was the kind of decision girls made in horror movies, right before they disappeared into the woods.
But Sera had always hated playing it safe.
Her finger hovered. And then, with a racing heart…
She dialed.
It didn't ring.
It growled.
Low. Feral. One heartbeat… two…
Then the line clicked.
Silence.
And then his voice — deep, rough velvet — slid down her spine like a caress.
"You finally called."
Her throat went dry. "Lucien?"
"I've been waiting," he murmured. "Didn't think you'd do it so soon."
"I shouldn't have," she said, voice low, trembling. "But I can't stop thinking about you."
He chuckled softly — and God, even that sound made her thighs press together.
"You're not imagining it," he said. "The connection. The heat. It's real, Sera. And it's not going away."
"I don't understand what's happening to me," she whispered. "Why do I feel like I'm… coming undone?"
"Because you are," he said. "Piece by piece. And I'm the only one who knows how to put you back together."
Her heart thundered in her chest.
"Where are you?" she breathed.
The air around her shifted.
"I'm already outside."
Her hand flew to her mouth.
She turned, and through the slats of her window blinds, she saw him.
Lucien Cross stood just across the street, leaning against his black motorcycle, dressed in a fitted dark coat with the collar up. His shirt was half-buttoned, revealing the lines of his chest. His gaze locked with hers through the glass, and even from here she could feel the weight of his hunger.
He raised one brow. A silent invitation.
She didn't hesitate.
Minutes later, Sera opened the door, and Lucien stepped inside without a word. The space felt instantly smaller. Hotter.
He stood there, close but not touching, his scent wrapping around her — wild, smoky, with a hint of something ancient and male.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered.
He leaned in, voice rough. "You called me."
"You're dangerous."
"I told you," he murmured against her ear, "I'm not the kind of man you meet in daylight."
His hand brushed a lock of hair from her cheek, lingering on her skin. Her body arched toward him like it belonged there.
"Then why are you here?" she asked.
Lucien's lips hovered over hers. "Because you're already mine. You just don't know it yet."
Sera didn't pull away. Couldn't.
And when he kissed her — slow, dark, consuming — she realized nothing would ever be the same again.
She'd stepped into the fire willingly.
And Lucien?
He was just getting started.