POV:Darius
The boardroom fell silent as I entered, the scent of fear permeating the air like expensive cologne. Twenty-three executives sat around the mahogany table, their heartbeats thundering so loudly I could have counted each pulse. They thought they were predators in their thousand-dollar suits and polished shoes. They had no idea what real predation looked like.
"Gentlemen," I said, my voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "I trust you've reviewed the quarterly projections."
The man at the far end, I think his name was Henderson—cleared his throat nervously. "Mr. Blackthorne, the numbers are... concerning. The acquisition of Morrison Industries has put us over budget by—"
"Forty-seven million." I didn't need to look at the reports. Numbers were child's play compared to the calculations that truly mattered in my world. "Tell me, Henderson, what do you think happens to executives who cost me forty-seven million dollars?"
The color drained from his face. Around the table, grown men shifted uncomfortably in their seats, suddenly fascinated by their coffee cups and legal pads. They should be uncomfortable. Fear kept them sharp, kept them loyal. Fear kept them alive.
I circled the table slowly, my hand trailing along the back of each chair. "Morrison Industries wasn't just a business acquisition. It was a strategic positioning. Every factory, every distribution center, every shipping route—they all serve a purpose beyond your comprehension."
What they didn't know was that Morrison's supply chain ran directly through three pack territories. What they couldn't understand was that controlling those routes meant controlling the movement of rogues, the flow of information, the balance of power that had kept the supernatural world hidden for centuries.
"The forty-seven million," I continued, stopping behind Henderson's chair, "is irrelevant. What matters is that we now control every major shipping lane from here to the Canadian border. What matters is that our enemies can't move without my permission."
Henderson's pulse spiked. I could smell his sweat, hear the rapid flutter of his heart. Human fragility never ceased to amaze me. One predator's stare and they crumbled like paper in rain.
"However," I said, returning to the head of the table, "losses require consequences. Henderson, you're relieved of your duties. Security will escort you out within the hour."
No protests. No pleas for mercy. They'd learned long ago that arguing with Darius Blackthorne was like arguing with a hurricane—pointless and potentially fatal.
After they filed out like sheep heading to slaughter, I stood alone in my glass tower, looking out over the city that sprawled beneath me like a living map of my territory. Chicago gleamed in the afternoon sun, its steel and concrete hiding secrets that would drive ordinary humans mad. But I wasn't ordinary, and this wasn't just a city.
It was my domain.
Every street corner had eyes. Every alley had ears. The homeless man sleeping under the bridge reported to my network. The barista at the coffee shop three blocks away was pack. The police captain who thought he ran this city's law enforcement. He answered to me, whether he knew it or not.
My phone buzzed—a text from Marcus, my head of security. Council meeting tonight. They're getting restless about the prophecy.
The prophecy. Three words that had haunted my family for generations, passed down like a curse wrapped in cryptic verses and blood-stained parchment. According to the ancient seers, a female would come—one whose power would either elevate the lycanthrope species to unprecedented heights or destroy everything we'd built.
"When moon and shadow dance as one, the Alpha's fate shall be undone. She who walks between the worlds will bring either salvation or the end of all."
Romantic poetry written by dead mystics. I'd spent decades dismissing it as superstitious nonsense, but recent events had made even me take notice. Rogues were moving differently, forming alliances that defied centuries of territorial law. Ancient bloodlines were awakening. The very air hummed with change.
And then there were the dreams.
Dreams of storm-grey eyes and defiant lips. Dreams of a voice that could make me feel like a trained dog or bow like a worshipful subject. Dreams of a scent so intoxicating it made my wolf howl in recognition before I'd even caught a glimpse of its source.
I pushed the thoughts away. Dreams were weakness, and weakness got alphas killed.
My intercom crackled. "Mr. Blackthorne? Your 4 PM has arrived."
"Send them in."
But as I turned from the window, something made me pause. A shift in the air, subtle as a whisper but unmistakable to enhanced senses. The scent of rain and wild roses drifted through the ventilation system, completely out of place in the sterile corporate environment.
My wolf stirred restlessly beneath my skin, recognizing something my rational mind couldn't quite grasp. Someone new had entered my territory—someone who didn't belong, didn't fit the carefully catalogued profiles of every human and supernatural creature within a fifty-mile radius.
Someone dangerous.
I moved to the window again, scanning the streets below with predatory focus. Somewhere out there, an unknown variable had just upset the delicate balance I'd spent years establishing. The timing couldn't be coincidental—not with the prophecy whispers growing louder, not with the council breathing down my neck, not with my dreams becoming more vivid each night.
My reflection stared back from the glass—cold blue eyes, sharp features that had made board members weep and enemies surrender. But behind that reflection, I caught sight of something that made my blood run cold and hot simultaneously.
A figure moving through the crowd below. Female. Dark hair catching the sunlight like spun silk. And even from forty floors up, even though glass and steel and the chaos of urban noise, I could feel her presence like electricity in my veins.
She was here.
And everything was about to change.