I was reviewing security footage in Alexander's private office when the elevator dinged behind me. The soft chime echoed off the floor-to-ceiling windows where Los Angeles stretched out sixty floors below, a carpet of lights against the darkness. It was past eight PM—the building should have been empty except for night security and cleaning crews.
"Working late again, I see."
My fingers froze over the keyboard. That voice—smooth as aged whiskey and twice as dangerous—sent ice shooting through my veins. I'd heard it whisper my name in darkened hotel rooms and bark commands during weapons training. I turned slowly, my hand drifting instinctively toward the Glock at my hip.
Dr. Damien Cross stood in the doorway like he owned the place, his golden hair perfectly styled despite the late hour. He wore an expensive charcoal suit that emphasized his tall, lean frame, and his blue eyes sparkled with the same dangerous intelligence that had first drawn me to him five years ago.
"Scarlett," he said, stepping into the office with predatory grace. "My star pupil. How is the mission progressing?"
I forced my hand away from my gun and stood up from Alexander's desk. "Damien. What are you doing here?"
"Checking on my investment." His gaze swept the opulent office - the floor-to-ceiling windows, the imported Italian leather furniture, the bar stocked with bottles that cost more than most people's monthly salary. "Impressive accommodations. Kane certainly knows how to live."
"You look..." He paused, studying my face with clinical interest. "Different. Healthier. There's color in your cheeks that wasn't there before."
I moved behind Alexander's desk, putting the massive piece of furniture between us. "Three weeks of regular meals and decent sleep will do that."
"Will it?" Damien selected a crystal tumbler and poured himself three fingers of Alexander's best scotch without invitation. "Or maybe it has more to do with your unusually... intimate relationship with the target?"
The way he said "target" made Alexander sound like a piece of meat hanging in a butcher shop. My jaw clenched involuntarily.
"I'm doing my job. Getting close to Kane, learning his habits, earning his trust."
"Are you?" Damien swirled the scotch, ice cubes clinking against crystal. "Because the reports I'm getting tell a different story."
The way he said 'target' made Alexander sound like a thing rather than a person. I felt my jaw clench.
"I'm doing my job, Damien. Getting close to Kane, learning his weaknesses, gaining his trust."
"Are you?" Damien walked around the desk, forcing me to move again. We were circling each other now like fighters sizing up an opponent. "Because from where I sit, it looks like you're getting a bit too close."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning we have surveillance photos of you entering his private residence. Multiple times. Meaning we have reports of intimate dinners, late-night conversations, private meetings where you disappear for hours without checking in." Damien stopped directly in front of me. "Meaning we have evidence that suggests you're compromising the mission."
My heart was beating fast, but I kept my voice steady. "Everything I've done has been to gain Kane's trust. You can't infiltrate someone's inner circle from arm's length."
"No, but you can lose perspective when you get too close." Damien reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from my face. His touch was gentle, almost loving, but I could feel the steel underneath. "Tell me, Scarlett, when was the last time you checked in with headquarters?"
I tried to remember. Days? A week? Time had gotten blurry since the blood treatments began.
"I've been busy," I said.
"I'm sure you have. Busy playing house with a monster." Damien's hand moved to my throat, not threatening but possessive. "Do you remember what happened to the last hunter who got too close to her target?"
I did remember. Agent Patricia Moreau, found dead in a Paris hotel room three years ago. Officially, she'd been killed by the vampire she was tracking. Unofficially, everyone knew she'd been executed by the organization for going native.
"This is different," I said.
"Is it? Because the reports I'm getting suggest otherwise." Damien's thumb traced my pulse point. "They suggest you've forgotten what Alexander Kane really is."
"I know exactly what he is."
"Do you? Then you know he's killed at least twelve people during his cursed transformations. You know he's a liability to both human and werewolf communities. You know he's exactly the kind of monster our organization exists to eliminate."
Each word hit like a physical blow, but I forced myself not to react. "Alexander has never killed anyone innocent. The deaths you're talking about happened when he was attacked during transformations. Self-defense."
Damien's eyes glittered with something that might have been amusement. "Self-defense? Is that what he told you?"
"It's what I discovered through investigation."
"Your investigation." Damien stepped back, but his gaze never left my face. "Tell me about this investigation, Scarlett. What methods did you use? What sources did you consult?"
He stood and walked to the windows, his reflection ghostlike in the dark glass. "There's something you need to see."
My mouth went dry. "What?"
Instead of answering, Damien pulled out his phone and swiped to a photo. The image was clinical, sterile—a police report cover page with official stamps and case numbers. But the header made my vision blur: "MULTIPLE HOMICIDE - PORTLAND, OR."
"Fourteen months ago," Damien said conversationally, not looking at me. "Kane was in Portland for business meetings. Three days, right around the full moon."
"Stop."
"A mother and two children. Jennifer Walsh, age thirty-four. Emma Walsh, age eight. Michael Walsh, age five." His voice was steady, professional, like he was reading a grocery list. "Found in their suburban home, bodies... well, you can imagine."
The floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet. "You're lying."
"DNA evidence at the scene matched genetic markers we have on file for Alexander Kane. Saliva, hair follicles, skin cells under the mother's fingernails." Damien finally turned to face me. "She fought hard, Scarlett. Really hard."
I grabbed the edge of Alexander's desk, my knuckles white against the dark wood. The room felt like it was spinning, oxygen suddenly scarce.
"There has to be an explanation—"
"There is." Damien's voice was gentle now, almost kind. The way it used to be when he'd patch up my training wounds and tell me I'd done well. "Alexander Kane is exactly what I trained you to recognize—a monster who's learned to wear a human mask."
"No." The word came out as a whisper.
"He's played on every one of your psychological vulnerabilities, hasn't he? Made you feel special, needed, like you're the only one who can save him." Damien moved closer, his footsteps silent on the Persian rug. "Tell me he hasn't made you believe your blood, your touch, is somehow magical. That you're his salvation."
The accuracy of his words hit like physical blows. How could he know about the blood treatments, the electric connection, the way Alexander looked at me like I was his lifeline?
"I can see it in your face," Damien continued, stopping just out of arm's reach. "He's good, I'll give him that. Most monsters don't have his sophistication, his patience. But the result is always the same."
"Which is?"
"Innocent people die. And the hunter who was supposed to prevent it becomes an accessory to murder."
"There has to be an explanation—"
"There is. Alexander Kane is a monster who's been manipulating you from the beginning." Damien put his phone away and stepped closer again. "He's played on your protective instincts, your need to save people, your weakness for damaged men who seem vulnerable underneath."
"Stop."
"He's made you feel special, hasn't he? Like you're the only one who can help him, the only one who understands him. Like you have some unique ability that makes you indispensable."
"Stop." My voice was sharper now.
"And then there's the sexual component. The forbidden romance with a dangerous creature, the thrill of taming something wild and powerful—"
"I said stop!" The words came out louder than I'd intended.
Damien smiled. "There's the fire I remember. For a moment, I thought he'd completely domesticated you."
I took a deep breath, trying to regain my composure. "What do you want, Damien?"
"The same thing I've always wanted. For you to complete your mission." He walked to the bar and poured himself a glass of Alexander's best scotch without asking. "Which brings us to why I'm here."
"Let me guess. You think I've been compromised."
"I know you've been compromised. The question is whether it's salvageable." Damien took a sip of scotch and studied me over the rim of the glass. "The organization has lost patience with your soft approach, Scarlett. They want results."
"What kind of results?"
"The kind we originally discussed. Genetic material. Blood samples. Tissue samples. Whatever it takes to understand what makes Alexander Kane so uniquely powerful."
I felt something cold settle in my stomach. "You want me to hurt him."
"I want you to do your job. Kane is too valuable to kill outright, but we need to understand his biology. His curse, his Alpha abilities, his unusual longevity - there are military applications that could change the balance of power in supernatural conflicts."
"Military applications."
"Imagine being able to create soldiers with werewolf strength and speed but human intelligence and control. Imagine being able to weaponize the curse, or better yet, find a way to immunize our agents against supernatural abilities." Damien's eyes gleamed with enthusiasm. "Alexander Kane isn't just another target, Scarlett. He's the key to revolutionizing how humans deal with supernatural threats."
"By experimenting on him."
"By studying him. And if he happens to be harmed in the process..." Damien shrugged. "That's the price of scientific advancement."
I stared at him, and for the first time since he'd arrived, I saw him clearly. Not the man who'd saved my life, not the mentor who'd trained me, not even the lover who'd once held me while I cried over my family's deaths. I saw a scientist who viewed living beings as test subjects and human suffering as an acceptable cost.
"What if I refuse?"
Damien set down his glass and moved toward me again. "You won't refuse."
"Why not?"
"Because you're too smart to throw away everything we've built together. Because you know that Alexander Kane will eventually revert to his true nature and hurt you. Because you remember what happened to your family and what happens to humans who trust monsters." He reached out and touched my cheek. "And because you know I'll make sure you complete this mission one way or another."
The threat was subtle but unmistakable. I jerked away from his touch.
"How long do I have?"
"Seventy-two hours. Get close enough to take blood samples, tissue samples, whatever you can manage without alerting him to your true purpose. The organization has new extraction methods that will let us collect what we need from minimal samples."
"And after I get these samples?"
"After that, your involvement ends. We'll handle the rest." Damien finished his scotch and set the glass on Alexander's desk. "Unless, of course, you'd like to be part of the research team. I'm sure we could find a use for someone with your... intimate knowledge of the subject."
The casual way he said it made my skin crawl. "No thanks."
"Your choice. But Scarlett?" He paused at the office door. "Don't make the mistake of thinking Alexander Kane cares about you the way you've come to care about him. Monsters are incapable of real affection. They can mimic it, manipulate with it, but they can't feel it. Whatever you think is happening between you and Kane, it's not real."
"How would you know?"
Damien's smile was sharp as a blade. "Because I trained you to be irresistible to exactly this type of target. Your vulnerability, your strength, your protective instincts - I cultivated all of it to make you the perfect lure for damaged alpha males. Alexander Kane isn't falling for you, Scarlett. He's falling for a carefully constructed persona designed to trigger his psychological weaknesses."
The words hit me like physical blows, each one designed to cut deep. Because underneath the cruelty, there was just enough truth to make them sting.
"Seventy-two hours," Damien repeated. "Don't disappoint me."
He stepped into the elevator and was gone, leaving me alone with the scent of his cologne and the echo of his threats.
I stood there for several minutes, trying to process what had just happened. Then I heard footsteps in the hallway outside.
"Scarlett?" Alexander's voice carried concern as he approached his office. "I saw the elevator logs. Someone came up here."
I turned as he entered, taking in his worried expression and the way he immediately moved to my side. He was still wearing his business clothes from earlier, but his tie was loosened and his sleeves were rolled up. He looked tired, human, vulnerable.
Exactly the way Damien said he'd been trained to trigger my psychological weaknesses.
"Who was here?" Alexander asked, his hand coming up to touch my arm.
I felt that familiar electric tingle at the contact and wondered, for the first time, if it was real or just another manipulation.
"No one important," I said, stepping away from his touch. "Just someone from my past."
Alexander's silver eyes searched my face. "Are you all right? You look pale."
"I'm fine. Just tired."
But even as I said it, I knew nothing would ever be fine again. Because in seventy-two hours, I would have to choose between betraying the man I was falling in love with or facing the consequences of defying the organization that owned me.
And I had no idea which choice would destroy me faster.