The sun crept through the tall curtains of Alpha James's bedroom, stabbing light into his skull. James groaned, dragging a hand over his face. His body felt heavy, as if he had wrestled three wolves at once. His mouth was dry, his head pounding from wolfsbane-laced liquor.
"Fuck," he muttered, sitting up. The sheets twisted around his waist smelled of sweat and… something else.
His eyes narrowed. A woman. Her warmth still lingered in the mattress, but she was gone.
He shut his eyes, flashes returning—blonde hair falling over pale shoulders, soft skin against his, her lips trembling under his. The way she had clung to him, half resisting, half surrendering. He felt it in his bones. He hadn't dreamed it.
"Who the hell…" James pressed his palms to his eyes, growling. He reached for the shirt on the chair, yanking it over his head. The scent should've told him who she was, but oddly—it had vanished. As if she'd been scrubbed from his senses. That was impossible. Wolves carried scent like a mark.
The door creaked open.
"Alpha." Lyon stepped in, his Beta, tall and smug as always. "You look like hell."
"Feel like it," James muttered. "Last night—I was poisoned. Wolfsbane in the drinks."
Lyon's brows lifted. "And yet you came home with company, it seems." His eyes flicked to the bed, then back. A sly smile spread. "Who was she?"
James's jaw clenched. "That's the problem. I don't know."
"You don't—?" Lyon chuckled. "That must have been one hell of a night."
James glared. "Don't play with me. She was real. I remember her." He pushed to his feet, pacing. "Her body… her touch. She was mine." His hand curled into a fist. "But her face—it's like it's been erased. I need to find her."
"Alpha." Lyon leaned against the doorframe, voice easy. "You're chasing smoke. Maybe it was just a dream mixed with wolfsbane. Forget it. You have wars to fight, lands to claim. Not some nameless bed partner."
James's eyes burned with sudden heat. "No. She's not nameless. She's mine. And I'll find her."
Lyon tilted his head, a smile tugging at his lips that didn't reach his eyes. "If you say so."
In the servant quarters, Emma sat on the edge of her thin mattress, staring at her hands. They were trembling. No amount of scrubbing in the wash basin had taken away the feel of his touch. Her lips still burned where he'd kissed her.
She wanted to claw her own skin off.
"Phew," she whispered, pressing her forehead to her palms. "Why didn't I stop him? Why didn't I fight harder?"
"Emma."
She jumped. Clara, the older maid with sharp eyes, stood by the door carrying a basket of laundry. "You look pale. What happened? Did someone—?"
"No," Emma said quickly, shaking her head. "Nothing. I'm fine."
Clara set down the basket and narrowed her eyes. "You don't look fine. You look like you've seen a ghost."
Emma bit her lip. She couldn't tell anyone. If word spread that she'd been in James's bed, she'd be dead before sunset. Still, her chest felt like it would burst if she didn't speak something.
"Clara… tell me something."
"What?"
Emma hesitated, then asked, "How ruthless is he? The Alpha. James Crawford."
Clara snorted. "Ruthless? That's a soft word. You think a man who wipes out an entire pack to the last cub is anything less than a monster?"
Emma's breath caught. She lowered her eyes.
Clara didn't notice. She went on, folding a sheet with sharp flicks. "I heard he slit your old Alpha's throat with his own hands. Didn't even blink. Burned the Moon Flame lands so nothing could grow. That's the kind of man he is. If you're smart, Emma, you keep your head down and never catch his eye."
Emma swallowed hard. Memories slammed back—her father's roar as he fell, the fire swallowing their home, her mother's scream cut short. And James standing over it all, his eyes cold, his jaw set in pride.
Another memory: the night she had first seen him after being dragged into Blue Moon territory. The instant the bond had snapped into place, a tether burning through her chest. She had whispered, "Mate," hope breaking through her grief—only to see his lips twist in disgust.
"I don't take mates from enemies," he had said flatly, voice sharp as a blade. "You mean nothing to me."
He had severed the bond in that moment, rejecting her. The pain had been like claws ripping her heart out. She'd thought it might kill her.
Emma shook her head, pulling herself back to the present.
"Why do you ask?" Clara pressed, eyeing her.
"No reason," Emma said quickly. "I just… wanted to know."
Clara gave her a long look but didn't push. "Well, now you know. Don't ever forget it."
Emma nodded, biting the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.
That night, Emma lay curled on her cot, staring at the cracked ceiling. Around her the other servants snored softly. Her body still hummed with the memory of his hands, his voice whispering mine into her skin. She hated herself for shivering at the thought.
She pressed her fists to her eyes. "I'll forget it," she whispered. "I'll bury it. He'll never know it was me."
But her hand drifted to her stomach without her meaning it to, fingers resting there as if guarding something fragile.
Across the mansion, James stood at his window, the city lights of Velvetham glowing in the distance. His head still ached, but his resolve was clear.
"I'll find you," he murmured to the night. "I don't care how long it takes. You're mine."