The city glittered below like spilled jewels as the limousine cut through traffic, silent as a shadow. Maya sat stiffly in the leather seat, her reflection ghostly in the tinted glass. Damon sat beside her, an immovable force of heat and quiet power, his gaze fixed on the storm-streaked skyline.
It had been three days since their wedding. Three days of waking in a bed that felt too large, of wandering a penthouse that seemed more like a fortress than a home. Three days of trying to remember that this was a contract, not a fairytale.
Damon hadn't touched her since the night of the alley—since his wolf had bared itself in silver eyes and a growl that rattled her bones. He hadn't explained, either. He didn't need to. Every moment with him carried the weight of something other. Something she shouldn't want.
And yet.
Every time he entered a room, her body betrayed her—her breath hitching, her pulse quickening, as if her heart already knew it belonged to him.
She hated it.
She hated herself for it.
The limousine slowed. Damon finally spoke, his voice low enough to vibrate through the seat.
"You'll keep your head high. You'll speak only when spoken to. You'll stay at my side."
Maya's jaw tightened. "Sounds less like a wife and more like an accessory."
His silver eyes slid to her, sharp as knives. "Tonight, that's exactly what you are."
Her stomach twisted, but she bit back the retort burning her tongue. She couldn't afford pride. Not here. Not when Ana's life hung on this fragile arrangement.
The limousine pulled to a stop in front of the Solstice Club—an exclusive rooftop palace bathed in golden light, its entrance guarded by men in dark suits who radiated something more than human. Damon stepped out first, the air itself seeming to bend around him. When he offered his hand to help her out, she hesitated.
His brow arched.
Maya slid her palm into his. Heat shot up her arm, startling her. His grip was firm, possessive, as if reminding her: you are mine.
Inside, the club was a cathedral of excess—velvet drapes, chandeliers dripping crystal, laughter and murmurs echoing against marble. But the crowd wasn't ordinary.
She saw it in the too-bright eyes, the predatory stillness, the way some of them turned to watch her like she was prey walking willingly into the lion's den.
The council.
Maya had heard Damon speak the word once, like a curse. A coalition of the most powerful supernatural families who governed Crescent City's shadows. Damon had enemies here. And allies who could turn at any moment.
Whispers rippled through the room as they entered. Damon's hand pressed lightly to the small of her back, guiding her forward with effortless dominance.
"Mr. Blackthorn," a man drawled, stepping from the crowd. Tall, sharp-featured, with pale eyes that glittered like ice. "And this must be your… bride."
His smile didn't reach his eyes.
Maya forced her lips into something polite. "Maya."
"Charming," the man said, his gaze sliding over her like she was a curiosity on display. "A human. Bold, even for you."
The air shifted—subtle, but undeniable. Damon's power uncoiled, filling the space like smoke.
"She is mine," he said simply.
The man's smile faltered. He inclined his head and stepped back.
Maya exhaled, only realizing then that she'd been holding her breath. Damon's hand at her back lingered, steady, a silent reassurance—or a silent claim. She couldn't decide which.
Hours passed in a blur of names she couldn't remember and stares that made her skin crawl. Damon never left her side. When she faltered, his voice cut through, answering for her. When she was cornered, his presence alone sent predators scattering.
But it wasn't until she excused herself to the restroom that she saw it.
The truth of this world.
On her way back, she took a wrong turn, drawn by the hum of voices down a narrow hall. A door was cracked open, spilling golden light. Curiosity tugged stronger than caution. She peeked inside.
And froze.
A woman stood in the center of the room, her hands bound in silver chains that glowed faintly against her skin. Around her, three men circled, murmuring words that buzzed with power. The woman's eyes—amber, wild—met Maya's for one searing instant.
Wolf eyes.
Maya stumbled back, heart hammering. She nearly collided with Damon.
He caught her shoulders, steadying her with unnerving ease. His silver gaze swept her face, reading everything.
"What did you see?"
Her mouth went dry. "She—she had chains. Her eyes—"
His jaw tightened. "You weren't supposed to see that."
"Who was she?"
"A reminder," Damon said flatly. "Of what happens when wolves defy the council."
Ice crawled through her veins. She'd walked into something far darker than a marriage contract.
Damon leaned closer, his breath brushing her ear. "Stay close to me, wife. There are worse things here than chains."
Later, in the limousine, silence thickened between them. Maya stared at the city lights racing by, her reflection pale in the glass.
"You don't belong in their world," she whispered.
"No," Damon agreed. His gaze burned into her. "But you belong in mine."
The words lodged in her chest, sharp and unshakable.
Because the terrifying part wasn't that he believed it.
It was that part of her did, too.