The penthouse never slept.
Maya had learned that in her first restless nights under Damon's roof. The place was alive with hushed murmurs, the low hum of unseen elevators, the faint vibration of security systems hidden in the walls. Sometimes she swore she heard footsteps when she knew no one was there, a shadow vanishing around the corner before she could turn her head.
She'd asked Damon once how many people lived in this tower of glass and steel. He'd only said, "Enough."
It wasn't an answer. But then again, Damon never gave her real answers.
That morning, Maya padded barefoot into the kitchen, desperate for coffee. She'd slept poorly again, her dreams thick with wolves and fire and Damon's silver eyes cutting through both. The penthouse was cavernous, too big for one man, too empty for comfort. Her footsteps echoed as she crossed the marble floor.
She paused.
Damon was already there.
Not in his tailored armor of black suits but in a black henley and slacks, sleeves shoved to his elbows, dark hair still damp from a shower. He was barefoot, leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee in one hand, reading something on a tablet in the other. The sight shouldn't have stolen her breath. But it did.
He looked human like this. Almost.
His eyes flicked up. "You're awake early."
"I couldn't sleep," she muttered, moving toward the coffee machine like it was a shield. "Your place is… noisy."
A faint smile tugged at his mouth, though it didn't reach his eyes. "The tower watches. That's all."
Her stomach tightened. She didn't want to know what that meant.
She busied herself with the coffee maker, determined not to look at him, determined not to notice how the morning light caught the angles of his face.
"You're adapting quickly," Damon said, setting his tablet down.
She snorted. "To what, exactly? Being a bird in a gilded cage?"
"Better a cage than a grave."
Her hand stilled on the mug. She turned, meeting his gaze. "You always talk in riddles, you know that? Why can't you just—"
The elevator chimed.
Both of them glanced toward it. The doors slid open, revealing a woman. Tall, elegant, draped in emerald silk that clung to her curves. Her red hair spilled in waves down her back, her lips painted the color of wine.
Maya's stomach dropped.
The woman moved with the ease of someone who belonged here, her heels clicking against the marble as she crossed the kitchen. Her sharp green eyes landed on Maya first, assessing her in one sweeping glance, before softening into something sly.
"So," the woman purred. "This is the human bride."
Maya's fingers tightened around her mug.
Damon's jaw flexed. "Selene."
The name rippled through the air like a warning.
Selene smiled, unfazed. She leaned in, brushing her lips against Damon's cheek. He didn't move, didn't react—but Maya's chest squeezed anyway.
"You might have called," Damon said flatly.
"And miss the fun of surprising you?" Selene's gaze slid back to Maya, sharp as a blade. "You don't mind, do you, dear?"
Maya forced a smile, though her voice trembled. "Not at all. I love surprises."
Selene's smirk deepened, as if she could smell the lie.
Damon stepped between them, his presence suddenly larger, darker. "State your business."
Selene waved a delicate hand, rings flashing in the light. "The council grows restless. They whisper that you've chained yourself to weakness. That you've forgotten what it means to be wolf."
"I haven't forgotten." His voice dropped, vibrating with something primal.
Selene tilted her head. "Then prove it. Bring her to the equinox gathering. Let her stand before the elders and see if she survives their scrutiny."
Maya's heart lurched. "What gathering?"
Neither answered her. Damon's eyes burned into Selene's instead, silent sparks flying between them. Finally, he said, "If the council wants to test me, they'll regret it."
Selene's smile was a razor's edge. "We'll see."
She brushed past Maya, her perfume lingering, and disappeared into the elevator without another word.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Maya set her mug down carefully, afraid her hands might betray her. "Who was that?"
"No one," Damon said.
"Don't lie to me."
His eyes snapped to hers, silver flashing. For a moment, the wolf was right there, prowling just beneath his skin. Then he exhaled slowly.
"She's a reminder," he said at last. "Of what I used to be."
Maya swallowed. "And what was that?"
Danger flickered in his gaze, then softened into something rawer. Something that made her heart stumble.
"Alone."
That night, Maya explored.
She told herself it was boredom, curiosity, anything but the truth—that she was searching for answers Damon refused to give. The penthouse was sprawling, a labyrinth of rooms behind heavy doors, some locked, some not. She found an office filled with leather-bound books in languages she couldn't read. A training room lined with weapons that gleamed under soft light.
And then she found it.
A door at the end of a long hall. Unlike the others, this one wasn't just locked. It was sealed, carved with symbols that shimmered faintly in the dark. She reached for the handle—and the air itself pushed her back, cold and sharp, prickling her skin.
"Don't."
She spun. Damon stood at the end of the hall, shadows clinging to him like a cloak. His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of command.
"What's in there?" she asked, breathless.
"Nothing you need to see."
"Why keep it locked, then?"
His eyes gleamed. "Because curiosity kills more than cats."
Her pulse raced. But she didn't back down. "You keep expecting me to play the obedient wife. Maybe I'm not built for that."
He moved closer, slow, deliberate. Each step made her heart pound harder. He stopped so near she could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint trace of rain and smoke on his skin.
"No," Damon murmured. "You're not obedient. You're stubborn. Reckless. Infuriating."
Her breath caught. His gaze dropped briefly to her lips before meeting her eyes again, blazing.
"And that," he said, voice rough, "will either save you. Or ruin you."
For a heartbeat, the air between them burned with something wild, something that felt like standing on the edge of a cliff with the wind roaring, daring her to jump.
Then Damon stepped back, the fire shuttered away, leaving her shaking in the shadows.
"Stay out of locked doors, Maya," he said, his tone once again unreadable. "Some things aren't meant to be opened."
He turned and walked away, leaving her staring after him, breathless, angry, and achingly aware that the biggest locked door of all wasn't at the end of the hall.
It was the man himself.