POV – James Ashford
I didn't want the night to end.
The thought pulsed in my mind the moment I stopped the car in front of her building. The city lights shimmered faintly against the windshield, and for a second, neither of us spoke. She sat there beside me — so close, and yet still impossibly out of reach — her profile caught in the soft glow from the streetlamps.
Every instinct inside me screamed not to let her go.
Her laughter still echoed faintly in my head, the warmth of her voice, the way she'd looked at me across the table — a mix of curiosity, nervousness, and something deeper she tried to hide but couldn't. I'd felt it. I knew it.
The wolf inside me — that relentless, primal part of who I was — stirred restlessly beneath my skin. It hated endings. It wanted her. It wanted to keep her close, to claim, to protect.
But I couldn't. Not yet.
I gripped the steering wheel lightly, fighting the urge to say something that would make her stay. To ask her to dinner again tomorrow. To find any excuse to keep her by my side a little longer.
But the last thing I wanted was to frighten her.
She wasn't ready.
She didn't know what I was — what she was.
And God, how was I supposed to tell her? How do you tell the woman who makes your pulse quicken and your instincts burn that she's the mate destined for a creature she doesn't even believe exists?
I turned to her, ready to say something — anything — when her voice broke through the tension.
"Do you want to come up for a drink?"
For a heartbeat, I thought I'd misheard her. My chest tightened, the world narrowing to the sound of her voice. The wolf inside me jolted, alert and elated, a fierce energy surging through me like fire.
She had no idea what that invitation meant — to me.
To us.
I met her gaze. She looked nervous, uncertain, but there was something else there too… that same magnetic pull neither of us could deny.
"Are you sure?" I asked softly, because I needed to give her that chance to take it back — even though every cell in my body was praying she wouldn't.
Her lips curved slightly, her voice low. "I'm sure. It's just a drink, James. Nothing more."
Just a drink.
I almost smiled. The wolf in me didn't believe in "just a drink." Not with her. Not when every moment near her felt like gravity itself had shifted.
Still, I forced myself to keep my expression calm. Polite. Controlled. "Then I'd like that," I said simply.
She nodded, stepped out of the car, and I followed, keeping just enough distance to breathe. But it was useless — the scent of her filled the air, a subtle blend of vanilla and something wilder beneath. Something I couldn't quite name, but that called to me with dangerous familiarity.
We walked side by side to the entrance, the night air cool against the rising heat in my veins. I could hear her heartbeat — steady at first, then quicker as she searched for her keys. The small sound made my chest ache.
When she turned to me with that shy smile, I had to remind myself to breathe. She didn't know what she was doing to me — or maybe she did, and that only made her more irresistible.
"Are you always this nervous around people you invite for drinks?" I teased gently, just to ease her tension — and mine.
Her laugh was soft, melodic. "No. Only around certain people."
I smiled at that. Certain people. I could live with that.
When she opened the door, a wave of warmth met us — her warmth. The faint fragrance of her perfume lingered in the air, sweet and soft, wrapping around me like a spell. I followed her inside, every sense heightened, every nerve alive.
Her apartment was exactly how I'd imagined her space would be — clean lines, neutral tones, everything in its place, yet lived-in, warm, hers. The furniture was modern, minimalistic, but there were small touches that spoke volumes — a stack of well-worn books by the couch, a soft throw blanket, a small vase of fresh flowers on the coffee table.
And the scent…
It was everywhere. Her scent.
Something in my chest tightened, and for a fleeting moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to come here again. To see her move about this space as if I belonged in it.
She disappeared briefly into the kitchen, and I stood by the window, hands in my pockets, trying to look composed. But inside, the wolf paced restlessly.
She's ours.
She's ours.
She's ours.
I took a slow breath, grounding myself in the rhythm of the city beyond the glass. I couldn't let the wolf take over — not tonight. Not when she didn't even know what she was walking into.
When she returned, holding two glasses of wine, I turned to her — and for a moment, everything else faded. She looked at me, cheeks still faintly flushed, her smile shy but genuine. The soft lamplight caught the warmth in her eyes, and I felt something inside me shift again.
She handed me a glass, her fingers brushing mine. Just that — a single touch — and my pulse roared.
"Thank you," I murmured. My voice came out lower than I intended, roughened by restraint.
She smiled, lifting her glass slightly. "To… unexpected evenings?"
I met her eyes, holding them. "To the kind that stay with you."
The crystal clinked softly, and we both drank.
I watched her, memorizing every detail — the way her lips curved against the rim of the glass, the way her lashes lowered when she set it down. And as I stood there, in her space, in her presence, I knew something with terrifying certainty:
This woman was going to change everything.
And though every instinct in me wanted to pull her close, to taste her, to claim what was mine — I forced myself to stay still.
Because the truth was simple and devastating:
She was my mate.
She just didn't know it yet.
And I couldn't lose her before she even understood what we were.
The wine was good. But it wasn't the wine that made my head swim.
It was her.
Elena moved gracefully through her apartment, her steps light, almost hesitant — like she was half-afraid of breaking whatever fragile thing existed between us. I watched her tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her cheeks still tinted with the faintest blush from the evening.
She sat opposite me on the couch, a comfortable distance away, though every nerve in my body screamed to close it.
I forced myself to stay composed — body still, expression calm, voice steady. But inside, it was chaos. The wolf clawed at the surface, wild and desperate. The scent of her — warm, floral, human, hers — filled every breath I took. It pulled at me in a way that was almost unbearable.
I took a slow sip of the wine, grounding myself. Control, I reminded myself. She didn't know. She couldn't know.
"So…" she began softly, her voice breaking the quiet. "Do you always accept drinks from your employees?"
I smiled faintly, turning my head toward her. "Only when they're charming enough to make me forget I'm their boss."
Her lips parted slightly, her breath catching. I saw the pulse in her throat quicken, and it sent a rush of heat through me I barely contained.
She laughed lightly, trying to hide her nervousness. "That sounds dangerously close to favoritism, Mr. Ashford."
"Then I'll risk the accusation," I said quietly, my gaze steady on hers.
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable — it was charged. The kind of silence that hums, alive with things unsaid.
She set her glass down on the table, fingers brushing against the rim, restless. "Tonight was… wonderful," she admitted after a moment, her tone almost shy. "I didn't expect it to be, honestly. I thought it would be awkward, but it wasn't."
"I'm glad," I said, softer than I intended. "I didn't want it to feel like work. I wanted…"
I hesitated, words catching in my throat. What did I want? Everything. Her. This.
"…I wanted to get to know you," I finished, truth wrapped in simplicity.
Her eyes lifted to mine again, wide, searching. "You already see me every day."
"Not like this."
She exhaled slowly, her heart rate spiking just enough for me to notice. The wolf stirred again, sensing her reaction, pushing against my restraint. I wanted to touch her — just her hand, a brush of skin, anything — but I stayed still, barely trusting myself.
She leaned back slightly, a teasing spark in her voice. "So… what do you want to know, Mr. Ashford?"
The way she said my name — low, careful, almost intimate — made my pulse stutter.
"Everything," I said before I could stop myself.
Her laughter was soft, genuine this time, easing some of the tension. But it didn't make the pull between us any weaker. If anything, it made it worse.
The minutes stretched, each one heavier with unspoken desire. She looked at me like she was trying to understand something she couldn't quite name — something that both frightened and fascinated her. And I knew that if I didn't leave soon, I might not be able to hold myself back.
But when she shifted slightly closer, her knee brushing against mine, that thought vanished. My breath caught. Electricity shot through me like lightning, quick and dangerous.
She didn't move away.
Neither did I.
For a moment, we just sat there — two people hovering on the edge of something neither of us dared to name. Her scent filled the air between us, her warmth radiating so close I could feel it against my skin.
I looked at her — really looked. The soft waves of her hair catching the lamplight, the uncertainty in her eyes, the curve of her lips when she tried not to smile.
Beautiful.
Unaware.
Mine.
But not yet.
I stood abruptly, before I could lose the battle I'd been fighting all evening. "I should go," I said, my voice rougher than I wanted it to be.
Her eyes widened, surprise flickering through them. "Oh. Right, of course. It's late."
There was a flash of disappointment in her expression — subtle, fleeting, but real. It nearly undid me.
"Thank you for the drink," I said quietly. "And for tonight."
She stood too, brushing her hands along her skirt, avoiding my gaze for a moment before meeting it again. "Thank you, James. For… everything."
Hearing my name like that again — soft, uncertain, intimate — was almost too much.